Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Sure enough, in a storybook ending to a decidedly un-storybook exercise, my headlight ordeal lasted only 20 minutes, handily beating the previous record by more than an hour. I’ll be the first to admit how strange it is when inanimate objects–boats, sports equipment, firearms, and, yes, cars–are personified, usually as female, and then granted a measure of familiarity. It’s, like, why is that rifle a she? She actually has a name? You named her? It’s ridiculous, really.

But at the same time, this is partly why replacing a bulb was such a non-event. This was my automobile. My maintenance to shoulder, and nobody else’s. The reason why it took all those other fellows well north of an hour to complete such a simple task? They didn’t have this connection. They didn’t know my Swedish miss, what makes her tick, what makes her mad, what makes her sing, her temperament, her ups and her downs. Also, the difference between clockwise and counterclockwise.

We’re going to be light a post this week, and frankly I’m relieved. While I can’t claim to observe Memorial Day with any authentic degree of poignancy, since I lack any immediate ties to the armed services, I can appreciate the fact that our comfort and freedoms are derived, in part, from their sacrifices. In a sense, the security they impart allows for conceits as insipid as blogs to exist. When we return, we’ll revisit the topic of sociability, starting with the delicate threshold between being confident and being a dick.