Baby, You Can Drive My Car

On Saturday night, I watched a drunk friend of mine break my rear windshield wiper. It was a bit of a spectacle to behold, watching her do it, and I was so wiped out it was kinda too late to stop her before she did the damage. Her friend looked at me as she joyfully yanked the thing back and forth and said, "Isn't that your car?" I sighed. "Yes..."

But that's just another item to pile onto the list of Things That Are Wrong With My Car. What I really need is...

Yo! MTV! Pimp My Ride!

I drive a 1991 Honda CRX Si. Supposedly, this is one of the best cars ever made. Well, that's according to my old mechanic in Berkeley and this Algerian co-worker of mine. I'll often have random ethnic dudes try to buy it off me, but I like my space pod. I like to refer to it as my "rice rocket" (but not to my PC pals) because it's a pretty zippy little thing. And I can park just about anywhere.

My car's insides are good. I have a new transmission and just replaced the axles. Over the last couple years, I've put some money into making it run decently, while still maintaining maximum-zippage. The thing is, I haven't maintained the exterior, because that's some extra money I seem to spend on things like food.

Okay, so my car isn't as trashed as some I've seen Xzibit drag into the car makeover crew. But I live in LA now and I'm trying to be respectable, and my car could definitely use some pimpin'. The paintjob is embarrasing - it's a hateful teal color and even that looks like someone rubbed steel wool over it. The windshield wipers are all faded - no longer shiny & black, but now tarnished and gray. And, as mentioned earlier, the rear one is hanging off like a busted antler or something. There's some rust (aka cancer) on the sunroof and the front bumper is falling off. I was keeping it up with a rubber band for a while (a GREAT BIG rubber band) until a friend took mercy on me and screwed it into the frame, a la Frankenstein. One of the speakers has fallen out and my stereo system is so old it only runs cassettes. My glove compartment latch falls out if you touch it and I need some phat tires to go with my once-sparkling fancy chrome rims which are now starting to flake.

So, come on MTV - make me look respectable to my music biz compatriots while driving my little Honda. I don't need a fish tank or a DVD player, but maybe some Knight Rider action, lots of chrome and a booming sound system will do.

Either that, or replace the whole thing with a black 1956 Ford Thunderbird convertible. Hardtop. Yum.