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The rest of this admittedly disjointed entry is about Detroit. Not the city, but the product. And I really should have more to say, but I don't. Hey, at least I updated.

My first car was really wicked cool.

Some of my friends had cars we called "The Crusty Creamer," and "White Trash," and "The Anna Boat." I named mine "Rocket" because it accelerated like the opposite of that.

Rocket was a 1984 Saab 900S; a stick shift with a moon roof, power everything (most of which worked) and 200,000+ miles. I installed in it the Dixie horn (of Dukes of Hazzard fame) and only crashed it once.

Once, when I was at the beach, someone tried to break into it through the moon roof and hot wire it, but they couldn't because the ignition is in the floor to the right of the driver's seat, and they were big, fat retards.

The last day I ever saw it, there was construction on the road that ran along the cliffs of Lake Michigan, so I took the back way home. When the front axle broke and sent me careening through the opposign lane of traffic (luckily, there wasn't any) and into the curb, I realized that had I not taken a detour, both Rocket and myself would have shot over the cliffs and on into the frigid waters of Little Traverse Bay. Luck? Fate? An intervention of God? You decide.

The car that replaced Rocket was Cottonwood. (Named for an unfortunate incident that involved a tornado, a large Cottonwood tree, and three months in the body shop.) I still have and drive Cottonwood, and while I really like my car, lately its been making this weird noise whenever I accelerate that sounds like my engine is chewing Corn Nuts. There is only so much I can turn up my radio to mask it before my eardrums rebel. Also, all of the dings that decorated Rocket were the fault of me. All of the dings (and the big, giant dent on the front that still pisses me off) are not the fault of me. Not sure where I was going with that, but there it is.

And that's all I have to say.

"You come to Detroit and you rent a Beamer? That's like going to Germany and eating Jimmy Dean sausages!" -- Rick, Bird on a Wire