2004-01-19

I popped up to London this weekend to do some personal business. Of course, that�s London, Ontario, not the real deal. London is one of Canada�s oldest settlements: there is also, in the same area, an Oxford, a Leeds, a Westminster, a Berkshire, a Hyde Park, and even a Thames River. Apparently Canada�s founders were in the throes of a painful nostalgia, not to mention a crippling lack of creativity.

Any resemblances to England are purely titular, unfortunately. After driving five hours through the boreal wasteland of south-central Ontario, Monster and I found ourselves stranded on the side of the 401, during the early stages of a snowstorm, as the ostensibly �brand new� rental car abruptly, and without ceremony, gave up the ghost. The fucking thing just stopped. Putting our ace mechanical skills to work, we stared blankly at the dashboard and wondered aloud if there was gas in the tank. (We�re almost completely certain that wasn�t the problem.)

Thanks to the marvelous convenience of modern society, a quick cell phone call brought a tow truck to our aid within half an hour, and we were shortly on our way with a new car and a full tank of gas. The financial savings made it almost worth the inconvenience of breaking down. If I were slightly more �MacGuyver� and slightly less �Mr. Magoo,� I�d rig a breakdown on every rental car trip: not only would I save on gas, but I�d double my chances of getting a really kickass stereo. (The Grand Am, incidentally, did the Fabulosos Cadillacs much more justice than did the Aveo.)