In which the rental car tries to kill me.

Today the rental car tried to kill me. I was driving to my chiropractor's office and as I approached a green light at an intersection on Ventura I realized that there was a fire truck coming into the intersection fast from my right. I'm not sure how I'd failed to see or hear it sooner, but there it was, so I stopped the car. Or rather, I tried to. The brakes kind of locked up on me. They began functioning again before I hit the fire engine, but there is no way that it is normal for a car going less than 30 miles an hour to make that sound and slide like that and leave rubber marks on the road.

So we have traded the nasty Neon in for a Cavalier. Having only two doors is inconvenient but we used to have a Cavalier and they drive nicely (not as many blind spots as the Neon, for one thing - I swear you could only see whatever was directly in front of you in that piece of crap).

I would be ready to just give up on the world, but Cassie took us out for sushi this evening so I am feeling a bit forgiving. Or possibly just full, the feelings are almost interchangeable.

But the era of the mix tape is over, as this one has a CD player. And mix CDs are just not the same. My theory: the magic lies in only being able to control two tracks at a time.