Read The Green Red Green Online
Authors: Red Green
The Green Red Green (11 page)
Don’t use a garage in winter. A frozen tire lasts longer. Plus there’s a better chance your car won’t start, and that’s the ultimate tread saver (see above).
Alter your driving patterns to suit your tires. Brand-new tires in peak condition are designed to handle the roughest road conditions, from huge potholes to fresh, sharp gravel. As the tire tread wears, all you need to do is change where you’re driving. Switch to the absolute smoothest of roads to make it easier on the tire. When even that’s getting dicey, move to the sidewalks, which are smooth cement. And when your tires are on their last legs, drive into town on your neighbours’ lawns.
Make your tire puncture-proof by letting out the air and removing the bleeder valve, and then take your caulking gun and inject about forty-three tubes of bathtub sealer into the tire. Now when the tread wears out, you’ll still have lots of rubber to go.
Even when your tires are finished, you can still use them to make lawn ornaments or driveway liners or soup bowls or earrings. Cover your home with tire art as a statement to the world: “I may be bald with bulges in the side and a lot of miles on me, but I can still give you a belt, so tread lightly.” Or it might just say, “I need stronger medication.”
T
hey say that as people get older, they really start to appreciate a pet. Some of the retirement homes bring in dogs regularly as therapy for the residents. Once you have a few miles on you, you’re apparently ready to lower your standard of social interaction to the canine level. Personally I don’t understand the
appeal of spending so much time and energy on something that can’t talk to you. Or talk back to you. Or borrow your car without asking. Or use your money to flunk out of college. Or ruin its life and then blame you. But then, maybe that’s just me.
W
hen I was in high school, my friends and I were exposed to a lot of hype from the guidance department on striving for excellence and being the best and always making sure that our reach exceeded our grasp. Frankly, that’s created a lot of problems for all of us. Now that we’re a little older, we’ve given up on excellence and being the best, and many of us are down to our last grasp. The end result of forty-odd years of striving for unattainable goals is a deep sense of failure and worthlessness. This is not good. We need to reverse this trend by finding success in our lives. It’s time to lower the bar. Here is a list of accomplishments that you can look at and say, “Hey, I’m a star!”:
• You have some kind of a job and live in some kind of dwelling.
• You have never spent more than a night or two in jail.
• At some point in your life, you’ve been able to get a loan.
• You’ve never killed anyone on purpose.
• You’re not a quitter. You didn’t quit those jobs—you were fired.
• You have never had an extramarital affair with a supermodel.
• When you go into a clothing store, you can still find one or two items that are too big for you.
• Although you’ve never been on A&E’s
Biography
, you’ve also never been on
America’s Most Wanted
.
• You have never done nearly as many stupid things as you’ve thought of.
• You don’t whine.
N
ow that we have satellites and miniature cameras and the crime rate seems to be under control, I’d like to see the whole surveillance industry become more service-oriented. Here are a few spy applications that I’d like to see:
• Let me see how unhappy all the girls who dumped me in high school are now.
• Let me hear what people say about me immediately after I leave the room.
• Let me see a room in my company where nobody ever goes. Is it big enough for a cot?
• Let me see my boss talking about me with his wife.
• Let me see my boss talking about anything with somebody else’s wife.
• Let me see what’s waiting for me when I come home late.
• Let me see what’s waiting for me when I come home early.
E
very generation gets a little wimpier than the one before it. Our ancestors lived in wooden shacks without running water
or electricity. We have central heating, central air, central vac, central casting, humidifiers, dehumidifiers, carbon filters, ozone detectors, smoke detectors, chest protectors, bomb deflectors, and house inspectors. We can push one button in our house and another in our car, and as long as we have an attached garage, we will never leave an atmosphere of constant temperature, humidity, oxygen content, and clarity. It makes for an easy, comfortable life, but over time Mother Nature will devolve us to the point where we can’t handle any change in our environment. Sure, it might be nice never to shiver or sweat but not if it means that every time you open the fridge or oven door, you have a massive cardiac infarction.
So don’t try so hard to make it so easy. Human beings survive a lot better when they have something to fight against. That’s why married people live longer.
I
sometimes take abuse for my wardrobe. I tend to be on the low side of casual. A flannel shirt and tattered jeans are my uniform of choice. It’s not an unconscious selection. I’m very aware of why I dress like that. First of all, I think it sends out a good message that I’m not using my clothes to make you think I’m rich or important. I’m important to me, and while I’m happy to have you join me in that opinion, it’s your call. My clothes also send a message to single women that I’m out of bounds. If I dress this shabby while I’m looking, can you imagine how bad it will be after she gets to know me? (My wife has never totally bought this argument.)
But the main reason I dress this way is because I think you have to be ready for anything: a leaky pipe, a lawn mower that won’t start, or a car that needs a push. When there’s an emergency, I can just jump right in. I don’t need to find a phone
booth to change in. So when you see a guy decked out in extra-casual wear, you know he’s dressed for battle. And when you see a guy in an expensive suit, you know that if you have an emergency, he’ll be grabbing his cellphone and calling somebody like me.
T
here’s nothing more frustrating than buying what you think is a good-quality used car, only to have it disintegrate into components or explode in a massive fireball. You need to know what to look for when you’re examining a car. An ounce of prevention is worth a ton of tow truck. Here are some bad signs:
• The car is fourteen years old and has less than two thousand miles on it. Check for claw-hammer marks around the odometer.
• The tires are grey wood.
• The trunk is full of parts. Not spare parts. Just parts.
• The engine is covered in duct tape. Either the block is cracked or the owner is.
• The interior is heavily charred.
• The door handles are the same ones you have on your kitchen cupboards.
• When you start the engine, you can’t see, hear, smell, or taste for a full five minutes.
• The lucky dice hanging from the rear-view mirror have been shredded by incoming bullets.
• On closer inspection, you notice that the tires are just inner tubes with a tread drawn on in Magic Marker.
• Everything below the windows is soaking wet, and there are fish in the glove compartment.
• The ownership papers are written in crayon and sealed with a potato stamp.
• The front end is smashed in and the brake pedal is bent in half.
• When you put on the emergency brake, the owner fakes the clicking sounds.
• The words “Police road block” are imprinted backwards in the grill.
• The car has been banned from the AAA.
• Magnets don’t stick to the car’s body. They do stick to the owner’s head.
• It’s one year old and has more than two hundred thousand miles on it.
• It’s a convertible, but it wasn’t when it was built.
• The owner won’t let you stand closer than fifty feet to inspect it, and he insists you squint when you look at it.
• The back seat looks like it was used in
Pulp Fiction
.
• The body looks like it was used in
Ben-Hur
.
• If you want the body with the engine, that’s extra.
• The paint is still wet.
• The owner answers every inquiry with “I refuse to answer that on the grounds it might incriminate me.”
And the best reason not to buy:
• The car belongs to somebody you know.
Y
ou can save yourself a lot of time and money by working on your own car. Cars have got much simpler through the years. You don’t have to set the spark timing or hand crank the engine anymore. It’s amazing how a little common sense can save you so much money and give you the satisfaction of knowing that whatever goes wrong, you were involved.
Like your kids before every trip, the fluids in your car must be checked on a regular basis. The rad, the windshield washers, the power steering, the master cylinder, the engine, the transmission, and the differential are all things designed to have liquids in them. Much like your uncle.
And speaking of dipsticks, they are there to help you check the levels. Pull the oil dipstick out of your engine and wipe it off on your shirt. If it’s a good shirt, wipe it in the armpit. Reinsert the dipstick and remove it again. If you see any fluid at all on the dipstick, that’s good enough. Yes, they have a mark for “Full,” which is supposedly the amount of oil you’re supposed to have. But don’t forget that mark was put there by the oil companies. It’s more of a marketing ploy than an automotive rule. Besides, if you’re low on oil, the engine is obviously burning it or leaking it, so why throw good money after bad?
Some fluids don’t have a dipstick. The rad and steering box and windshield washer should just be filled till they overflow. They each use different liquids, but if you’re stuck, light beer works well in any environment. Ask your kidneys.
The differential is the toughest. Remove the filler plug. If nothing drips out, you can assume that it’s almost full and is probably fine. If you’re driving along and it seizes up, which locks your
rear wheels and forces the car into a series of doughnuts and figure eights on the highway, add more fluid.
If you don’t have a proper tire gauge, use a pea shooter. Slip the pea shooter over the valve, drop in a pea, then tilt the valve to release the pressure. (Do not look down the end of the shooter to see if the pea is coming.) A tire at normal pressure in zero wind conditions can fire a pea more than two hundred yards or lodge it three inches into a human buttock. (Don’t ask.) If the pea doesn’t go that far, or in fact drops into the tire, you need air. Inflate the tire until just before it explodes.
The hard part of checking your lights, after you get past the apathy, is checking the brake lights when you’re alone. (If you’re reading this book, you’re probably alone a lot.) It’s not physically possible to step on the brake pedal and run fast enough to get around the back to see if the lights went on. There’s a simple solution, though. Pull onto the highway and look for a truck with a big, shiny grill. As soon as you pass the truck, cut in front of him and slam on your brakes. You should be able to see the reflection of your brake lights in his grill. (If he hits you, you’ll have to recheck them.)
L
ike most people my age, I’ve been dragged kicking and screaming into the Information Age, the world of the Internet and email and the reclassification of the disadvantaged to include
people with only one phone line. I don’t know what software you’re using, but the stuff I’m on gives my connection rate whenever I go online. It says, “You’re connected at 44,000 bps,” or “You’re connected at 37,000 bps,” or whatever. This affects the speed at which I can download information. So I’m thinking this would be a handy thing to flash on an unseen screen in the back of my mind when I meet a new person at a party. If it says, “You are connected at 3 bps,” I would know to speak slowly to this person, keep it simple, and move on as quickly as possible. If, on the other hand, it says, “You are connected at 3,000,000 bps,” I’d know to pay attention and keep it interesting and move the conversation on as quickly as possible. I would also consider this person a potential life partner. Except for the fact that I’m already married. And when it comes to the connection speed with my wife, we’re on cable.
I
’ve been a consumer for a pretty long time, and except for a brief hiatus in the early nineties, I’ve done my part. I’ve bought my share of cars and boats and homes and appliances and tools. I’ve had situations where I felt I paid too much and others where I thought I got a real deal, but over time, I’ve come to the conclusion that everything costs the same. Either you can pay top dollar for a high-quality used car and have years of trouble-free driving, or you can buy some cheap beater and spend a fortune on repairs and tow trucks. Same with boats. Same with everything. My advice is to decide on the exact make and model you want and then shop for the best price, rather than buying the cheapest make and model you can find and then having to talk yourself into liking it. I’m very fond of this theory and truly wish I could afford it.
1) Did you do what you promised to do?
2) Where did the apple pie go?
3) Do you remember what today is?
4) What size pants are you wearing these days?
5) Have you got big plans for later?
I
find that generally women like to keep souvenirs and pictures and mementos a lot more than men do. We probably have half a dozen photo albums and boxes of kids’ paintings in our house. Most men don’t need that stuff. They can take a trip down memory lane just by looking at their own hands.