Car Washing
On Sunday, Christopher and I waxed Mags (his Miata). It was a lovely morning, and we rushed to get it done before the sun got too intense—it being yet another sunny day in San Diego. After we finished and she gleamed like Mame (my Miata, who got waxed the evening before), we admired them both—then we got down to work detailing them.
This is a very California thing to do, I’m convinced. The car culture out here is indeed different than any other place I’ve lived. I think part of it is because houses are so expensive that most people will never be able to afford one and so they spend buckets of cash on their wheels instead. And you see some real beauties, too. Just today I was followed by, then following, a pristine, silver, late-50’s Porsche (I think it was a ‘58 356)–just zipping down the 805.
Anyway, back to Sunday. After we finished the cars we came in for some lunch, then Christopher decided he needed to go buy some special polish for some part or another (any excuse to go to PepBoys, I think, which is like Mecca to the California Car Nut). He went outside, then came right back in and asked, “Check the news—are their any fires?” I went outside and sure enough, it was no longer sunny, but instead completely hazy and the air was full of smoke. We later found out that there were fires in Tecate, Mexico, and we were just getting the smoke, but all I could think at the time was, “In Ohio, if you wash your car, you make it rain. Here, the city bursts into flame.”