Infiniti, and Beyond Stupidity

Have you noticed that no matter where you are in the world, if you turn on your TV there are ads on it? These days it's mostly this ad for an automobile called the Infiniti JX Crossover.



In previous sessions of internetting, I've looked at other vehicles designed to keep bad drivers on the road, like the Mercedes E Class (E apparently standing for "Enabler"). Now Infiniti is throwing its hat into the ring—"hat" being a car with idiocy-cancelling technology, and "the ring" being the streets where the drivers of those hats are apparently trying their damnedest to run you over anyway.

The premise of this Infiniti ad is that when you buy a car you have a choice of "any old thing," or the one vehicle that can protect you from all of the unavoidable dangers that lurk in the big bad world around you, even if the world around you is a beautiful, affluent suburb with low crime and good schools. Because even there you are most likely going to drive like an idiot.

Like this guy, who still hasn't figured out that there's a hedge next to his driveway that obscures his view of the sidewalk.

Uhhh... where's the—why can't I—uhhh...

And who hasn't realized that his car is so tall that it's impossible to see anything that's behind it.



And who spent $40,000 on a car but is too dumb to notice that it has a rear-view camera.



And who hasn't had the thought that maybe one of his 19 passengers could back him out of the driveway.



And who is still slow to step on the brake even after the car has indicated there's something back there.

Uhhh, this one, right?

Of all the people in that car, or SUV, or "crossover," or whatever they call a motor vehicle these days, this guy is probably the last one who should be driving. His reaction time in an emergency is as abysmal as Mrs. Lundegaard's was in Fargo.



At least once she realized there was a problem, she put some hustle into it.

There are plenty of reasons to be critical of this apparent clod, but on the other hand, he actually may have a good explanation for looking perplexed all the time. There are some weird things going on in that neighborhood. Take, for example, this little boy with the cartoonishly made-up doe-eyes:



—and the superhuman strength to push his plastic cart 30 feet in front of himself.



With mutant kids like that running loose, I'd be on edge all the time too.

Anyway, at least this Menace to Society Maplewood, with his piss-poor driving skills, has some capacity for self-reflection:


Right after the near miss he shares a furtive, knowing glance with his wife, which could mean one of two things: either they are aware that they are complete morons and really ought to do something about it; or that the time is right for Cialis.

Whichever it is, at least there's a chance they'll relinquish the front seats, along with control of the vehicle—which, coincidentally, would please the manufacturer: in spite of all the features Infiniti has loaded into this car, it appears they'd still rather it wasn't driven it at all:



"Professional driver. Closed course. Do not attempt."

As in, do not even attempt so much as backing out of your driveway in this vehicle, because no matter how many cameras and safety features and automatic braking systems are put into it, if you're as stupid as this guy you're still going to find a way to run over the neighbors' kids.

Not that the mutant super-child with the eye-liner is in any real danger—he would just hoist the Infiniti over his head like little Clark Kent.



At least then the family inside the Infiniti would finally be safe.

Hybrid and Electric Cars: Confusing "Less Bad" with "Fantastic"

An advertising trend has developed in recent years in which car companies fantasize that wild animals endorse their more or less fuel-efficient cars. Here’s one of them:



As you can see, the Hyundai Sonata has a lot of things going for it: Adorable animals! Salt-N-Pepa! Voice-over by “The Dude”! Or maybe it’s that Crazy Heart guy, but whatever! It’s great! And the animals themselves are excited about the car because not only is it “easy on the environment,” but it’s also “easy on the eyes.”

Sadly these critters may eventually find out that the electric power helping to propel hybrid cars does not, in fact, grow on trees. It comes from power plants that generally are not easy on the eyes or the environment.


Get up on this!

Actually that's not really true. It's the fully electric cars that are plugged into the factory-fueled power grid to recharge, while a hybrid's engine draws electricity from a battery pack that is recharged every time you drive the car. So maybe the forest animals have good reason to celebrate—as long as it's a hybrid and not an electric car roaring through their habitat.

Even so, it seems a little presumptuous to decide what kind of car the bears and prairie dogs approve of. I mean, maybe they'd be at least slightly concerned about the toxic chemicals leaking from the car's battery pack after it reaches the end of its life and ends up in a landfill? Ahh, but there's no way I'm going to out-hippie Jeff Bridges, so I'll just take his word for it here.

Meanwhile, in places like Kentucky—where Mountaintop Removal Mining extracts the fossil fuels that are used to make the electricity that powers the growing number of electric cars—the woodland creatures are too busy avoiding earth-scalping explosions and looking for uncontaminated drinking water to get excited about a car that finally gets good gas mileage. (Sure, it sounds benevolent, but it turns out Mountaintop Removal isn't all that good for the mountains.)

Anyway, there's no denying that hybrid cars are a step in the right direction. Electric cars, too, are surely an improvement over the gas-guzzlers that have yet to relinquish their grasp on our driving populace. Electric vehicles provide an opportunity, though not a guarantee, to greatly reduce our dependence on fossil fuels—making good on that opportunity still requires charging the car with electricity produced through alternative (aka "Bambi-approved") processes instead of the usual (aka "earth-raping", "Bambi's-mama-killing") methods. If you drive a fully electric car in the U.S. you will slightly reduce the amount of greasy oil money going to tyrants and oligarchs on the other side of the world, but in place of that you're contributing to the flaying of those purple mountain majesties here in your own back yard. (Unless you happen to be Ed Begley, Jr.)


Blight on Bald Mountain

Now before I get too far off track, it's worth noting that the furry, bumbling animals in the Hyundai ad can't rationalize all these complex environmental issues. But by that same token, they can’t rationalize anything to do with automobiles at all—which brings me to my real issue with the Hyundai ad: whether powered by gasoline, electricity, coal or fairy-farts, as far as the woodland creatures are concerned, a car is nothing but a death machine.

In fact I suspect the attention all the animals are paying to the Sonata cruising through the forest isn't so much excitement as it is vigilant dread. Unless being clumsy and falling off a tree stump is a sign of approval in the animal world.

The creatures in this Jeep Liberty ad, on the other hand, are positively joyous:



That SUV is lucky if it gets 20 miles per gallon, and the commercial makes no claims of environmental friendliness, so I'm not sure what those critters are so happy about. Though based on their supernatural singing abilities I must assume they're the ghosts of all the animals he's run down while joy-riding through the woods. So much for "Rock Me Gently."

December? Remember To Be Financially Well Endowed

For three years now, the people of these-here United States have been struggling through a terrible recession. The worst, we are told, since the Great Depression! But that doesn't mean we should give in to despair, or give up the comforts we're accustomed to. No matter how bad it seems, there are some things we can still rely on—like the annual holiday ads in which happy rich people surprise their significant others by buying them luxury cars.



What could be more uplifting than this couple of smiling, post-hipster yuppies, so breezily fluent with hand-held devices and so deep of pockets? You can already tell how sweet she is, buying him that car, but notice the short "do" she's sporting?—most likely she sold her beautiful long hair to pay for the $200 smart-phone she gave him, solely for the purpose of playfully alerting him to the fact that his real gift is a car with a price tag in excess of the U.S. median income.

Oh yes, it's a beautiful scene of domestic bliss. (It also gives new meaning to the words "White Christmas.") And yet it seems something is missing. Well, their abode is conspicuously lacking a fixed gear bike, but that's probably just because West Elm doesn't sell them yet. Anyway, it's not that. It's something less tangible.

But let's not lose the holiday spirit; here's another tableau of cheerful generosity.



This version of the Lexus Christmas Fable is in many ways the opposite of the last one. We are spirited away from the young Caucasian couple in their urban penthouse loft apartment to a suburban house, inhabited by an African American family. And while the young urbanites bought a white car, this family went with a black one. Lexus has something for everyone!

As a side note, I'm troubled by the way the woman in this ad is audibly gasping for air every 3 seconds.



She might want to see a cardiologist about that. Or at the very least, an acting coach.

Potentially imminent cardiac events aside, both ads offer visions of caring and gracious people filled with the spirit of giving. So why is it that watching these feel-good domestic vignettes, instead of filling me with holiday cheer, makes me want to stab my TV with a turkey fork?

Yikes—hostility! I need to clear my head—let me take a deep breath and meditate on this.

Hmm.

(I like to intone the syllable "hmm" when I meditate—it's like a less embarrassing form of "Om.")

Aha—I think I have it. What seems to be lacking from these ads is something called "shame."

It's not that I believe well-off, gleeful people shouldn't buy $60K stocking stuffers for their loved ones. It's just that it's hard to believe, given the economic climate, that a company like Lexus could be so tone deaf in their TV ads.

Hmm.

Then again, it's not hard to believe at all, since being shamelessly tone deaf is a cornerstone of luxury car marketing.

To wit: while the common rabble are risking hefty doses of pepper spray at the hands of law enforcement to protest economic inequality (or just pepper spraying each other in order to get their hands on a reduced-price X-Box), Lexus persists with portrayals of the "better-offs" saying to their domestic partners—by way of wedding-proposal-worthy gimmicks—We have so much disposable income that I didn't feel it necessary to consult with you before I bought you what most people would consider a very major purchase, complete with leather interior, moon roof and multiple climate zones. Probably heated seats, too, but to be honest I wasn't paying that close attention.

I was going to complain that these ads are obnoxious because they rub rich people's riches in the faces of the dirty-and-poor-rest-of-us; however, having watched upwards of 4,000 Republican presidential debates in the last 8 weeks, I have become sensitive to the sensitivities of the mega-rich, and so I do not wish to perpetuate "class warfare." (Mostly because I hate being guilty of something when I don’t understand what it means.) With that in mind, like an erstwhile Republican-hopeful I am repackaging my irritation with an unassailable pro-family spin.

Lexus seems unaware that television is not the exclusive domain of potential Lexus customers. In fact—and I'm just pulling this number out of the air—something like, I don't know, 99% of TV viewers in this country are in no position to buy a Lexus. And a lot of them are hard working people with children who require food and/or electronics and a spouse whose affection is entirely reliant on the reassurance provided by expensive gifts. So the main effect of these Lexus ads (in which purchasing a Lexus appears effortless for those with love in their hearts) is to make gift-giving spouses feel ashamed and inadequate. And, that, you see, is an attack on the American Family. (See how I twisted that around? I guess all that debate watching is finally paying off.)

But do not despair, for there are still good tidings which may yet bring comfort and joy. If you are just such a sad but family-oriented gift-giver (a.k.a. a TV viewer of limited means), there is one remedy, which is to purchase jewelry from Kay Jewelers.



While not nearly as extravagant, this too will allow you to curry favor with your spouse, because as you have heard, “Every kiss begins with Kay.” So maybe you can't afford a fancy car, but things can still work out for you; Kay's slogan is, of course, the most subtle way of reminding consumers of the age-old social contract: Giving jewelry will get you what's colloquially known as "ass."

I can't help but wonder, if a relatively affordable diamond necklace will allow you to "surround her with the strength of your love," what's the result when you buy your mate a luxury car? I don’t travel in the right circles to speak the secret language, but I suspect that for those in the upper financial echelons of our society these car ads include coded intimations of copious amounts of freaky, perhaps cocaine-fueled, spousal, uh, "heated seats" in the roomy leather interior of the gift-wrapped Lexus ES, in reciprocation for the gifting of such vehicle.

Hmm.

At least that part is pro-family, more or less.

Acura: The Elegance of Ugliness

Luxury car ads have made me a little bit crazy for years. Mainly this is because, as I see it, they have an ugly tendency of pandering to the moneyed egos of a certain class of people who are entirely devoid of empathy. In recent weeks I’ve started to think that in addition to courting those particular consumers, they’re also deliberately pissing off people like me (whose egos lack the financial resources necessary to smother their basic humanity). What else could explain this shamelessly irritating ad campaign?



“Aggression in its most elegant form.”
At first it doesn't seem so bad. There's an Acura juxtaposed with a boxing glove. And it's not just any old mitt, but rather a finely pedigreed—probably vintage—glove of brown leather: an object evoking the era of proper gentlemen, refined but physically adept, who—when not on safari or exploring the Amazon—would likely be found sipping cognac while surrounded by leather-bound books, old maps and astrolabes. And that glove's not made of just any old leather; it's some sort of exotic, textured hide, that maybe once had feathers or scales on it. It could have come from an ostrich, or even a gryphon or a basilisk!


For the truly refined individual, only the integument of an endangered/fictional animal will do.

Regardless of whatever fanciful creature gave its skin to allow proper gents to pummel the daylights out of one another without bruising their own well-moisturized knuckles, there's an analogy at work here: like the boxing glove, the car is, aesthetically speaking, all "fancy-pants," but metaphorically it's meant for pounding people into the dirt. Mind you, the Acura people, or their lawyers anyway, would say it's not intended to intimate any kind of violence, but merely the power and precision of a skilled athlete (in this case a particular sort of pugilist, who happens to appreciate a well-crafted clobbering-gauntlet).

Personally I find it hard to believe that this ad was not intended to exude at least a subtext of violent domination; however, Acura's campaign features other ads which might lend credence to the athletic artistry interpretation. These other ads can be seen on TV—I just started with the magazine ad because it was easier to fit onto my scanner. Anyway, having since mastered the art of cutting and pasting a line of HTML, here's one of those TV spots:



That's the athlete Calvin Johnson. His refined aggression is directed into the bone-crushing sport of football. Well, maybe that's not helping the case. Let's try another one:



Now, that is World Champion and Olympic Gold Medalist skier Ashleigh McIvor. And that's a commercial with a different angle—you'll notice that when a luxury car ad omits masculine power, it creates a vacuum that can be filled only with female sexuality. But no matter: the point is Ashleigh is a skilled athlete in the non-contact solo sport of ski-cross, where being aggressive means "attacking" the corners and making skilled calculations at speeds rivaling that of, say, a luxury car.

So there you have it. If the solo cello music wasn't enough to convince you, the association of an attractive, female practitioner of an aggressive yet non-violent sport should surely be persuasion enough that Acura intends only benevolent connotations in these commercials, right? There's only one problem. No matter how positive and benign a person taking part in one of these ads may be, once you put the word "aggression" in the context of cars, you are talking about road rage. You are talking about the behavior of people who are, as the kids say, "A-holes."

Ultimately Acura is peddling "aggression," not "being aggressive in an artful way." They can dress the concept up nicely and call it "elegant," but really it comes down to the appeal of revving a big engine—a display of the kind of power that is the result of having an expensive car and having a foot, which is not the same as the power or aggressive instinct that comes from spending years of your life developing a skill.

The advertising goal here is to appeal to base desires while convincing the target market that they are superior to everyone else who is motivated by those same desires. All the common rabble are power hungry and arrogant. But this—this is poised arrogance—so you can feel good about being a solipsistic asshole. Sorry, I meant "A-hole"—I'm trying to keep things elegant.

On A Roll: Parallel Parking

In my last post I expanded on my earlier examination of automobiles' "trending" toward bumperlessness, and the subsequent new crop of bumper-fixtures which are taking the place of those old fenders. (Come to think of it, I can't quite remember if I "expanded" or "expounded"—I'll have to go back and read the post again myself.)


Where the bumpers at?

Throughout the late '90s and into the aughts bumpers faded away, as if whiling away their golden years hidden in nursing homes, and in recent years a new generation of half-assed youth—"Bumper Badgers" and bolt-on battering rams—took their place. It's like the cycle of life, death and rebirth, played out in steel, chrome and fiberglass. The old crop decays and is subsumed by the earth (or chassis, in this case), and becomes the fertile soil from which new life springs forth.

Or some shit like that. I'm sorry, I've been combating recent sleepless nights with a bottle of Percocet and the DVD boxed set of the Discovery Channel's mesmerizing, epic, and brutal Planet Earth, so my thoughts are "trending" toward grim and ponderous (if a bit warm and fuzzy). In my impaired state I can't really even take credit for that previous paragraph—I was just taking dictation from the voice of Sigourney Weaver in my head.

As I was saying, I've been on a bit of a roll with topics of the automotive variety. Today, hopefully, I can get the last of that out of my system so that hereafter (not "the great hereafter," mind you, just the garden variety "hereafter," which really just means "after") I can return to other topics, like ads about cars.

Other than the metal railings that adorn both ends of that Smart car from the other day, I noticed one other remarkable thing.



In an average sized parking space that car has oodles of room all around it. There's so much room there, you could probably park another Smart car. Unfortunately this is the exception to the rule; we're still in the age of SUVs, which as ages go is proving to be quite epic. Which is to say tedious and neverending, like Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon.



Being this the age of Sport Utility Vehicles, I recently had occassion to drive a "Mercury Mariner" SUV, the occassion being that I temporarily procured it for the purpose of transporting "flat packed furniture." While parallel parking this vehicle, I was surprised to find a beeping noise that alerted me to my proximity to the car behind me. With the increasing or decreasing distance to an object, the frequency (and annoyingness) of the beeps increased or decreased. While somewhat irksome, this feature simplified the task of parking quite a bit. (It also obviated the need for my usual parallel parking routine; depending on how nice of a vehicle I'm driving, I'll either get out of the car to repeatedly gauge the margin of safety, or I'll just ram the car behind me once to break the unbearable tension and confirm exactly how far back I can go.)

And that was a Mariner from a couple years back. The newer ones now have video and sonar and a bunch of other junk:




Things certainly have changed. Parallel parking back in the good old days—the 1970s, for instance—consisted of boat-sized old Pontiacs, Cadillacs, and Chevy Novas engaging in a lot of back and forth, fender-knocking movements. (I suspect this is where the term "bumping uglies" originated.) In the current age of delicate glossy finishes, high-tech gadgetry, and overall sanitized living, parallel parking is becoming a matter of precise, computer-assisted micro-driving with cameras, lights and audio-alerts. These are designed to prevent your vehicle from ever touching another car's bumper, thus eliminating the risk of three horrific potential outcomes: setting off somebody's car alarm; your BMW contracting VD from the neighboring Hyundai; or enraging the driver of the impacted car, who has been sitting in his driver's seat for the last 20 minutes with the engine running for no discernable reason (and without even the decency to curb his own emissions by running a hose from the tailpipe back into the passenger compartment).

Speaking of car alarms, I thought that horrifying trend had died out, but lately again I'm finding myself tortured by that familiar curbside wailing. Is it possible they did go away briefly, only to return like so many other retro fads? It's not such a far-fetched notion. In fact, I'm beginning to think that were I to go out "clubbing" (something I rarely have time for, as it interferes with my usual after-dinner chores like ironing my bow ties) I would find that these days kids are dancing around in their high-top Nikes, wearing skinny jeans with leg warmers and setting off car alarms. (Y'all ready for this? Weee Oooo Weee Oooo Bwooooop! Bwooooop! Eee-rrr-eee-rrr bwip bwip bwip)

Finally, to conclude my trend of automotive riffery, I will say that now as in the past cars are irritating, but they're hands down better than Planet Earth DVDs for procuring flat-packed furniture. Also Percocet is handy—not so much for procuring furniture, but just in general.

Anyway, where was I? Right—disc 5, coming right up.

Smart Car, Smarter Bumper

Thanks to my own recent post about cars and their bumpers (or lack thereof), I can't stop staring at parked cars. I'm a bit obsessive to begin with, and now that I've appointed myself an expert in this branch of the automotive sciences, walking down the street I'm like a horticulturalist in a rainforest, or a priest at a day care center.

Just the other day I came upon this Smurf car:


This vehicle is only three apples high.

Instead of marveling at its diminutive size like an ordinary person, I thought "I bet it's got some kind of crazy bumper protection going on!" And sure enough I discovered a metal bar across the grill.


Pictured actual size

It might seem absurd to have a handicapped bathroom-stall rail bolted to the front of your toy car, but in rugged Park Slope you have to be able to hold your own.



I suspect I may have started out that neighborhood jaunt accompanied by other people, possibly on the way to brunch at one of Park Slope's many fine brunching establishments (where the omelettes are organic and the lines to get in rival those of a new Apple product launch). But memory of such details (and the chance of any companions waiting for me) were obliterated by my obsessive desire to see what sort of protective encumbrances the other end of that tiny vehicle might present me. Which brings us to the rear.



You may believe that pair of metal rods to be a bumper protector, but by this point I've seen enough automotive add-ons to rule that out. Sure, it might double as a fender-shield, but that's not its primary function. I suspected it could be a set of curtain rods for a nice tie-back and valance combination. But standing there on the sidewalk, the enlightenment of familiarity struck me—I'd seen bars like those before:



This is New York City, after all, and I'd bet this tiny car is owned by someone who lives in a studio apartment, and who is so concerned about maximizing space that she or he has outfitted their micro-mobile with a couple of Grundtal racks from Ikea in order to make additional breathing room in their kitchenette.





If that's a pot rack, you might wonder, why is it empty? Well, my literalist friend, seeing as the picture was taken at roughly brunch o'clock, I have to assume the owner was cooking. And if the brunch-date goes well, that car and its loaded racks will make for a nice "Just Married" getaway car. With all the pots and pans clanging around, no tin cans will need to be tied to the bumper as the couple of happy Smurfs drives off to their awaiting honeymoon toadstool.

Car Bumpers: Don't Knock It 'Til You Have The Money To Pay For It

Mad Max: Beyond Union Street

I appreciate cars as much as the next doofus on the street, but I don't consider myself a "car person." Sure, I use them from time to time, and when I have the occasion to do so I find that I really enjoy the time to myself that driving affords me. I never listen to the radio anymore, except when I'm in a car by myself. And I love the exposure to the unknown that comes from listening to those weird channels down at the left end of the dial—there's nothing like the soul-tingling first strains of a 6 a.m. raga as the pre-dawn sky infiltrates the urban darkness with pale blue luminescence. Or if I'm lucky, the car that I'm borrowing has satellite radio, and I can catch up on some Howard Stern, now featuring the uncensored C-word.

(For the record I don't have a car of my own because I have nowhere to put it—my apartment is small enough as it is, and it's plenty tricky trying to justify to my "special lady" the need for space to house another bicycle, let alone a used Nissan.)

While I'm not anti-auto, I have little interest in thinking about what cars look like, or what they have under the hood, and I certainly can't be bothered with obsessing about the accumulation of either mud on the outside, or banana peels on the floor of the back seat. (I can't keep pulling over to look for a garbage can every time I have a snack, can I? I mean, let's be realistic here.)

Despite my inattentiveness to the non-utilitarian aspects of motor vehicles, I'm sensitive to the fact that my disinterest is not shared by everyone else. It doesn't take a long time living on this planet to realize that the frustrations and shortcomings of a great many of its residents are offset by the distractions of fawning over prized motor-vehicles. For example, there are absurdly colorful and over-horsepowered Asian motorcyles (favored in the NYC area by black dudes who for some reason adorn their heads with WWII German Army-style helmets, with I'm not sure what degree of historical/ironic awareness); boatloads of sport utility vehicles, which usually see only a small degree of utility, and even less sport; and of course, a myriad of Toyota Priuses (or is it Prii?), the favored car of self-important do-gooders—though with those miniscule rear windows, it's clear that greater awareness of the world around is not really that high of a priority for their drivers.


More of a sun-roof, isn't it?

While I like cars for their usefulness and convenience, unfortunatley what I see too much of is overblown attentivenes to the aesthetics of cars—a trend perpetuated by both the manufacturers and the end-users. (End-users are doofuses with driver's licences.) Car-makers build to appeal to consumers' egos and libidos, and when they successfully tap into these regions, Practicality quickly takes a back seat—where it finds a dvd player and enough Sponge Bob Square Pants to keep it occupied while the Ego—which is always at the wheel—and its copilot in the passenger seat, Libido, take a drive down Indulgence Avenue. And this is why we ended up with a ridiculous decade-long plague of SUVs.

It's also why car fenders have disappeared from the landscape.

You see, there once was a time when cars were endowed with fore- and aft-mounted protective attachments called “bumpers.” These served to protect your vehicle in the event of a slight physical encounter with another driver’s vehicle, a garbage can, or for those of us who hail from the upper, “countrified” parts of New York State, wayward farm animals.

Over the past decade or so, however, car bumpers have been enveloped by the glossy, eye-catching, and vaguely aerodynamic body-paneling that has left our roads overrun with two-ton jelly beans.



These days, unless you are in a profession that requires you to drive an outdated vehicle (farmer, old-school pimp, college professor), chances are your car is fully encased in fiberglass and plastic, making it more aesthetically pleasing than cars of yesteryear but much more susceptable to damage. Owing to this, you may find that you exist in a state of constant paranoia about the possibility of your car making even the slightest contact with any other object. And if another driver actually bumps your bumper-area with their bumper-area, you’ll both have to go (well, you'll have to wait for the fisticuffs to subside, and then go) to the body shop to have $400 or so worth of work done to restore your respective bumper-regions to their original contour and luster. (And possibly the hospital to restore the original contours of your now knuckled-up face regions.)

Any person I talk to, regardless of the income strata to which they belong, seems acutely concerned with money these days. Yet because of the irresistable appeal of a shinier, sleaker car, no one seems to mind the ridiculous automotive evolution toward bumperlessness and the accompanying increased risk of hefty and wholly unnecessary expenses. Instead, this ego-driven automotive frailty is itself cause to spend more money—on after-market protective products. In a deeply ironic twist that would leave Yakov Smirnov twitching like an overstimulated femme-bot, now you have to protect your bumper, whereas, presumably, in Soviet Russia, bumper protects you!



Civilian drivers have options like the “Bumper Badger,” which should be called the “Bumper Bumper,” because that’s what it is: a bumper you hang out of your trunk to protect your bumper. Professional drivers, also known as "hacks," drive around in yellow taxis which are outfitted with permanently-attached rubber protectors on the outer-edge of the car body. Put simply, these are miniature bumpers designed to protect the plastic body-paneling that covers the actual bumper.



Allow me to sum things up: your entire car has become a delicate and expensive trophy that you must protect with a rubber floor mat hung from out of the trunk. And this, of course, makes your pretty vehicle look like a sloppy piece of crap. It’s the equivalent of a nice sofa covered in protective plastic.


An object lesson in gaining a small benefit at the expense of a big heap of dignity. I suspect the driver wears a fanny-pack.

A brief stroll through Brooklyn's Park Slope neighborhood (home to Volvo-loads of college professors and their ilk) yielded an abundance of the Fenders of Yesteryear.



By the way, in the "tonier" parts of New York City, a car this old would be considered an eyesore, and traffic cops would find an excuse to ticket its owner in a New York minute. (A New York minute is like an ordinary minute, only it's preceeded by the words "New York.")

While the wheel wells of this car are slowly giving way to corrosion due to exposure to the New York elements dating back to before the Lindsay administration, the body appears to be, on the whole, remarkably intact. This impressive longevity surely has been made possible, in part, by the robust bumpers (and by the letter "H" and the number 6, since in Park Slope by law all things must be made relatable to children; "The Slope" caters to children like Times Square caters to tourists).

It may be old, but this is a bumper worthy of note. Not only does it protrude appreciably, it is held out from the car with what appear to be a couple of shock absorbers.



That thing's going to take quite a hit before the impact will do any damage to the rest of the vehicle. And anyone in Park Slope who is still driving an old car like that will have lost their patience with parallel parking long enough ago to put that fender through its paces more times than they've enjoyed a cold Kombucha.

Shortly after this find, I happened across a newer vehicle which illustrates just how fragile is the outer shell of a modern automobile.



And also how hollow.



Mind you, it's not entirely empty in there; note the layer of styrofoam under the exoskeleton. It's nice to know that in your 1500 lb. automobile you and you're family are afforded the same protection had by an 8 lb. toaster oven in it's original packaging, freshly purchased from P.C. Richard. And to be fair, maybe there wasn't always an empty compartment hidden within the faux-fender; judging from the amount of rust accumulated on the clearly non-stainless steel components in there, this accident took place some time ago, and it's entirely plausible that the foam packing peanuts all fell out after the accident.

The further I look into this (figuratively, that is—I didn't want to look any further into that car's bumper for fear of contracting tetanus), the more I'm convinced that a car's protective protuberance is basically akin to a bicycle helmet: it consists of hard foam padding encased in a plastic shell, and rather than reusing it you're supposed to throw it out after the occasion of any potentially damaging impact with the understanding that in serving its purpose its structural integrity has probably been compromised.

The Toyota owner has a choice: either pony up half a week's pay (or as it's known these days, a week's Unemployment) to take care of that gaping eyesore; or, just ignore it. Judging, again, by the block of rust peeking out from the bumper-mound, I think the owner has already made the choice.

I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that the most aesthetically-concerned of human beings are not going to be the most sensible, even when it comes to making choices that in the long run would ensure the aesthetic endurance of their own prized possessions. The little red Volkswagon, which has suffered so many decades in service of its Park Slope-dwelling owner to have developed an angst-ridden existentialist world-view of its very own, is adorned with a dorky but admirably pristine Fender of Yesteryear. The fairly new Toyota, in spite of its shimmery contours and modern safety technology, was quickly transformed (probably by a sub-5 m.p.h. impact in which only one of the vehicles was moving) into an undignified, sloppy piece of crap.



The good news is, you could probably fit a lot of banana peels in there.

Idiocy Assist

I’ve recently learned that high-end cars can do all kinds of things to protect you from your own stupidity. Take the Mercedes E class.



It was once commonly believed that people who drove cars like this possessed superhuman driving abilities, or were just, you know, somehow better than the rest of us. But a glimpse behind the scenes reveals that the cars are doing a lot of the work, and that their owners may in fact have the driving skills of, say, your run-of-the-mill crackhead (the difference between the two types of people being just a matter of how they spend their money).

Let's have a look at the car itself. One of its many exciting features is "Attention Assist," which helps you to drive when you’re not paying attention. How does it work? A light comes on the dashboard that tells you to pay attention.



If you're too tired to watch the road, you might as well be reading some text down near the odometer. Pretty ingenious, really.

Also there's the “Blind Spot Assist,” which not only does a great job of perpetuating the myth that you have a “blind spot”—because drivers should never be so inconvenienced as to turn their heads more than 15 degrees—but also prevents you from entering that spot and possibly damaging your vehicle or killing the driver of a nearby lesser vehicle.

This illustration from Car And Driver shows the Blind Spot Assist in action:



Incidentally, it also illustrates a pretty tight attack formation. If only Darth Vader's gussied-up "TIE Fighter" had features like the E Class he could have avoided the collision with his own wing-henchman that sent him spinning off into space while his brand new "Death Star" got all blowed up.



Tink!




BWOOOOSH!!!

If you're not already bowled over (by either the above car features or gratuitous pyrotechnics), then take note of this: the E Class even has “Speed Limit Assist,” which scans speed limit signs on the roadway for you. Then a light appears on the dashboard to alert you to the speed limit. As we already know, you should not be expected to pay attention to anything further away than your dashboard.


Note that with this feature speed limits are displayed in kilometers for maximum pretension.

I have to admit that add-ons like these represent some serious innovation—at long last there's a car perfectly tailored to the needs of the semi-functioning alcoholic. Really, it's amazing the lengths the enablers at Mercedes-Benz will go to keep the overworked and self-important behind the wheel.

Advertising is often about appealing to the inner child. Mercedes has taken this a step further, and is creating vehicles to fully empower the perpetually immature and/or inebriated. Even a full-grown certified imbecile (think Sloth from The Goonies) might have a shot at getting home from the local Dairy Queen in one of these. Safety features are a good thing when it comes to automobiles, but still, cars are like wills, in that you should be of sound mind and body if you're going to operate one. If this automotive trend continues, pretty soon the highways are going to look like this:



I just hope one of them has their eyes on the dashboard.