On the morning walk Gordon and I usually accompany Bob toward the Metro station. Today I turned at Bob’s chuckle to catch, just barely, a neighbor’s meaningful ritual: sitting alone in her car, she crossed herself, then drove off.
I figure this powerful image can well launch my polemic against the automobile. It’s been a rocky affair, my relationship with The Car, and I have noticed an accumulation of *negative* thoughts lately as I drive the insane slave-ways of Los Angeles county.
I loathe cars because they are dirty, ugly, stinky, noisy, needy and deadly. I hate my car for making a hypocrite out of me, for coaxing me into a lifestyle of laziness and hyper-consumption. I despise the way swarming, wheezing automobiles have transformed this land into a sprawling, smoggy metal insect colony.
Meanwhile, trapped in a personal hell with screaming commercial radio channels (and even stately and benign NPR is getting old), I hurl myself forward at speeds no average human should attempt by herself (er, did I mention my hypocrisy?), and the odometer tracks these sins and mocks me!