Why I Won't Be Enjoying a Big Kahuna Burger Anytime Soon....

     Well, it's that time again. What are your plans for the Lenten Season? Just how seriously do we take it and are we really aware of its significance? Lent is a season of soul-searching and repentance. It is a season for reflection and taking stock. It is an opportunity to exercise discipline outside of our normal restraint in obedience to God.

     In recent years I've taken Lent much more seriously. I'm still in the process of balancing just how I should observe it. In the past I did what most people do, I'd choose something that was pretty much an insignificant luxury for me and sanctimoniously declared that I was abstaining from it. It was usually something superficial like ice cream or television, as if it was a great sacrifice to go without Hagan Daz or CSI. In the past couple of years I've gone the other extreme. I did a full on fast of nothing but water Monday thru Saturday, eating only on Sunday for 40 days. This was beneficial in the weight loss department and it showed extreme discipline, but I was too busy thinking about  next meal to focus properly on meditating and communing with God. Regardless, God blessed me in spite of me. Others observe Lent by giving of their time and talents. One may volunteer at a soup kitchen or homeless shelter during the Lenten period to "imitate Christ" and show obedience. Jesus fed the hungry and clothed the poor, right? So what is it really that we should be doing during Lent?

     A forty-day period before Easter, Lent traditionally begins on Ash Wednesday. The forty days represent the time that Jesus spent in the desert before the beginning of his public ministry, where he endured temptation by satan. Jesus retreated into the wilderness, where he fasted for forty days, and was tempted by the devil (Matthew 4:1-2, Mark 1:12-13, Luke 4:1-2). He overcame all three of satan's temptations by citing scripture to him. Well 'ol louis sipher can't handle that so he rolled out.

     Lent originated in the very earliest days of the Church as a preparatory time for Easter, when the faithful rededicated themselves and when converts were instructed in the faith and prepared for baptism. By observing the forty days of Lent, the individual Christian imitates Jesus’ withdrawal into the wilderness for forty days. The number forty has many Biblical references: Moses spent forty days on Mount Sinaii with God; Elijah spent forty days and nights walking to Mount Horeb; the forty days and nights God sent rain in the great flood of Noah; the Hebrew people wandered in the desert for forty years while traveling to the Promised Land; the forty days Jonah in his prophecy of judgemet gave the city of Nineveh in which to repent.

     The observance of Lent has become much more lax over the centuries. From the 5th to 9th cent. strict fasting was observed; only one meal was allowed per day, and meat and fish (and sometimes eggs and dairy) were forbidden. Now we pretty much choose something we could live without anyway. As a matter of fact, many people splurge on the very thing they plan to give up just before Lent. You may have just finished observing "Fat Tuesday" or "Mardi Gras". In many countries, the last day before Lent has become a last fling before the solemnity of Lent. Rio de Janerio hosts one of the biggest festivals associated with Lent. Because it was customary to fast by abstaining from meat during this period , some people call the festival Carnival, which is Latin for farewell to meat. 

     A fast is a personal act of devotion to God and as I have come to learn, it is disciplined diet, not total abstention from food. Orthodox Christians recognize five levels of fasting:

• Abstaining from meat
• Abstaining from meat, eggs, milk, butter, and cheese
• Abstaining from meat, eggs, milk, butter, cheese, and fish
• Abstaining from meat, eggs, milk, butter, cheese, fish, oil, and wine
• Abstaining from all foods and beverages except bread, water, juices, honey, and nuts.

To fast, just omit an item or two from your diet—something that you would normally eat during the course of the day. Every time you get an appetite for those items, you will be reminded of your fast and that will remind you of the reason for your fast, and you can pray instead of eating. This can have immense spiritual benefit. Which brings us to the real reason for Lent. A disciplined and focused practice of prayer. Lent helps you reboot your prayer life. It's easy to over think the concept of prayer but it's actually pretty simple. You don't have to construct some superfluous verbal tome that would rival MLK's "I Have A Dream", but you do want to accomplish a few things. You should...

• Address who your talking to.
• Indicate submission to His will
• Be thankful for His blessings
• Ask for forgiveness
• State your needs
• Ask for assistance 
• ask for protection

The conversation might sound something like this...

" Y'know God (address), good lookin' out with that promotion I got on the job last week. I can't thank you enough for that. I really appreciate everything that you did to make that happen for me (be thankful). I know that it doesn't seem like it because I keep messin' up and should know better. You think you could you cut me a break (ask for forgiveness)? Y'know...will you forgive me? Oh yeah, like earlier today when I was thinking those thoughts about Karen in Accounting. She was wearing that skirt I like and,..well anyway, that wasn't right. I know I have a hard time resisting temptation sometimes. Would you help me out with this (ask for assistance)? Anyway now that I've got the promotion, I've got to put in a few more hours creating algorithms. I'm not sure how to go about finding the time (state your needs). Would you help me so I can be effective in my new gig? What do you think is the best way for me to do that? Regardless, whatever you decide is cool with me (submit to His will). Finally I'd just like to ask that you keep me away from trouble (ask for protection) and help me recognize it! I really do appreciate (be thankful) you God...." 

Just think of it as a regular conversation with anyone else, just remember who you're talking to. There should be at least the same level of intimacy to this conversation as there would be with a good friend or spouse. You can tell your best friend/spouse anything with complete confidence and expect of sincere dialogue and advice.

If we choose to give up something for Lent, it should be something that makes us a little uncomfortable to do without. It should require some restraint and control on our part. It should be a bit of a challenge. It should be significant enough that it reminds us of the purpose of Lent. So based on the above I've decided to give up all meats for Lent this year, and yes that includes poultry. You know some people will try to get around the whole meat thing by stating that turkey and chicken aren't technically "meat". I think that this will be most effective for me because a) I won't be starving myself, b) I'm an unapologetic carnivore, and c) it's not a perfunctory gesture like giving up chocolate or fast food.

If all of this is to lofty for you right out of the gate, start out small and work your way up to more significant challenges. Jesus gave it all up for us on The Cross. You can give up Starbucks for forty days.  

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An Emotionally Rewarding Encounter with My Unconscious Past

I had a really cool experience the other day (4.18.10). On my drive back from Charlotte, I decided to stop just outside of Richmond to look for the house we lived in when I was born. We lived there until I was about 2 years old so my memories of the house were vague at best. I figured that I'd seen enough pictures from that era that I could identify it if things hadn't changed radically. I knew what street it was on and how to get there, so I detoured from the highway with hopes of getting a modern picture to chronicle for the kids.

I drove down the Hungary Road focusing on the homes to my right looking for something familiar to jog my memory. None of the houses looked distinctively familiar, but I got a certain "feel" from a couple of them situated next to each other. There was a white house with a carport on the right side of the front door and a bay window and flower bed to the left. Next door was a brick house (slightly larger) with the same bay window/flower bed set up as the other, but this one had another room to the right and the carport behind it. Also, there were 3 steps leading up to the front door. I thought to myself, "One of these is it, but which one?". At that point I called my mother. My sister Shelley answered the phone. I asked Shelley to ask mom what our address had been on Hungary Rd. "Oh Lord, I don't remember. It had a carport and steps leading up to the front door." After some further discussion, we came to the conclusion that the brick house was it. Mom said that the house we lived in was brick and had 3 steps, so we assumed that the carport had been turned into another room at some point. I then told her the address and she confirmed that that was the house. I bid Mom and Shelley adieu and grabbed my camera.

Now, I'm not in the habit of randomly photographing peoples homes. I wouldn't want to see some stranger standing in front of my house snapping photographs anymore than you would, and I'm quite sure that my reaction to such a thing would be less than cordial. Considering that many folks will protect their property by violent means and ask questions later, I decided to go to the door, explain my mission and ask permission. I thought for a second about quickly snapping some pics from the relatively incognito position of my drivers seat, or doing a quick jump out and then speed off, but in the words of Ice Cube, "Shotgun shells are bad for your health", so I decided not to chance it.

As I approached the front door, I took note of what great shape the home was in. I knew that it was at least as old as me and it was obvious that it had been meticulously maintained. Camera in hand, I rang the doorbell. A handsome, fatherly looking gentleman with furrowed brow answered the door. He had slightly weathered, ruddy but well lotioned honey almond skin. A salt & peppered balding head crowning a fit frame suggested that he had some age but was still quite active. His bushy mustache curled down just enough to accent a staged frown. One eyebrow cocked, he had the patented "Who are you/what do you want/don't start no **** or you'll regret it" look that all husbands/fathers conjure when confronting a broad shouldered stranger at their front door (in this case, that would be me). Undeterred, with the storm door separating us, I began to talk through it's glass...

Me: "Good afternoon sir. You don't know me and I realize that this is a little unorthodox, but my name is W.P. Russell Jr. and..."Him: (eyes widening, grinning, interrupting) "You used to live here! You're Flip!"Me: (stunned) " Why...yes!"Him: (shaking my hand vigorously) "Boy, I can see the resemblance to your father, Rev. Russell! I bought this house from him in '69 and he sure was a tough negotiator! Come on in!"

That began a trip down memory lane that was a heart warming revelation. The vaguest of memories came back as I viewed the front room and the opening to the kitchen. The wood paneling on the staircase wall leading to a downstairs room even looked familiar! Could it be the original I wondered?

He introduced himself as Mr. Stevenson. His recall for events impressed me. He went on to tell me that he was a married 23 years old when he went looking for his first house. He said that he had seen the house on the market for awhile, but didn't think he could afford it. He knew that at the time my father was was the pastor of The Westwood Baptist Church in Richmond and up for a new position at Virginia Union University. He said that he also new that he had received an offer to be the asst. to the VP of the American Can Company in New York, making it necessary to sell the house a little more quickly. "Thinking I had some wiggle room now, that's when I made my offer but your father and I couldn't see eye to eye on price." he said. "Rev. Russell wanted a certain amount of money down, and I just didn't have it." He said that over the course of negotiations he learned that my mother didn't want to move in the first place. "She was all settled and acclimated to the house and didn't want to go anywhere. I remember the last words she said to me exactly. 'Mr. Stevenson' she said, 'the New York snow will not settle on me, sir.' "



Mr. Stevenson told me that the house still bore mark of the youngest Russell to live there. "You know what? There are still crayon marks in the upstairs attic that YOU put there son! Since we use it as storage space we never saw a need to erase them. They're purple." He went on to ask about my mother and sisters. I updated him and he told me to tell them that he said hello. I told him about Andrea, Ariel and Philip. He introduced me to his wife, who was in her house clothes and none to please that he had let me in, but cordial. He said that he would show me around but that his wife would kill him if he did so in it's current state, though from where I stood everything with pristine and glove check clean. He invited me to come back another time and he would give me a tour. "Bring your family with you the next time so I can meet them" he said. During conversation I learned that one of his sons lives about 15 miles from me and that his sister lives one street down from my high school in Upper Marlboro, 2 miles from my mother. Isn't it amazing how in many cases we orbit around each other for years, not knowing that we have common links? 6 degrees of separation has validity to it folks.

Feeling a sense of the surreal, I prepared myself to continue on home. I took a few pictures of the house and just stood there for a moment drinking in this monument of my very early nurturing. The first house I'd even known! Just thinking about what a blessing it was to have encountered the people who bought the house after all these years, and to hear the story from the source was overwhelming and humbling.

I thanked The Stevenson's for their openness and the invitation for the future. As I began to leave, Mr. Stevenson shared one last story...

"The last time I saw your father was at an Alumni function at Virginia State University. I had graduated in '66 and was very active as an alumnus. He was the newly elected president at the time and was being introduced to some of the alumni by another college official. Since it had only been a couple of years I thought about the last words I'd heard your mother say, and she was right. There you all were, back in Virginia. My back was to them when they came over to me, so your father couldn't see my face and I didn't know they were behind me. I heard someone say 'President Russell, I want to introduce you to someone...' and I felt a hand on my shoulder. When I turned around, your father looked me dead in the face, smirked, turned around and said to the official, 'This negro robbed me!'. We all had a good laugh as he told the story....smiling."

VNTY PLTS SUK

     I first noticed it way back in the mid eighties while attending school at Hampton University. Virginia seemed to have a prevalence of personalized license plates, also known as vanity plates. Because freshmen weren't allowed to have cars on campus (and I loath public transportation) I did a lot of walking and had plenty of time to enviously watch the cars cruise by. It was as if every other car had vanity plates. I didn't realize that people had so much to say!

      The Washington Post confirmed my suspicions when it did a story on vanity plates in Virginia. 1.4 million Virginians currently have vanity plates. That's 18.5 percent, or every 1 out of 5 registered vehicles. That's quite a bit of vanity. The only other states that come close are Illinois ( 1.1 million) and California (1 million). Virginia however, stands alone in terms of percentage to population. Vanity plates represent 10 and 3 percent of cars in Illinois and California respectively.

      So here is my issue with vanity plates - most of them are not as clever, cute or witty as the owner thinks they are or intends them to be. In my opinion, they are often unnecessary and simply annoying. I'd say that on average, every 1 out of 20 vanity plates I see actually makes me smile. Most vanity plates fall into one or a combination of these categories (examples are plates I've actually seen)....

1. Obvious - These plates state something that is readily apparent, easily seen or understood by all. Like the "MYFOCUS" on a Ford Focus or the "RDVETTE" on a red Corvette. Why would one waste their time and money to say something that is clearly evident? Here's one I thought of for just such cases - REDNDNT (redundant).

2. Pretentious - these plates make (usually false) claims of self - importance or an exaggerated outward show. Some examples would be "GENIUS, PYT, and WLHUNG". If you have to run around trying to convince everybody, you probably aren't. Again, my suggestion for such cases - LWSFESTM (low self esteem).

3. Obscure - These plates deal with subject matter that is not well known or ambiguous. Ex. YYZ (a song recorded in the 80's by the rock group Rush), IFFAS (international federation of firearm sports) or 1110101 (binary code). Such things will be cool only to the amazingly few people who know what your talking about. My suggestion - HUCARES

4. Hobbies, Affiliations & Occupations - These usually allude to a persons principle work, organizations they belong to or hobbies. Ex. "BONEMD, SCRPBK, IBFISHN". These actually aren't that bad as they can drum up business or create a network. However, of all the people that you encounter on the road daily, how many are thinking to themselves "I wonder what that person does a) in their down time b) to bring home the bacon?" My suggestion - GTALYF.

5. Accomplishments - These declare what the driver has achieved, successfully done or a title they hold. Ex. "EGLESCT, BNGEJMP, ITCEO" Great - your an Eagle Scout. Would you please pull over right now and show me how to tie a double marlin hitch knot? My suggestion - INFLTDEGO (inflated ego).

      The ones I hate most are the over thought plates that use letters as whole words, or combinations of letters and numbers. I place the blame for this squarely in the lap of Prince. With song titles like "Eye Would Die 4 U" and "U Long 2 B with Me" he's the main 'person of interest' as they say these days. This has been done for years and is no longer clever. 4, 8, 2, B, C and U are the most common. CMEPASU, ZUL8TR, 4U2NV, NOH8RZ, XLR8R, 12MUL8T are all examples. My suggestion - URNTWTY (you aren't witty).

      Some plates are notable because they got past the censors. Years ago in Virginia Beach, I saw a plate that read "RCHPHKR" on a Ferrari, and just recently a plate that read "FUYT". Both are vulgar and one is bigoted if not outright racist. If you can't decipher those I won't be the one to tell you. My suggestion - CNSORD.

      Vanity plates will often give you an insight to how people feel about themselves or tell a short story. A few weeks ago I saw a Mercedes with plates that read DSERVD, and today I saw a Porsche that had URNEDIT plates. Vanity plates will tell you about the family (GR8KIDS), a favorite tv show (70SHOW) or both (MY3SONS).

      The combination of what one drives and what they choose as a vanity plate usually makes the difference as to whether or not you are perceived as a jackass. This is where many people get it wrong IMO (there's one for ya'). URNVUS on a neon green Lamborghini doesn't earn you many friends.

      Of course, there are a lot of vanity plates that are quite clever and fun. I particularly liked the plates HWDYALL on a Miata driven by a very cosmopolitan older lady. A simple fun greeting. HIOFCR on a souped up Mustang 5.0 and TONKA on a yellow Hummer H2 are kind of funny to me. Also, I know of a 7 series BMW that has the plate ITBGOD. Not grammatically correct, but giving the credit for their success where it belongs.

      In conclusion, I've given it a lot of thought (more than anyone should about this subject) and can only come up with these words, crass as they may be, to describe my opinion. Vanity plates are (not always but) usually a public exercise in ego masturbation - stimulating and satisfying to no one but ones own self in most cases.

Of course, that's my unsolicited opinion. What do you think? So you know of another catagory that I neglected to identify? Do you have examples to share? I leave the DROPN (door open) for your comments...

A (Cargo) Space Odyssey: One Man's Loose Study of the History & Social/Psychological Interpretation of Minivan Ownership

A few years ago I did something that I thought I would never do. I vehemently argued the case for owning a minivan. Of the long list of behaviors and things I would love to ban from the road, minivans were always at the top of the list. My rapid progress would often be hindered by one of these vision blocking, cumbersome bricks of a conveyance. It seemed that they were always piloted by some house frau taking the crumb snatchers to soccer/Tae-Kwon-Do/dance class at the blinding velocity of a Terrapin. Add it all up and you have a recipe for vehicular frustration.

Always vying for the top spot with minivans were SUV's - mainly for the forward vision blocking component. The marketing juggernauts in the auto industry have certainly done their job selling the American public on the SUV image I thought. It's a certainty that 99.9% of the people who buy them will never venture off-road...at least not intentionally. I felt that their main purpose was increased profit for the car company. Did you know that SUV's can bring up to 83% profit from a single sale? Besides, real off-road people drive Jeeps and 4x4 pickups. In fact, the majority of SUV's stay in 2-wheel drive mode for the duration of their lifespan. As a result, based on my personal prejudice and less than Dian Fossy-like observations, I had neatly stereotyped SUV drivers into 2 categories...

1. Well Kept Trophy Wives - These ladies usually drive Range Rovers, Escalades or any Mercedes SUV. They drive their expensive behemoths to meet their peers at Starbucks for grande skim lattes after dropping the kids off at daycare and their morning workout (with their personal trainer) at the local upscale gym. They loudly converse about the latest educational toy that little Trevor is already to advanced to learn anything from, their husbands brilliant presentation to the star client (that they actually prepared), or yesterday's Oprah. In these conversations, they wait to talk as opposed to listen. Their social circle demands the "urban warrior" cache of an SUV, which usually has a window sticker proclaiming the name of the daycare/private school their kids attend. They couldn't possibly bear the "soccer mom" social stigma that comes with driving a minivan.
2. Compensating Single Jackasses - These obnoxious extroverts drive the biggest, most expensive SUV's they can get their hands on. More often than not they are over 30 and given to displays of unparalleled douchebaggery. He drives an SUV because nothing else has a sturdy enough suspension and enough room to carry his enormous ego. He has an in-truck stereo that drowns out most 747's in full throttle. They add (at least) 22 inch wheels and 22 square feet of misc. retina-burning bling to their sport utility just in case you didn't hear them coming. They can usually be seen attempting to drive their SUV as if it were a Ferrari while on the cell phone. It's often a guy who's vertically challenged or morbidly obese. He has a personalized plate to draw further attention to himself. I'll use as an example that guy who terrorizes the streets of Plead Guilty County, MD in his red Dodge Durango. Those of you who live in the area know who I'm talking about. The one with the vanity plate that says "HUNGLO". Like I said...compensating.

Anyway, after Andrea informed me that Ariel would soon have a sibling, we began to contemplate the purchase of a larger vehicle. We were already executing contortionist-like maneuvers getting Ariel and her arsenal of accoutrement's in/out of the Mazda 626/Audi A4, especially in tight spaces like parking lots. We would need something that would accommodate us, 2 small children and the various things that must travel everywhere with them. Andrea wanted something that had amenities, good line of site and a level of comfort that she was used to or better. I wanted something with good ingress/egress, a decent amount of power (ok, more than a decent amount) and the ability to carry a bunch of crap from Home Depot. We both wanted the highest level of safety. The answer was clear (note to all you unmarried folks - the answer is never clear in these situations)....

• Andrea's clear answer = SUV
• My clear answer = Avant (note: "Avant" is a bombastic word meaning "fancy European station wagon")

...in the vainglorious words of Michael Buffer, "Let's get ready to rumble!!!". Take note: neither of us mentioned the word "minivan".

Now I'm sure that many of you reading this understand Andrea's choice and wonder what meds I must have been on to even mention a station wagon. Nothing in my history would indicate the thought of a wagon. I've always had a fondness for low slung coupes or sports sedans. All of my cars (with the exception of that Pinto I had in HS) had been nimble, fast and of European descent ...kinda like Tiger's side-pieces. I was arguing for a wagon because I didn't want an SUV or (God forbid) a minivan. If you have need for the cargo room of an SUV/minivan, there is no other sane argument for a loser cruiser. Also, as a self proclaimed auto enthusiast, an avant had tuner potential. An avant was usually a wagon version of a very potent German sports sedan(ex. Audi S4 Avant, Mercedes E Class AMG Wagon), offered for those of us who want to have our cake and to eat it too. So it's only truthful to say that I had my ulterior motives for a station wagon.

Back in the day, nobody ever really wanted, but settled for a station wagon. They were the homely, road-going beasts that more often than not had fake wood unceremoniously glued onto the sides in an ill-fated attempt to make them more attractive. Alas, they were practical for a family. They had the ability to carry a bunch of people and their mountain of crap when nothing else could. They were ponderous mammoths that phlegmatically wallowed through every corner, school zone and A&P parking lot. They had zero sex appeal. Station wagons were the nerdy kid in class who wasn't necessarily all that smart either. In short, they were automotive social suicide. Then in the early 80's, a new nerdy daft kid came to town. The station wagon saw itself driven to the brink of extinction by the introduction of the minivan, or as I like to call it, Loser Cruiser 2.0.

The concept of a "mini"van was not new. In fact, minivans can trace their ancestry back to 1936 with the arrival of the Stout Scarab, an offbeat motorcar which featured the first use of a contemporary monospace design. In 1949 and 1950, the DKW Shnellaster and VW Type 2 came to the market respectively. The former featured a transversely mounted engine powering front-wheel drive, the latter adapted a bus-shaped body to a stretched Beetle chassis. In 1983, Chrysler Corp put this hodgepodge of ideas together along with flexible seating and a load-flat cargo area. This witches brew was poured on top of the trusty K-car platform and viola(!) the first modern minivan, the Dodge Caravan was served to the public with a side of wood (see picture). With few notable exceptions, this was the basic architecture of every minivan in production right up to today.

So Andrea and I were at a crossroads. She wanted a Nissan Armada or Caddy Escalade. I wanted a VW Passat or Audi A6 Avant. She wouldn't consider an avant because it is after all, a station wagon. I argued that the few modern avants available were amenity-laden, practical and attractive. I cited the current crop of Volvo, BMW, Mercedes and of course Audi wagons. She counters that they were all expensive and "attractive is a stretch". I argued that the SUV's she chose were equally if not more expensive. At that point, she made herself clear. "I'm not driving a station wagon. I'm just not."

I understood Andrea's attraction to an SUV. They sit high and have a great line of sight. They can carry alot of things and people. For many, SUV's give them a sense of power and control. They feel safe and in command of the road. They are masculine. They have swagger. Simply put, SUV's are the alpha male NFL linebackers of the road. I had to argue however that "Most are also expensive to maintain, awkward to get in and out of, guzzle gas and have a jarring ride. They are essentially enclosed pickup trucks that never stray from the beaten path" I said. She was unswayed.

During the course of this great debate we had plans to visit some relatives down south. My mother and sister were going with us, so the plan was to rent an SUV to get us all there in one vehicle. As fate would have it the rental place had no SUV's available, only one lonely Ford Aerostar...a minivan. With no other options at our disposal, we loaded up and made our way down the road and back. During the trip a surprising thing happened. Although unspoken, we both started opening up to the idea of owning a minivan. I had been so averse to the concept that I fully expected to become physically ill just sitting in the drivers seat. I felt that my body would abhorrently reject it like an incompatible donated kidney. It didn't, and the virtues of a minivan started to emerge. The positives for our life situation were impossible to ignore. The ride was comfortably car-like, not joltingly truck-like. The drivers seat sat high enough to give an unobstructed view over traffic. Gas mileage was pretty darn good. Andrea even remarked that the sliding doors and low floor made it easy to get people and things in/out without high lifting and impossible contortions. It made every task easier. Based on that trip, I reluctantly came to the conclusion that the best vehicle for us would be a minivan.

Andrea wasn't convinced. She was dead set on an SUV. Driving a minivan meant accepting the "scrapbooking mom" image and all of the stereotypes that go with it. Just a little bit of one's fun & sexy image dies a quiet death behind the wheel of a minivan. She refused to be painted with that brush. I then began what I called "Mission Minivan: A Cargo Space Odyssey". I had to convince Andrea to give in. I devised a comparison of the Nissan Armada and Nissan Quest to illustrate the similarities and differences. I won't bore you with the itemized comparison I composed, but brand new and fully equipped the two stacked up like this....

• Armada - 12 to 17 mpg - $54,510
• Quest - 19 to 24 mpg - $44,695

...that's a $9,815 and significant mpg difference. The only real incongruity between the two was engine (V8 in the Armada, V6 in the Quest), 4x4 drive (which isn't offered on the Quest) and run-flat tires (not offered on the Armada), otherwise they were equipped exactly the same including NAV,bluetooth, DVD, backup camera, heat memory seats/mirrors/pedals, etc.

After being presented with the above numbers and acknowledging that the pros of a minivan far outweighed the few cons, Andrea still wouldn't acquiesce. At that point I simply said "We're getting a minivan. You know as well as I do that it makes perfect sense for us." The look she gave me was one of pure venom. We both stood there arms folded, eyes locked. After a long, uncomfortable silence, she replied "I want it to be blue." and walked away.

As is my practice, I scoured the earth for a previously owned example as I had no intention of paying upwards of 40 large for anything that ultimately would have cheesy goldfish, melted crayons and half-eaten PBJ's haphazardly strewn from front to rear. After an extensive internet search, we found a blue one (fully loaded) in Minnesota with a mere 8000 miles on it. To quote that kid from Animal House, "Thank you God!".

I no longer hate minivans. In fact I think ours is a pretty darn fly minivan (how's that for oxymoronic?). Although Andrea has never admitted to me that she actually likes the Quest, two years in I still overhear her extol it's virtues and her satisfaction with it to friends and relatives. In our situation, it truly does make everything easier. From grocery getting to bulk transporting to people mover.

I still have a preference for well built European models (stay with me - still talkin' 'bout cars here people) and love the feeling only a German car with sporting intentions seems to give me, but I've joined the ranks of an overlooked demographic. I"m now the guy chauffering munchkins to playdates and swim class. My kids have busier social calenders than I've EVER had! I can get everything I need from Home Depot in one trip now. Grocery bags have their own little hooks to hold them. Need to transport 3 kids, 3 adults, food, towels, portable potty and toys to the beach? You ain't said nuthin' but a word. The Quest handles it all with aplomb. Yes, I look like a dork behind the wheel, but Andrea most certainly does not. She manages to make it look good. I think the wheels and angular design give me some cool points when I'm driving, but hey, it's the dad life and I love living it even in a minivan. Loser cruiser? I think not. Swaggerwagon! What do you think? Feel free to share....
The Swagger Wagon - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ql-N3F1FhW4&feature=related%EF%BB%BF
The Dad Life - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZa7hU6tP_s

1939 Stout Scarab

1949 DKW Shnellaster

1950 Volkswagen Type 2

1983 Dodge Caravan

The Bach(elor)-mobiles of yesteryear.

Living the dad life with Philip, the kids rides, and the swagger wagon. Ariel took this picture.