Here in my car I feel safest of all

The search for a new car continues. I've pretty much narrowed it down to a couple of choices: a 1998 Ford Taurus and a 2001 Pontiac Aztek. I realize this violates my previously stated anti-American policy, but let me tell you after driving both of these dream machines, the rough part isn't going to be choosing one. It's going to be knowing I'll never get back all those wasted years of not riding in such style. Detroit, I take back everything bad I've ever said bad about you. Except for all that murder capital business. I know sometimes you just gotta kill someone, but the law's the law.

The Taurus (seen below--Old Glory is a nice touch, no?) is probably the more sensible of the two choices. The resignation that oozes from the car's everyman design is all too relative to me. The plush cloth seats, AM/FM radio/cassette remind of a simpler time when the endless choices of satellite radio and ipods were solely the realm of old Flash Gordon serials. What the engine lacks in power it more than makes up for in safety and adequate gas mileage. Plus, I shan't have to worry about those pesky speeding tickets anymore. And should they ever be needed, I feel confident that the seat belts and driver airbag--both standard--will provide sufficient protection. The older I get the more safety and economy counts over power and general badassness. This is one of the more boring, if useful, characteristics of adulthood. In other words, kids, kill yourself now.

I want to be adult and sensible and everything that the world expects of me but this Aztek pulls at my devil-may-care side with a grip that is reminiscent of something that has a powerful grip. Though I have a general aversion to fun, I'm not wholly allergic. Indeed, this hair does come down occasionally; the Aztek is the perfect vehicle to drive me to such points that approach frivolity. A little too hip to be just an SUV. A little too cool to be a station wagon. It's the perfect vehicle for any rapidly approaching middle age dolt who wants to drive around in a vehicle that assures no one will ever say, "Hey, let's take your car tonight." That's a sort of exclusivity that money can't buy. Well, technically it can, but I trust my point is understood.

I've always had a soft spot in my heart for titanic failures like Crystal Pepsi and, um, the Titanic. Though it has yet achieved the cultural status of those mistakes, I like to think of the Aztek (above, hastily on its way to be traded for scrap) as the Edsel of my generation. However, I'm fairly certain there were more Edsels on the road at its peak than Azteks at its. That may still be the case. I can only hope that the Aztek's designer got the firing for which he/she was obviously going.

Since buying a car is one of the more expensive purchases I'll make this year, I'm not going to rush. I may insouciantly buy that mink stole, but a car is entirely different. Its purchase requires deep thought, research and some consultation with a higher power of my choosing. The bright side of narrowing things down to such contenders is that I can take my time. There's little danger either machine will be sold before next Christmas because folks nowadays place too much significance on aesthetics. That's an unfortunate side effect of modern life and one that I'd like to change. Michael Jackson told us lo those many years that change, for him, started with the man in the mirror. He also told that if you ain't bad, you ain't nothing, but that's not really relevant, I suppose. After all, we are the world.