Terrible Analogies

I’m glad that there are people in this world like this.  They plaster their cars with bumper stickers so the rest of us don’t have to…

I was on autopilot driving to work half awake this morning when I finally noticed that the make and model of the car I had been blindly following for the past five miles was a Toyota Avalon.  ”Avalon, huh?” I thought to myself.  ”Interesting name for a car.”

And that got me thinking, what other odd or unusual things are cars named after?

Browsing through Edmunds and cross-referencing online sources I managed to cobble together this small list of automobile makes and models:

Buick Enclave
Enclave: An enclosed territory that is culturally distinct from the foreign territory that surrounds it.

Buick LaCrosse
LaCrosse: The game of the hooked stick

Buick Lucerne
Lucerne: Latin meaning “circle of light”
Also: Capital of Lucerne canton (small territorial division of a country) in Switzerland

Cadillac Escalade
Escalade: An Act of scaling especially the walls of a fortification

Chevrolet Aveo
Aveo: To strongly desire, to crave something or somebody
Also: Latin form of salutation

Hyundai Sonata
Sonata: A composition of one or more solo instruments, one of which is usually a keyboard instrument

Kia Forte
Forte: Something in which a person excels
Also: A strong part of a sword blade, between the middle and the hilt

Kia Rondo
Rondo: A musical composition built on the alternation of a principal recurring theme and contrasting episodes

Mercury Grand Marquis
Grand Marquis:  Marquis = a person who ruled on the lands situated on the border of a realm.  

Mitsubishi Galant
Galant: Russian hygienist
Also: French – 18th century musical term to describe a simpler, elegant musical style favored by, for example, Bach and early Mozart

Porche Cayenne
Cayanne: A plant bearing very hot and finely tapering long peppers

Saturn Astra
Astra: Latin for “star”

Toyota Avalon
Avalon: In Arthurian legend, an island paradise in the western seas to which King Arthur went at his death

Toyota Camry
Camry: Phonetic transcription of the Japanese word kamuri, which means “crown”

Toyota Corolla
Corolla: The whorl of petals of a flower that collectively form an inner floral envelope or layer of the perianth

Personally, I’d feel odd about driving a Cadillac “Wall Climber” or a Toyota “Flower Petal”.

I’ve been thinking about purchasing a new vehicle to replace my Honda S2000.  I’m looking for something along the lines of a sporty two-seater, preferably convertible, with unique lines and great gas milage.  You know, a real head-turner.  

…and I think I just found it.  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my brand spankin’ new ride, the ZAP! Xebra:

I spotted this dead-sexy beast last week, and instantly fell in love.  This baby peaks out at 42 MPH, grinds to a crawl on any hill above a 20% grade, is so pimp it only needs three wheels, comes fully equipped with an AM/FM cassette radio, and is made in China.  Going price?  A mere $12,000.  Chump change.

Did I mention that this vehicle is classified as a motorcycle, thus avoiding any crash safety test requirements?  I’m curious how well this thing corners in the twisties…

I have three basic tenets in life that I follow, and thus far they’ve kept me out of trouble.  They are:

1: Don’t get in a fight with a guy who has rolls of skin running down the back of his neck
2: Avoid getting in a property line dispute with a neighbor who has webbed fingers
3: Never dine at a strip mall eatery that offers half off sushi

Call me crazy, but that’s how I roll…

If you want to know what makes America tick…I mean, if you want to peel back the veil and take a quick peek at the squeaking, shimmying, twisting gears as they blindly strain against each other in forced cooperation for vague, uncertain, and undeclared goals, then take a couple hours out of your life and pull up a seat at your local DMV.

The DMV is one of those communal “watering holes” where everyone regardless of race, creed, color, and socioeconomic status congregates.  Like gas stations, grocery stores, and the post office, it’s a shared resource that encompasses an accepted truce where predator and prey temporarily set aside their differences to fulfill a common mandatory need. 

Much like Jury Duty, a trip to the Department of Motor Vehicles is a forced requirement.  In my case my license was up for renewal and my presence was required for a new photograph and an eye exam.  I thought I was being smooth and responsible when I made an appointment that I foolishly assumed would whisk me through this experience with minimal hassle.  Little did I know that I was about to be thrown into a dank, wretched pit of perceived power and emotional indifference.

Upon arrival at the DMV I queued up at the “Appointments” window and patiently waited ten minutes while the line I was in slowly shuffled forward as each of us in turn was asked to state our name and purpose before being thrown a numbered ticket and ordered to, “Take a seat. Listen for your number.”  As I stepped to the front of the line, a small square piece of paper shot up from a slot in the desk like a ticket from a movie theater booth.  The stern woman behind the counter expertly snapped it from the slot and handed it to me in a single practiced, fluid motion.  Lightly stamped on the paper was “F-021″ in faded blue ink.  Appointment lady looked at me like a unwanted stray and ordered me with a drawn out midwestern smokers drawl to sit down.  To listen for my number.

Then the MMRLG (Massive Multiplayer Real Life Game) of Musical Chairs began because there were more people waiting to be called than there were seats.  I counted myself lucky to have found a seat between a guy who was so engrossed in his Koontz novel that he apparently forgot how to control his gasseous emmissions, and a balding 40-something woman who glassily stared off into the distance while wistfully carressing what looked like a meandering scab that covered the entirety of her right cheek. 

I eased in as best I could and sat motionless, arms crossed, eyes fixed at the Good News / Bad News About Turning 21 poster on the far wall, careful not to draw attention to myself lest I disturb the caged pack mentality.  I listened to people talking, particularly intriqued by the “yeah, the pipe joint is fine.  I think the sealant is corroded. Yeah, Louis looked at it, but bled all over dudes interior.  Yeah, I told him not to f*ck with the stitches…” phone conversation going on behind me.

I felt like McMurphy, desperate to escape, looking for a piece of heavy furniture and a window to throw it through.

Only a poet could do justice to accurately describing my emotions when I finally heard “Window seven now serving F-021″ announced through the intercom speakers.  You know how it feels to win the lottery or take a human life?  Well, that’s exactly how I felt.

Thankfully, the waiting was the most difficult part of this whole experience.  Once I made my way to my assigned window my business there was completed within a few short minutes.  The nice old lady manning the window quickly completed the required paperwork, administered my eye test, photograpped my mug, and thanked me for waiting while tossing me a warm smile.  I guess not all DMV employees are emotionless husks of souless skin.    

Thank you window number seven lady for showing me a bit of compassion and humanity when I needed it the most.