Okay, it's been 6 years over two vehicles but I'm finally ready to stand up and admit it. I am a minivan driver. I'm not saying I'm a truck driver stuck in a minivan or an SUV aficionado forced into minivandom by circumstances. I am an actual, honest to God, confirmed and anointed minivan driver.

I sit high up and can actually see what's going on around me. I live in Atlanta - on these roads you need this height just to hit par. Whenever I rent a car I feel like I'm an ant lost in SUVland.

I can take 7 friends or family (or occasionally work folk) 300 miles in any direction without stopping. I can tow shit. I can strap stuff on the roof without running rope through my windows.

E.L.F. does not light minivans on fire.

While the advantages are obvious there are admittedly a couple of problems. First, it's a minivan. Although my engine is bigger than the recycled sedan engines in comparably sized neo-trucks I will never get street cred. It is next to impossible to look cool with one arm at 12 o'clock, the other out the window and Nickelback blaring on the speakers when all of that is happening in a minivan.

There's also this blind spot at the passenger's side rear. I'm used to a blind spot on the driver's side and have learned to compensate for that over 20 years of driving. I still have problems with the one on the passenger's side though. It's a monster on my particular type of minivan - big enough to hide a Labrador Retriever in.

So anyway, my question is ... How do you tell your kids that their favorite pet is dead?

Posted by: Jim at 06:35 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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I've lived in both Oakland and San Diego; the proverbial arm pit and sun tanned breast of California respectively. I thoroughly enjoyed both. I've got family out in the O.C. I've got friends peppered up and down the coast. I've always kept California near the top of my list of places I'd be willing to move to. But after this morning? Not so much.

The Scene: I'm in the kitchen making coffee. Lovely Wife is outside in the car port.

Lovely Wife: Listen to the warning on this label: "Warning: This product contains a chemical known to the state of California to cause cancer and birth defects and other reproductive harm."

Me: What is it? Cleanser?

Lovely Wife: A fishing pole.

Me: A fishing pole?

Lovely Wife: Yeah. A fishing pole.

Me: A fishing pole that causes cancer and birth defects?

Lovely Wife: Yeah. But only in California.

So there it is. If I can't fish there I can't live there and I'm not going to take the chance of catching birth defects from my fishing pole. Sorry, California. You're off the list.

Posted by: Jim at 08:38 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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