We All Live in a Red 'Check Engine' Light

A warning light came on in my car. One of those mysterious little graphics that-- to the Automotively Unschooled such as myself-- are more frightening by the fact that they're lit, than any idea what the frig it's supposed to symbollize.

"Crikey-moses, I think my personal exploration submarine is going to blow!"

Realizing there probably wasn't enough room under the spare tire for a hidden marine submersible--- disappointing: I'd had my heart set on seeing those transparent fish who are their own flashlights-- I dug out the owner's manual.

It turns out the meaning of the warning sensor is actually more convoluted than a 60s psychedelic musical cartoon based around an excess of Liverpudlians cohabitating in a sunny steel shark.

In fact, it could indicate any one of the following:


Meaning One:
Something is wrong with your emissions. Which means something is wrong with your engine. Or transaxle. Or exhaust, intake, or fuel system. Possibly air freshener.

Which means your car will either stall out on a four-lane highway where you become instant paté-in-a-can for packs of very lost dingoes... Or, you'll make it to the mechanics only to learn everything but the cupholders are ruined, and you owe them your first born child and/or spun gold as payment.


Meaning Two:
The engine, which has tragically bad aim when it's been drinking heavily (especially the cheap stuff), has misfired. Giving itself a flesh wound. This may or may not require service, depending on how macho it is. VW Bugs will ask for floral-printed Band-Aids (ouchless) and a hug from the nearest maintenance man. Dodge Rams will only cry on the inside.


Meaning Three:
The emissions system is simply confused and cranky. The car may be feeling the effects of a loose gas cap. Rain might be frizzing its electrics. Its gas tank might be queasy from a new brand of fuel. Or the car might be held sway by the light of a full moon and Team Jacob. If the latter, druids should be called in to make the light go off. Though, it may go off on its own, after it's had a good cry.

Or not.

But maybe.

So you could wait.

Or you could explode in a fiery ball of flame and rubber Hello Kitty floormats.

Your call, really.

The funny thing is, as far as I can tell, the information on the problem is really no different than the Service Engine Soon light. I've written about that before. Does the Mini-Sub-looking icon indicate a greater level of peril than the big square "Service Engine Soon" icon?

Or does it simply mean that when I finally bow to the power of the light and take my car in, the mechanic will tell me it has... oh, I don't know... a small case of the Blue Meanies...

...And that "that'll be $700 Meanie-Extraction-and-Light-Resetting, Ma'am"?

If the last one's the case, I might just tell them to leave the Meanies there. I like company for my commutes. As long as they wouldn't go screwing with my stereo, we'd be cool.

And speaking of music. All together now... Everybody...

"We all live in a red 'Check Engine' light...
Red 'Check Engine' light...
Red 'Check Engine' light..."

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New Year's Resolutions for Somebody Else

Well, last year, I'd posted about the things I resolved not to do for 2009.

This year, I've decided to post suggested New Year's Resolutions for people who are not, in fact, me.

See, I know me. I know that I could vow to... oh... eat fewer french fries. Or to exercise for two hours every day. Or to own only one pair of black shoes at a time.

But I also know I'll have forgotten about each and every one of those resolutions by the Ides of March. (Partly, it's because I get distracted, wondering when we stopped using the word "ides" to mean mid-month-- I mean, no one ever tells you your credit card bill is due "ides-ish.")

So, I figure if I want to make some resolutions that are going to fall through anyway, I might as well make them for someone else. Someone who can really use them.

Like this:

• Charlie Sheen. Charlie... dude. Enough with the hookers and wife-beating and weaponry. It's getting old and boring, like Viagra jokes on a long-drawn-out sitcom. (Not that you know anything about that.) Surprise us for 2010. Join a cult or organized religious group or something. It could even successfully spill over into your series: "Two and a Half Monks." You're good at physical comedy, so the vow of silence shouldn't be a problem, plus, it will cut costs in the writing department. Think about it.

• People Who Comment Passionately on News Sites. Did you know that you can make your paranoid rants, non sequiter commentary, and parroted talking points in reaction to news articles even more effective? Well, you can! For 2010, consider learning to spell "losers" and "riddance." "Looser" is what happens to your waistband when you drop a pants size. And "riddens" is just an overzealous misapplication of Hooked on Phonics. Calling a group of people "loosers" is, perhaps, not the way to establish the intellectual credibility you're seeking. I mean, I know you could also avoid name-calling completely and debate the actual issues like an adult. But I recognize that's probably asking a lot. It's "losers." Good "riddance" to them. And you're welcome.
  

• Spammers. Spammers, I understand you're really devoted to your craft. I know you are desperate to have your unsubtle sales messaging nestled into the comments section of my blogs like a happily feasting tick on an overweight Golden Retriever. But did you know that even if, for some reason, I accidentally approve one of those nuggets of nonsense, when you place it on a blog where the audience doesn't read Japanese... or Russian... or French.... or ancient Mesopotamian.... you are, in fact, wasting a spam? So for 2010, why not resolve to actually, oh, do some research on the blogs you're spamming? Spam English-speaking blogs in English. Japanese in Japanese. Don't insert comments responding to a post about technology, when the post is actually about green beans. This is not to say I'll ever approve your comments. But at least you can say you've elevated your game. And that should make you feel all warm and gooey inside. Again, like that tick.

• Jon Gosselin. As the clock hits midnight on New Year's Eve and it ticks through those very first fifteen minutes of 2010, look around you, Jon. Notice the lack of TV cameras directed at you. Observe the place where groupies do not drool. Think about those first fifteen minutes of this new decade. Recognize they are not very much like those fifteen minutes of fame you had back in 2009. And then resolve to stop trying to get them back with manufactured drama that comes off like it's been scripted by a high schooler whose watched too many Melrose Place reruns. Yup, Jon, it's time you leave the attention-getting-with-no-observable-talent to Paris Hilton. It's her Niche Super Power. There can be only One. Move along, sonny.

Well, those are the main Resolutions I'd wanted to offer up. I suppose, in reading this over, I really should step forward, and resolve something myself. Like to be less sarcastic for 2010. But---

Hey, did you ever wonder why we only ever hear about "ides" in relation to March? Did Shakespeare completely corner the market on "ides"?

Oh, sorry-- what was I saying before?

Well, nevermind. Happy New Year to you all! And thanks for helping to make it a great 2009!

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