DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

The best line I’ve seen in the newspaper this year:

I nod and leave, thinking: “I’m on a lube run for a porn movie.”

This is a must-read: Porn 101 — A beginner’s class sheds light on a low-budget, down-and-dirty industry thriving behind closed doors.

Automobile crash test results and safety ratings can be researched at the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety. Click the “Vehicle Ratings” link to access a form where you can search for specific models.

Our old Golf, it turns out, offers only “marginal” protection against frontal impact. Good thing I never drive it.

My Kawi isn’t listed. Presumably it wouldn’t fare very well either.

In January, Malcolm Gladwell (author of The Tipping Point) wrote an article about SUV safety, or really the lack thereof, in the New Yorker. I didn’t read it at the time, for the same reason that recovering heroin addicts tend not to get involved on “Syringe Cleanup Day” at the beach.

But I’m feeling OK. I’m breathing deep, practicing biofeedback, keeping the heart rate low. Here we go: Big and Bad: How the S.U.V. ran over automotive safety.

[Automotive] industry market research concluded that S.U.V.s tend to be bought by people who are insecure, vain, self-centered, and self-absorbed, who are frequently nervous about their marriages, and who lack confidence in their driving skills.

Gladwell’s article isn’t as inflammatory as that one quote might lead you to believe.

This one is, though.

(Just kidding.)

Gladwell’s mission isn’t to trash SUV owners, but to point out the enormous contradiction between marketing and reality. S.U.V.s are designed to make drivers feel safe, but all the height and attitude and steel do not make the vehicle safe. SUVs are less safe than many passenger cars. Look at the deaths per million vehicles:

Car makers are lying to consumers. Or, consumers are allowing themselves to be deceived. SUVs provide a false sense of security. Sit inside one, and it’s like a womb. It was designed to feel that way: quiet, soft, round, with cupholders so you can keep your warm liquids at hand. I’m not making this up; they did studies!

But the kill rates prove that it’s an illusion. As Gladwell puts it,

[Volkswagon] Jettas are safe because they make their drivers feel unsafe. SUVs are unsafe because they make their drivers feel safe. That feeling of safety isn’t the solution; it’s the problem.

(See more about vehicle crashworthiness.)

This coming Saturday, May 15, you can dump your leftover “household toxics” in Rohnert Park. (Honestly, I can’t think of a better place to dump all my leftover toxic chemicals than Rohnert Park.)

Examples of household toxics accepted:

antifreeze, brake fluid, fluorescent light bulbs, oil filters, gasoline, waxes & polishes, auto batteries, engine cleaners, brake fluid, paint, paint thinner, wood preservatives, wood finishes, glues, solvents, photo chemicals, ammonia-based cleaners, bleach-based cleaners, oven cleaners, aerosol sprays, polishes, nail polish & remover, medications & syringes, batteries, pesticides, fungicides, weed killers, pool chemicals

Sadly, the following common household items are NOT accepted:

• Explosives
• Ammunition
• Radioactive materials

The last time I went to one of these, the attendants wore Tyvek Hazmat suits. Seriously. It cast a new perspective on that trunkful of chemicals I had so casually loaded up.

So, I spent the entire day turning this into this. I knew I had a yard out there somewhere, buried under the weeds. It only took four hours with a “high-weed mower” to find it.

It’s not likely to rain until the Fall, and the weeds won’t grow back until next Spring, which is about when this wicked farmer tan will finally fade.

I kept the “grass” shorter last year — spent a half-day every second weekend wrestling my little suburban lawnmower up and down 30° hills and over foot-deep gopher holes. I wiped out a couple times, when my feet lost traction and I’d do a face-plant on the hill, the mower rolling backwards towards me as I fell.

By May, I’d given up; the weeds were waist-high. The mower couldn’t cope, and for that matter neither could I. I called for professional help in June, after most everything had turned brown. A landscaper sent out a crew of four. A half-day and $250 later, our yard looked great.

The drive gear on the lawnmower had expired during one of our wrestling matches, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to do any mowing this year. I was all broken up about that, you can be sure. I figured I’d just let the weeds grow until mid-summer (when everything that doesn’t get watered dies), then get them cut once by the landscaping crew. That’s apparently a pretty typical approach to lawn care around here.

The problem is, it means living with a crappy overgrown yard for the entire summer.

I finally decided to do something about it. I rented a fancy mower from the local tractor repair shop. “This thing will run through four-foot-high weeds,” exclaimed the salesperson.

Well, my yard proved to be more than a match for this mower’s admittedly prodigious power. On flat ground it might beat you in a 60-yard dash, while simultaneously chopping your grass into a fine mulch. But on my two-plus acres of weed preservation area, it managed only a brisk walk.

Otherwise, it coped admirably with the challenge, which is more than I can say for myself — four hours in the dust and sun, struggling to guide this heavy machine around trees, bushes, spigots, fences, etc., provided more workout for my shoulders than two weeks of hindu pushups. I mowed right through a couple of the shrubs, because that was easier than steering around them. In fact I took out one of the septic cleanout pipes too — an 18-inch piece of PVC sticking up from the ground. (The weeds are especially thick over the leach lines.)