The Annual Trek To The Auto Show
Every year since he was three, I've taken Procrastinator Jr. to the San Francisco Auto Show. This was our eighth time together, as one year we even attended the same show twice. It's a chance to see the new cars, for the Missus to finally get the house to herself and it's as close as we will get to actually sitting in a Porsche. The one drawback being that for reasons beyond our control, we usually wind up going the day after Thanksgiving, or as a byline on the S.F. Chronicle's online site called it, "a mosh pit with receipts."
This year, we were to meet Procrastinator Junior's best friend and his family. Two of the family were going to go to movie while Jr, his best friend and I were to hit the arcade.
We took the streetcar as I wasn't even thinking about driving in that mess. The streetcar was crowded when it arrived and it only got worse, one whole stop later. The only thing missing was the conductor that wedges people in and a larger concentration of Japanese, otherwise you'd think we were in rush hour in downtown Tokyo. With every stop or hesitation of the streetcar, a fresh set of shoulders and elbows were launched into my spine.
At one point, someone tried to either pickpocket or grope me, possibly both. My right cheek was not pleased as the culprit did not introduce theirselves beforehand and just like Major League Baseball, you need the expressed written permission of the Missus. Which I doubt she would give permission anyway nor would I, barring Virginia Madsen. My permission, I mean.
After Junior's b.f.f's family walked out on "Flushed Away," and Junior, the b.f.f. and I were done with the arcade, we hit the auto show. Auto show observations...
...I used to use cars as a writing motivational carrot. As in, if I get a three-picture script deal, I'd get this car, or vice-versa. This year's? The Audi A3.
...Or it's cheaper sibling. The one drawback being its plaid seats. Plaid only looks good on women, period. I don't want to see plaid on anything else and that will be one of the first laws I would enact.
...Buick in the San Francisco Bay Area? It's olde English for "broke." The whole twenty minutes we were nearby the Buick area, I don't think I saw more than five people even stop. Possibly two of them actually sat in the cars.
...Is it a hybrid pimp, or a pimped hybrid? The Lexus 600h has a V8 that has the power output of a V12, a nineteen speakers sound system, reclining rear seats with a massage feature, a pullout table, and a DVD player with remote. Why would you ever want to go inside to your house with a car like that? The headlights even swivel when the front wheels turn, just like a Tucker.
...Feed the saleswomen and spokesmodels, please. Only Pontiac was willing to hire a woman over 104 lbs. and the rest, clearly were Nicole Richie's friends, that busted out of Camp Anorexia.
...wow, I actually considered a minivan for all of two hours, I told you I am Endicott.
This year, we were to meet Procrastinator Junior's best friend and his family. Two of the family were going to go to movie while Jr, his best friend and I were to hit the arcade.
We took the streetcar as I wasn't even thinking about driving in that mess. The streetcar was crowded when it arrived and it only got worse, one whole stop later. The only thing missing was the conductor that wedges people in and a larger concentration of Japanese, otherwise you'd think we were in rush hour in downtown Tokyo. With every stop or hesitation of the streetcar, a fresh set of shoulders and elbows were launched into my spine.
At one point, someone tried to either pickpocket or grope me, possibly both. My right cheek was not pleased as the culprit did not introduce theirselves beforehand and just like Major League Baseball, you need the expressed written permission of the Missus. Which I doubt she would give permission anyway nor would I, barring Virginia Madsen. My permission, I mean.
After Junior's b.f.f's family walked out on "Flushed Away," and Junior, the b.f.f. and I were done with the arcade, we hit the auto show. Auto show observations...
...I used to use cars as a writing motivational carrot. As in, if I get a three-picture script deal, I'd get this car, or vice-versa. This year's? The Audi A3.
...Or it's cheaper sibling. The one drawback being its plaid seats. Plaid only looks good on women, period. I don't want to see plaid on anything else and that will be one of the first laws I would enact.
...Buick in the San Francisco Bay Area? It's olde English for "broke." The whole twenty minutes we were nearby the Buick area, I don't think I saw more than five people even stop. Possibly two of them actually sat in the cars.
...Is it a hybrid pimp, or a pimped hybrid? The Lexus 600h has a V8 that has the power output of a V12, a nineteen speakers sound system, reclining rear seats with a massage feature, a pullout table, and a DVD player with remote. Why would you ever want to go inside to your house with a car like that? The headlights even swivel when the front wheels turn, just like a Tucker.
...Feed the saleswomen and spokesmodels, please. Only Pontiac was willing to hire a woman over 104 lbs. and the rest, clearly were Nicole Richie's friends, that busted out of Camp Anorexia.
...wow, I actually considered a minivan for all of two hours, I told you I am Endicott.
posted by Writeprocrastinator at 9:10 PM
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