I Get Bent Over by the Police and at the Car Dealership, but Alas, There is No Money Shot

"You seem a little nervous, son."
"Uhhh...."

His utility belt and holster were just about eye-level. All leather, studded with buttons and snaps like rhinestones. Oh please let this be the start to a bad porno and not real life, I thought. But no, all he asked to see was "license and registration."

Yes, I had been speeding, and yes I was a little nervous. I had been driving 10 hours--up since 5:45 that morning--and rode herd through oblivious-as-bovine Wisconsin drivers and Chicago traffic, before being pulled over, on the first street after the I-96 off-ramp, just minutes from home. Coursing through my veins: cortisol, a thermos of coffee, and high-fructose corn syrup from those Twin Cities confections known as "Nut Goodies."

The cop sauntered back to his car where he sat, did nothing, and played those mind-games that cops are wont to when they pull someone over. The cruiser's flashing lights made a scarlet 'A' of my car.

Then there were two sets of flashing lights and my entire rear-view was a mirror-ball of shame. The Village Person called back-up on me! Me! Evidently this was because he discovered that I had expired plates, which he only discovered several minutes before I did. [I had the car's title transferred in August, and had thought I took care of the plate then too, but apparently did not] So I have two tickets. The latter being a misdemeanor. If I had known I was going to get a misdemeanor I wouldn've made sure it was for something a lot more fun, outre, or at least anecdote-worthy.

District Court 54-A, you better begin to prosecute a lot more home-design divas with my $205.

Car troubles continue (well, technically, the above was more of a 'me' problem). My Honda--'Karen O' I call her--was making some hungover sounds whenever I turned her off or on. And the steering was throwing up some pretty stiff resistance at times. I recited 'To His Coy Mistress' by Andrew Marvell...

Had we but world enough, and time
This coyness, lady were no crime...

But Metaphysical school poetry written in Petrarchan format is utterly useless. Even for do-it-yourself auto repair. This is something I sometimes forget. So this morning I drove to the Honda place.

And it was here I came to realize why red-staters hate John Kerry, why despite empirical evidence that Bush and Cheney are liars, Kerry is not seen as a more 'trustworthy' or competent alternative. It is because of his manifest intelligence. When in a situation where one party obviously is operating on higher plane of knowledge than the other, say me vs. my auto mechanic, or an 'undecided' voter (mouth-breathers, all) vs. wonky-pants Kerry, that side which feels comparatively nescient is likely to be suspicious of the other. So it was with me today with my car, eyeing every mechanic with Nixonian paranoia, so it is with many voters and Kerry. While I would prefer my Commander-in-Chief to be smarter than me, the need for candidates to "empathize" with voters is something their handlers obsess over. Our leaders should be better than us, primus inter pares, but increasingly campaigns are a limbo-contest with the bar set at the lowest common denominator. This will figure someplace in democracy's obituary.

Please rise for the Benediction. Coffee and cookies will be served in the Fellowship Hall.