Paying Homage at the Shrine

Superhighways, multicar garages and relatively cheap fuel – we’re still the nation who has the love affair with the automobile. Perhaps this torrid affair has cooled over the decades, but there are still throngs that teem at their shrines of choice; whether it be dealership or NASCAR track. Or, the auto show.

When I was a boy, one of my big thrills was grabbing a train from Philly to New York for the annual car show. It wasn’t just big. It was huge. This was THE show. And, it was back when there was a significant difference between a Ford and a Mercury, or a Chevy and a Pontiac. I couldn’t wait to go. Now, I have to be dragged.

And drag me Cat did. Not to New York, but the Cincinnati car show. This is to the old car show what Justin Timberlake is to Bobby Hatfield. Cat’s bait was a steak dinner at McCormick’s, but I’m sure she would’ve badgered me into it anyway.

She was there to shop, analyze and compare. I was there for technical and moral support. And, to people-watch.

The model selection is always of interest to me. Not the car models, but the people posturing around the exhibits for the manufacturers. The Suzuki exhibit had an exotic female hostess, which didn’t quite seem congruent. Still, she was very good at fawning over the middle-aged men and convincing them how sexy they’d look behind the wheel, so I guess they know their stuff.

The Scion people appeared zeroed in on their youth market. The young man there looked like the legions of my daughter’s suitors, who I can’t tell apart. He had the telltale “Topo Map hairdo.” That’s how I refer to the layering of different lengths and hues. Kind of like he’s sporting fur from a variety of mammals.

We came upon the Chevy exhibit and there was the concept vehicle tease that irks me no end. They’ve been parading the Cheyenne around for four years. When the heck are they going to make it? Aside from seductive body lines and interior, this pickup features doors in the sides of the bed, near the cab. With the steps, this provides easy access to climbing into the bed. Extremely nice if you’re someone who’s always scrambling up and down over the high tailgate of a full size 4x4.

We drifted around, with Cat hopping in and out of various cars. She asked for my opinions, with the desired responses quite evident.

Suddenly, she pulled up short. It was the Porsche area. I almost observed she might be past that phase, but it would’ve cost me a steak. Cat pulled on the door handle of a sleek, snow white model. Locked. They were all locked. The Germans are no fun.

The well-tailored salesman approached. “I see you like the Cayman. Excellent choice. It’s a very affordable sports car.” How far down the road have we come when $65,000 is considered affordable for a car?

He bantered with Cat while I scanned the horizon for trucks. Finally, he went to retrieve a brochure. “Well, what do you think?”

“Can’t see you crawling in and out of that in your business suit.”

“I was thinking of for you.”

“Me? No interest.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve had a sports car.”

“Because I have no interest.”

“At least set up a test drive. You should see what it’s like.”

“You.”

“I’ve owned two.”

“And, you’ve wrecked two.” That’s how I lost the steak dinner.

Cat completed her list of prospects and was ready to leave. The exhibits had aroused some curiosity in me about the trucks and a few SUVs. Also, I figured I’d give her time to cool off a little before we left. Maybe dinner was retrievable.

I paused to glimpse the interior of a Hummer. “Wouldn’t it be cheaper just to stuff a pair of gym socks down the front of your pants?” She needed more time to cool off. And, she was right.

The pickups had more allure to me, although the show models were bristling with gingerbread that I had no use for. “I thought you weren’t in the market.”

“I kind of promised myself an incentive if I mastered my offside roll. I did it, but never decided on the reward.”

“What the hell is an offside roll?”

“Kind of like rolling your boat left-handed.”

“Oh, kayak crap.” She has no use for anything that musses the hair or dries the skin. “Don’t you think a new truck is a bit excessive for just doing something on the opposite side of what you already do now?”

“Well, I did swallow a lot of water.”

In the “old days” they handed you a brochure and suggested you contact your local dealer. Now, they lure you with monetary incentives to take a test drive, inputting your vital statistics into their little Blackberries or whatever. By the time I got home, emailed test drive coupons had already arrived from the manufacturers and local dealers. You’ve come a long way, baby.

If I played my cards right and redeemed all the test drive coupons, I’d gain enough for an audio upgrade. Or, at least a steak dinner.

Media Portrayal of the Mentally Ill

On the 7:00 evening news, anchor and managing editor Katie Couric led with the Lisa Nowak story. Mrs. Nowak is the astronaut who attacked a fellow astronaut who she thought to be a romantic rival. No issue, so far.

But, Ms. Couric’s lead was “We usually think of astronauts as intelligent and squeaky clean.” As opposed to?

It should be obvious that the woman suffers from mental illness. Her aberrant actions, perceptions and obsession plainly mark her. This does not preclude her from being intelligent or clean. Other media followed suit, portraying her in many ways, except as a sick person. By casting the disturbed in such a light, they discourage them from seeking the therapy they need to lead normal lives.

In the interest of full disclosure, I run a mental health therapy facility, and am concerned about the characterization of the multitude of people who suffer the illnesses. I do not believe that the media helps the perception.

Degrees of Separation

Paul and I were having lunch, in the process of negotiating a merger. He pulled out a salary list we had provided to him. "Your COO looks a bit overpaid."

"Our operations are a part of why you want to merge with us, and she's in charge of that. You've already been picking her brain. What's your problem?"

"Well, I was talking to her and it came up she doesn't have a degree."

"I pay for performance, not wallpaper."

"I understand that, but this is an upper management position."

I rummaged through my attache and found the article I had clipped. I put it on the table, positioned toward Paul.

He scanned the first couple paragraphs. "Okay, this other woman was named executive of the year by her company. What's your point?"

"She wasn't 'named.' She earned it by driving her region to the best performance in the entire company. They're a worldwide corporation."

"Again, what's your..."

"She doesn't have a degree."

"And you know this because?"

"I know her." If I want to continue to know her, I suppose I should send a card or something.

Paul smiled. "So, you'd let a self-proclaimed cardiologist perform a transplant on you?"

"Medicine is set up to exclude those outside the channel. Opportunities to learn by experience or mentoring aren't there. We're talking about business."

"I didn't mean to touch a nerve."

"You didn't, I have an MBA. And, I've benefitted in my various businesses from hiring those whom others rejected with a knee-jerk degree screen."

But, maybe he had touched a nerve. During the weeks leading up to the Stupor Bowl (sic), I became disgusted by the interviews with players who said football gave them everything. Without that, they couldn't have gone to college and would be nothing today.

Excuse me? You'd be nothing? So, you couldn't have gotten a job and have been productive? Maybe even doing something that contributes more to society than running around on a field with an inflated bladder? You couldn't have put some of your earnings aside and gone to night classes? Gimme a break.

Now that's progress

Is medicine like “House,” where no matter how rare and catastrophic a malady you have, a full team of doctors devote their efforts to you, and administer a cure within sixty minutes? Or, is it more like, “it could be this, this or this” and “this works for some people, but not others?”

Probably somewhere in between. About forty years ago, I blew out a knee. Surgery on this was more of a hacksaw and chisel affair back then. I spent a week in the hospital and three on crutches, and was left with a long, ugly scar. I had a few other procedures in that era, with similar results.

This morning, I ran a couple miles and lifted weights at the gym. This evening, I spent over an hour rolling a kayak in a pool. I’m somewhat amazed because two days ago, I had surgery to remove a long-embedded fragment from my chest, and repair the residual damage. It’s been grinding around in there for a while. Thanks to current technology and procedure, collateral damage was minimized, and I was returned to near-normal function. I’m impressed.

That’s progress.