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DAY 47: Tuesday, November 24, 2009: Candle companies buy you food as an investment.  They want your fat.

Okay, so it’s a theme from “Fight Club”, what the hell do you expect, 365 brand spankin’ new jokes from a burned-out husk of a human being?

Story Time!  I have two cars that are complete opposites, sending very mixed signals.  The commuting days are over now, the younger mob having sealed my fate with a but the commuter car is still ticking along, just in case I find work down the highway.  It’s a light blue Hyundai Accent with four doors and four cylinders that cries “grandmother of ten”.  You have to rev the hamster wheel hard to hear if it’s running, and hope for a long downhill run to pass anything larger than a salad crouton. 

It sits outside in the driveway, a solid tribute to core values and responsible travel.  It’s cuter than a button, and twice as slow.  You just want to hug it like a baby, and it’s not hard to catch.

Every morning I used to dutifully warm it up and get into ultra conservative mode, whispering along at 35 mpg, moving aside for anything faster than Dutch Elm disease.  I was doing my part, taking tiny sips from the well as supplies diminished, and being frugal as hell.  Shame on you dastardly heathens, cruising along in gas guzzling luxury wrapped with leather and surrounded by polished teak wood, but hey — thanks for a drafting wind break.  I’m not tailgating that space shuttle; I’m just being sucked along by a giant vacuum vortex.

I even dressed differently driving my little car, opting for soft summer colors with a shot of L.L. Bean or Wal Mart runway selections.  Coffee was upgraded to tea, and the song stylings of Jose Feliciano could be heard on my tape player, or perhaps Linda Ronstadt singing Spanish opera.  I was almost in the earth day zone of my English Lit professor, who could be seen riding a funky bicycle to class every day, suit jacket flapping like wings as he pedaled to another Shakespeare lecture.

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