Gummibunny

This is the view from our front porch.
I shouldn’t have been surprised.
When I turned down my street tonight after work, it was dark – except for the strange glow I could see near my house. As I got closer, I realized the bright lights were coming from my neighbor’s yard. And there he was, stringing more and more Christmas lights.
This shouldn’t come as a surprise because he has Christmas lights up all year. White lights have draped the fence around his back deck since March. Even as those lights blew, he kept the useless, unlit strands hanging there. To the one remaining section of working white lights, he added orange and green lights around Halloween. They’re still there. Still glowing.
Now the front yard boasts white, green, red, and blue lights. But I really don’t mind – it’s a bit over the top for me, but it’s his yard, he can get as merry as he wants. I just hope he takes these lights down after Christmas and doesn’t leave all of them blazing until next year.

To quote Xzibit on MTV, “I’ve been pimped, daddy.”
I had to work a night shift Thursday, so Lee and I decided that left our morning free for more exciting things like buying a car. Even though the Volvo dealership wouldn’t come down to the price I wanted, I finally caved and decided I really really wanted this car.
I blew my old car a kiss, and really haven’t missed it. It is so much fun to drive my new car (still trying to think of a name). It’s the small things sometimes – like when I use my power windows to punch in my keycode at the gate at work. Playing a CD. Setting the cruise control. Turning on the AC without fear of toxic fumes.
It’s also nice to have a sunroof and soft leather seats. I went to the grocery store and could actually use my trunk for groceries – the grandammit had issues with leaks. I didn’t take the bag boy up on his offer to take out my groceries, but if I had, I would’ve been proud to point and say, “that’s my car right over there.”
Let’s compare:
Old car-


New Car-
(getting cusotmized)


I think that’s a nice upgrade. My old car served me well, and since I actually plan to take care of this new car, I think it will serve me well for ten years or more, too.
Time to go make up an excuse to go drive somewhere.

For nearly ten years, my car has carried me to and from college, to and from new jobs, new cities, back and forth between Savannah and Gainesville to see Lee, and lots of places in between. It has occasionally required repair, but has continued to carry me places despite the fact that I rarely changed it’s oil during college. It has been in a couple of fender-benders, lost two hubcaps, but survived quite well.
I had planned to hang on to my 1994 Pontiac Grand Am (lovingly referred to as the Grand-ammit, pronounced gran-dammit) until next summer. However, Lee was with me in the car on a recent lunch break, and noticed something… fumes coming from my AC. Since then, it has gotten even worse, and we’re concerned it’s toxic. Meanwhile, the “service engine soon” light keeps coming on, and sometimes my brakes take a second to really catch. It’s time for a new car.
We’ve been car shopping, and thought we’d settled on my next vehicle. Saturday, we cleaned out the old grand-ammit, and it was kind of like going through a time capsule. In the console, there were mix tapes Lee made for me while I was still in high-school. In the glove compartment, there were directions from Fitzgerald to Athens, from when I visited him in college. On the mirror of the passenger’s sun visor there were the window-cling monkeys Lee and I stole off a Chick-Fil-A window. There are stickers from the Equestrian Team, UGA, and my sorority on the back. There are commuter stickers on the front from parking on campus.
But there were other things that made it easier to think about parting with the car. There is the primer showing through under worn paint. There is the busted foglight. There is the cloth hanging down from my roof. There are the threads showing on the cloth of my seats. When I stepped back and took a good look – the car looked very old and worn. Loved, but worn.
We went through all the title paperwork in the glove compartment to make sure there wasn’t anything too personal on it. That’s when I noticed the original sale papers. When my parents bought me the car in Macon, it was a year old. The original buyer bought it here in Savannah, at the dealership that is about a mile from my house. I pass it nearly every day. It seemed fitting somehow that the car had come full-circle.
So I was nostalgic as I drove it to the dealership. However, I was also worried about showing my car to the manager. I feared the he might notice the smell of fumes in the car, or that while he was inspecting it, Ricky the Roach might make an appearance. When we began negotiating, the manager said he’d look up the value of my car. When he returend, he said he checked about 5 different sites, and one told him my car was worth $0. I mean, I have two new tires! Isn’t that worth something?
In the end, we couldn’t come to an agreement on the price of the car I wanted, so we walked out. It was a little depressing to get back into the Grand-ammit and drive it home, but that’s okay. We’re still looking, and I think we’ll get a new car soon. And even though I know my car may be poisoning me, it will be a little sad to see it go.

I turned right onto Tennessee Avenue and gasped. The cars. The people. There were so many of them.
As I slowly drove along the narrow street, lined on both sides with parked cars, I couldn’t believe this was my polling place on election day. I’ve never seen a line here. I’ve always parked right outside the building. Instead, I drove a few blocks down and parked on a side street, happy to make the hike back toward the precinct.
It was a hot day for November, and though we had to fan ourselves under the bright sun, everyone seemed electrified by the importance of the day and the turnout. The woman behind me had a newspaper, and even offered me a section to read while I waited. I cursed my choice of high-heeled shoes, but was very excited as I shifted from foot to foot that so many of my neighbors recognized the gift of a voice, a vote.
I’d been in line a few minutes when suddenly my husband’s face appeared. I was very happy but surprised to see him, because he’d gone to vote more than an hour before me. Although he would likely be late to work, he too seemed excited about the crowds.
Shortly after he left, an old sedan pulled up close to the door, and a tiny elderly lady got out. She fished a walker out of the trunk, and opened the passenger door. Slowly, tediously, her husband crawled out of the car. They were both very old, very small, and seemingly very frail. He pushed his walker and shuffled his feet a few steps, and got in line. I was horrified to think he might have to wait in this line with the rest of us, but luckily his wife found a chair up at the front and sent him to sit in it.
He wore navy slacks, a pressed shirt, new tennis shoes and a bowler’s cap. He had a band-aid on the side of his face. After waiting about 40 minutes, we neared the front of the line, and he began moving chair-by-chair closer to the registration table. I overheard his wife talking to someone in line behind me. “He was just so determined to be here today. He got up this morning, and even cut himself shaving, but he was just so determined to be here.”
I admit it. I looked away because I felt tears in my eyes. Here was a man who obviously had a difficult time being there, but he was willing to overcome so many obstacles so he could be part of such a special event. I don’t know why he didn’t just vote absentee, which would have been easier on him physically. But I imagine despite the physical hardships, it lifted his spirits to get up, come to the polls, and absorb the energy and excitement of the place and the process. Whatever his reasons, I’m glad he came, because he certainly inspired me.

I feel tomorrow will be one of the most important elections I’ve faced since I became a registered voter. I believe everyone should vote. Even if someone else’s vote will cancel out my vote, I think they should cast that vote. What bugs me is when someone expresses their opinion about a preferred candidate, and it’s based on something completely ridiculous. I heard someone say today that he wouldn’t vote for a particular candidate because he didn’t like the shape of his face. What can that possibly have to do with policital abilities or leadership? Or character? Or ethics? Or anything other than unfortunate genetics?
I think people should vote democrat or republican or green party or write in a candidate because that person or party is the best choice for them and – in their opinion – for the country. I admit, I like getting my “I voted” badge, but I hope people go to the polls for bigger reasons than getting a peach sticker and feeling good about voting, even if they know nothing about the races and people involved.

Do I want to know right now who will be our next president? Yes. Do I think polls are a good idea? I don’t know.
While many nation-wide polls still show a close race if not a dead heat, I am bothered by the idea of non-swing states. My state isn’t a swing state, so not only are the politicians not campaigning here, I feel like my vote doesn’t really count as much. If the political pundits have already decided who will get my state’s electoral votes, why should I even bother to show up at the polls?
Because it’s important. Because even if my voice will be drowned out by so many others and my candidate will lose in my state, I need to feel that as an American I spoke up. I worry that calling my state before the polls even open will discourage other voters, but I can’t control that. I can only control what I do, and I will be there Tuesday.

One of the reasons Lee and I love Savannah is that there are lots of fun things to do in the city. For example, last weekend we enjoyed Picnic in the Park, a chance for folks to bring food and drink to Forsyth Park and dine while listening to live orchestra music.
But even if a picnic isn’t your thing, there are other ways to stay entertained. While flipping through a recent copy of Connect Savannah, I was amused by some of the “happenings” posted. I’m not judging the groups, I just think they’re interesting.
For example, the Rogue Phoenix Sci-Fi Fantasy Club. They meet twice a month, and are bonafide members of the Klingon Assault Group.
Then there’s the Shamanic Drum Circle. “Bring your own drum. The group does take healing requests.”
There’s a Lesbian Potluck every month. “Girls eat and socialize.”
The Savannah Goth Group holds a weekly social. “Feel free to invite like-minded friends and bring in your favorite music CD. Just look for the black-clad individuals.”
I have no desire to join any of these groups, but it might be interesting to be a fly on the wall.