An Interview with James (Or, How Many People Do You Have In There?)

Me: Lightning, what's your favorite food?
James (as Lightning): Gas

Me: What's your favorite color?
James (as Lightning): Red

Me:Who is the fastest car?
 James (as Lightning): Lightning

Me: Who is your best friend?
James (as Lightning): Lightning is his own best friend

Me: Who do you like to play with
James (as Lightning): Lightning

Me: Mater, what's your favorite food?
James (as Mater): Wus mah favorit' food? Gas is mah favorit' one. Ah like gas d'best. Cuz cars eat gas.

Me: Mater, what's your my favorite color?
James (as Mater): Mah favorit' color? Brown.

Me: Who is your best friend?
James (as Mater): Lahtnin'.

Me: Mater, do you like Curious George?
James (as Mater): Ah like Curyus George. Yes, gee.

Me: Sally, what's your favorite snack?
James (as Mater): She lahks gas d'best cuz cars eat gas. Her favorit' color is byu, okay? She lahks Lahtnin'.

Me: Is Lightning her boyfriend?
James (as himself): Weww...yes.

Me: George, what's your favorite food?
James (as George):What's my favorite food? My favorite food is bananas, because monkeys eat bananas. Did you know that, okay?

Me: Who's your best friend?
James (as George): James!

Me: George, what's your favorite color?
James (as George): Umm...brown!

Me: Do you like Lightning or Mater better?
James (as George):I like Mater the best.

Me: What do you think of Owen? Does George love Owen?
James (as Mater) Yeah, he does. Hey, Owen's favorite color is green, okay?
(as James) Hey Owen, what's your favorite food? Owen says (as Mater) I like green beans...and milk. (as James) That's what Owen says. What's your favorite friend, Owen? Hey, one more magformer, Daddy! Grab it as fast as you can. I got them, I did it. I got those two, Daddy. Here they are, here they are Daddy.

Me: Hey, you didn't tell me...who is Owen's favorite friend?
James (indistuinguishable voice): James

Wednesday

I was just leaving a rehearsal for the symphony brass quintet. I'd been looking forward to this day for a few weeks--I knew that I'd have a few hours in between rehearsal and concert to get my Christmas shopping wrapped up, make some returns, and

WHAM

I saw the car running the stop sign in just enough time to bury my foot on the brake pedal, but there was nothing I could do to avoid the collision. I saw nothing but white for a second and felt like I'd been slapped in the face. Then I noticed a smell like burnt feathers, and saw that a fine floury mist was floating inside the car. I looked down and realized the airbag had deployed. The car was still on, and I felt it limping as I guided it over to the curb. The other car, a gray BMW, was still stuck out in the middle of the intersection.

I looked over myself and felt my face. No cuts, no scrapes. I looked back the way I'd come. Sure enough, no stop sign, no signal. The BMW had just blown through his stop without ever slowing down. He got out of his car, and I realized that my hands were trembling from the adrenaline. It all went away instantly...I was in disaster mode, completely cool and collected. I made sure he was okay, asked if he could move his car out of the intersection (he couldn't) and requested his registration and insurance card. As I walked back to the Corolla to get my own I saw the damage to the front for the first time. My stomach sank.

The front bumper was hanging completely off, the grill was bent, and it looked terrible. I loved that car. We got a great deal on it, paid cash. It was a stick, which I'd wanted.

It was cold out, and my hat and gloves were sitting on my desk back in Rochester. I'd gone on a three mile run that morning, and I forgot to pack them back in my winter coat once I came back inside. Tow truck first, then police, then insurance. The tow truck driver came first and picked up the bits of my bumper that were still in the intersection, and then a policeman took my statement. A second cop car arrived, realized he couldn't do anything, and almost hit someone on a bicycle as then wheeled past.

Then the cyclist stopped and got off. It was Rob, the timpani player from the symphony?

"Hey, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think so. Could've been a lot worse."
"Wow, this is your car?"
"Yeah."
"Well, if you need a ride or anything let me know. I'm free all day, okay?"

I don't know why it's so hard for me to accept other people's help sometimes. I don't think that catching a ride would've made my day any easier...I mostly just didn't want to see any friendly faces. Every time I looked at the front of my car I felt ill again. When I sat down in the tow truck I realized how hungry I was--it was nearly 2:00 by the time everyone was packed up--and how sore I was going to be.

I met the owner of the collision shop and got my first crash course in how the insurance process would work. Each time I was given the course over the day it had some slight inexplicable variation. I'm still not sure who's paying for what, but I started to pick up some of the terminology. I waited for the rental car company inside the shop and finally called J, dreading how upset and worried she was going to be.

The rental car company offered a decent rate for a midsized car, some nice Chrysler. When I got there I found out that car was unavailable.

"But let's see...looks like all we've got is...a Toyota Yaris."

I like our Yaris plenty. But renting your wife's car is sort of like being offered a night at the hotel down the street from your house. It's nice to have a place to stay, but it'd be a lot more interesting if you had a change of scenery.

There was more paperwork, more signatures, a few more phone calls, and I went out to get into the Yaris. I took a few deep breaths. I still hadn't eaten anything, and my back was starting to hurt. It was raining out, and I wasn't sure I wanted to drive again yet. I turned on the car.

The check engine light was on.

A few minutes later the attendant told me, "Yeah, you're right. We just got it back from an oil change, I guess they didn't reset the light correctly."

"I'd still like to make a note in file."

I got back home safe, and eventually did get a meal and some ibuprofen. But it'll be a long few weeks until we're back in the Corolla again, if (hopefully) we do get it back.

Here are the things to be thankful for-
1) No one else was in my car.
2) No one else was in the other car
3) Neither of us were going particularly fast...probably both about 25.
4) We have insurance
5) The other guy has insurance
6) It's extremely unlikely that I'll be assessed any sort of fault/liability
7) I still made it to the gig on time
8) No one was hurt
9) No one was hurt
10) No one was hurt

But my back is still a little sore

Yaris

A dark night in a city that knows how keep its secrets...but up on the second floor of the Clover Park building one man is trying to find the answer to life's persistent questions.

It was a cold Sunday evening, and I was down in a basement working on an old case with my brother over a couple of stale beers. Something about some missing robots and a broad looking for an old guy who was her "only hope." I'd been in the same uncomfortable shoes and smelly suit all weekend long, and I got a phone call from my brother-in-law, Timmy thumbs.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, hey, sorry about your car, but I won't be fixin' it."

Well didn't that just figure. My old jalopy had finally quit on me, like an old broad giving up on a bad marriage. Without Timmy's mechanical expertise there'd be no chance of squeezing a few more hundred miles out of her. She'd been a good old car, but like so many ladies in my life she was finally moving on and leaving for good.

I didn't even call ahead to the airport, I just showed up amid shuffling along the dirty asphalt and looking in the windows of the car rental places. There was one open, and I hired it for two days. It was a sweet little thing, way out of a normal private eye's pocketbook. I climbed inside more weary than I could ever remember and went off driving two hours to a little joint in a town called Hamilton. You see, sometimes in the evenings I play the trumpet with some other cats in town. It's the only work I could find that's more dangerous and less profitable than being a private eye, so it seemed like a good fit.

When I was out there I made some calls to some buddies and got ahold of some fellow selling a Yaris. My brother owned a Yaris, and there was a lot to like about them. Dependable. Small. Easy to miss. I set up a time to meet the fellow on Tuesday and played my gig.

After far too few hours sleep I rolled out of bed again and was back on a case at a local school. I'd been hired to do a job there, canvassing the place for any signs of musical talent. I'd been at it for years, it sometimes felt like, and still hadn't found a thing. I drove the rental car around and even showed it to my kid. He's a swell little boy. He thought the sunroof was great, and he made me open it and close it again about a hundred times. I went back out to Hamilton again that night, and got back so late it was almost Tuesday morning again.

When I got up on Tuesday it was a dark and rainy sort of morning. I pulled on a jacket and drove up to the north part of town, looking for a used car dealer. I didn't have anything in particular in mind, but I thought it might be a good idea to have a second option before I might with that fellow who was selling the Yaris. As a matter of fact, there was a Yaris at the dealership too. I met with some dame named Tina. She was Italian, and kinda pushy.When she asked for my name I told her it was "Mr. Smith." She asked me what I was looking to pay for the Yaris.

"Well, I said, I wanna spend about 7 gs."

She laughed at me and made some big show of asking her manager what he could do for me. They gave me a number and tried to twist my arm into staying and buying their car, but I've wriggled out of too many tight situations. I was on the road again as the rain battered my rental's windshield, but not to go meet the fellow with the other Yaris yet.

I met my wife at a doctor's office on the south part of town. She pulled up in a black sedan, and stepped out into the drizzle. She was a wearing a gray cocktail hoodie, and if it had been form fitting you could've seen that she really big breasts, 'cause she was knocked up. She had our other kid in tow behind her, and he was doing some investigating of his own to see if he could pinch her iPad.

We walked into the fluorescent lighting and ancient carpet of the doctor's office, and some dame gave her an ultrasound while the new baby did its best informant protection and stayed hid. She had to get some blood drawn, and I left her with the boy. I'd seen too much blood already in my days...

I drove back to my place and dug around in the old metal filing cabinets in the basement to find some crucial documents--titles and registrations and the like. Then I drove back up to the north part of town and met with the fellow who was selling his Yaris privately.

The car was a dump. It had been keyed, the brakes were shot, the engine light was on, and the whole inside was covered with a layer of grime. I drove it around the block just to be polite, and the fellow poured out his life story--getting arrested, losing his job, kids from different women, doing drugs (inside the car, judging by the smell) and pretty much guaranteeing that I would not be buying a vehicle from him. I felt like his therapist.

I called back Rita from the used car place, and told her we'd be buying her Yaris. I drove back to the south part of the city, we loaded up the kid and drove up to the north part of the city. If we hustled, we could still drop the rental off before we got charged an extra day.

No luck. There was a hold-up on the paperwork, and they told us we'd have to come back the next day. I shuffled back home again, dropped off my wife and my kid, and then made the journey out to Hamilton. It's tough, life on the road. Nothing but you and your thoughts, and when you're a private eye or an orchestral trumpet player you've seen some scary things in your time. Too many cheating husbands or pompous conductors. It almost makes you lose faith in humanity. But then, just when you're about ready to give up on decent people, you hear some really great music.

Nah, it was a Haydn oratorio. So mostly I pinched myself to stay awake and tried to convince myself that I might have a car again by the next night.

It was cold and rainy again. I poked around the school again in the morning, peering down clarinet barrels and trying to make sense of broken reeds and jammed valves. There are some mysteries that not even the most experienced detective can make sense of. How a fourth grader breaks there instrument twice in one week is one of those mysteries.

In the afternoon we finally dropped off the rental car, and then got ready to liquidate the rest of our earthly goods on a new used car.

Ah, a Yaris. Some call it the Rolls-Royce of the economy import subcompact class. She looked beautiful, even in the the foul weather, all polished up and waiting to be driven. We signed a folder full of papers, got the usual blank stare-turning-into-laughter when I tried to explain how I made a normal income, just in four different pieces, and then signed our names one last time and wrote a check. And then we climbed into our new Yaris and got ready to fight the rush hour traffic on the way back home.

A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets...but up on the second floor of the Clover Park building one man is trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions...

Prius

And there was in the days of R. Dudlius a most curious practice by those who dwelled in the inhabited world. Each man had to himself a carriage made of iron and animated by a magicke most subtill, and they called these carriages "automobiles." These carriages were drawn by no horse and consumed no food, yet they drave as fast as meteors and roared a terrible sound. Of their magicke it is impossible to speak or understand, save only the sorcerers which are called "mechanicks." These iron carriages were wont to belch smoke and make noxious smell, and wheresoever they went was laid down black asphalt over the sweet grass, and many towers of stone and brick. The dwellers of the world in those days knew not the scents of meadows or dirt footpaths, nor had their fathers or grandfathers ever known them. Their learning was most quaynte, for of numbers and some magicke there were endless bookes, but of letters there was little knowledge. When James Bear, the son of R. Dudlius, beheld the iron carriages he loved them in his hearte and yearned to wash them, each one.

It happened that R. Dudlius and his wife drove two carriages. The first was traitorous and ever devysed evils against R. Dudlius. In time R. Dudlius waxed wroth and sold the faithless carriage. R. Dudlius bought for his wife a blacke carriage which shone as a polished stone, and it's name was Corolla. His other was called Neon, as was the name of the swift black ships of the Achaians. This carriage was ever faithful to the service of R. Dudlius, until a daemon troubled its bowels and no magicke could mend its sickness.

When his carriage had died R. Dudlius took up strong lament, for all of his gold and every precious thing had been lost to buy the shining carriage of his wife. Yet his brother Calvus the priest did give ear to his lamente, and he made present of his own carriage for R. Dudlius using in great brotherly kyndness.

The carriage of Calvus ran by a more powerful magicke than any yet seen, for all swich are locked and drawn and given fyre by keys, yet there was no key unto his. It's name was Prius, which in the tongue of our men means "earlier." When R. Dudlius drave the Prius it made no sound, nor did it pour forth black smoke. The feet of R. Dudlius grew dumb upon their pedals, for there was no lever by which R. Dudlius should shift the engynes, nor were his hands able to govern the carriage as was his wont. Yet this Prius seemed pleasant to him for driving, and it was exceeding swift and silent. It did not burn precious oils as is the habit of other carriages, and a sorcerous eye aspeckted hindwards by which R. Dudlius might see behind him.

R. Dudlius gave much thanksgiving and many fine gifts to Calvus the priest, and to his wife and to his infant son, who Calvus son of Thomas Richardes had christened "Silas." Of R. Dudlius' son, James the Bear, there were woeful tidings. On the great feast of Easter R. Dudlius and his wife had labored hard to blow the trumpet in the Great King's name at many churches. James the Bear grew weary with pilgrimage, and then became addled with sweet candies and cakes. He rose early in the morning and searched for hollow eggs with much sweetness inside. The son of R. Dudlius ate gluttonously and became gorged on his sweets, and then his limbs were set trembling and madness seized his mind. For a day and a night he was changed from boy to beast, and terrible were his shrieks. The wife of R. Dudlius grew stern, and when the madness passed she declared with a heavy oath that such sweets were unlawful. And thus passed the feast of Easter for R. Dudlius and his house.