Fashion ADD

I know, you all come here for incisive political commentary, fabulous commentary on Issues of the Day, and kick ass parenting tips. Right?

Well, even so, today's entry will address the worldwide shortage of fashion insights by Evil Mistresses. Really--no thanks are necessary!

Birthday Barbie

A million years ago, when my kids played with Barbie dolls, one of them got the "Birthday Barbie" as a birthday present. She came with an odd assortment of accessories, including a balloon and a blowout. By inserting the end of either item into her mouth, and then attaching the GlamourWhooppeeCushion to her back, Barbie could operate the blowout or inflate the balloon! Great fun for little girls. For Evil minded girls like me, however, I couldn't help but see her as "Blow Job Barbie," her lips slightly but permanently parted and the hole in the center.

Somehow, in the intervening decade, I had thought this particular excrescence had been discontinued. Imagine my surprise when I find out I was wrong:



















Interestingly enough, this "album" cover was heavily Photoshopped and put on the cover of Australia's answer to Cosmo, where it was deservedly fugged.

The Emmys

We "missed" the Emmys a week ago. If you call "not watching a ceremony about people we don't recognize winning awards for TV shows we don't watch" the same as "missing" it. Especially since we were out on the boat on a glorious late summer evening instead. . .

But I never miss the chance to check out fashions. So imagine my horrified glee to see this one:



















"What!?!?" I cried. "What the heck is Pheobe Price doing at the Emmys? Surely nobody has actually cast her on a show?"

Then I looked at the caption and realized that this was not the infamous "P squared," but instead Christina Hendricks from the period melodrama "Mad Men." What a relief.

My relief was shortlived, however, because the very next picture I saw WAS Ms. Price, trying too hard as usual:



















Oh well.

Jonas Brothers

Sometimes, it's fun to squick out the kids by pretending to crush on the latest prefab preteen item. This year's model is apparently the Jonas Brothers. So, while I am old enough to be their mother. . .I mean, older sister, at least I know who they are. And while my kids were dissing them as lame, I offered "Well, I think Kevin is kinda cute." The looks of horror on the girls' faces were priceless.

But really, how bad is this?



















In my defense, he is 21, and thus as old as I was when I got married. So I'm not TOTALLY out of line.

So, why in the name of all that is Evil, Kevin, did you go and get a man perm?



















There is nothing good to say about this, except maybe that it doesn't look any worse than Mike Brady looked, back in the day.

More Bumper Stickers

So, yesterday, I spotted a real jalopy in the parking lot at the grocery store. All four hubcaps were gone, and the wheel wells had rusted through. The back bumper had sagged from it's proper position, looking like a overly-burdened diaper on a toddler. One of the rear lights had been broken, and the whole car looked dingy, tired and old.

Of course, it did have a bumper sticker on it:





















Which just goes to show you that the poor sod probably doesn't have much treasure in heaven either.

Politics--Now Organic!

So, does California reflect the nation? Probably not, so why is this even news? A formerly best selling organic Chilean wine has now stopped selling in San Francisco. Not even in the whole of San Francisco, but in one particular San Francisco wine bar.
















Hello! It's not even pronounced the same. The wine is pah-LEEN, the candidate PAY-lin. The wine is sir-AH, the candidate SAIR-ah. And yet, the Bay City's discerning Democrats are refusing to drink their formerly favorite wine due to the alleged similarity of name.

Regardless of my politics, I wouldn't go cutting off my nose to spite my face like that--and NOBODY can read the label of the wine that's in a glass anyway!

Talk about odd bedfellows. . .

Arrrrrgh! It Be September 19th Agin!

Avast there, ye landlubbers! I be Keelhaul Kate Bonney, and today be Talk Like A Pirate Day! Did all ye bilge swilling wharf rats find yourselves awash in grog and wenches? Did ye loot and pillage and otherwise maraud the English language?

No? Why not, you miserable pitch monkeys?

Health News--Update

So, what do you do when you have a breast biopsy, and they refuse to give you the results directly, but send them to your primary care provider.

And you know your primary care provider is out on maternity leave?

You wait the 48 hours they say it will take, and you call your doctor's office and say: "Hey! There's a biopsy coming in and how do I find out what it says?" Because I'm sure as heck not waiting until maternity leave is over, am I right?

"Oh, well." Says the receptionist. "If there is something wrong, somebody will call you." Yes, she actually said this. "No news is good news."

No, I don't think so. How long am I supposed to wait to find out that I'm not going to get a call?

Fortunately, a very thoughtful and understanding nurse gave me a call. "I just didn't want you to have to wait all weekend until someone could call you on Monday, just to find out everything is normal."

So--YAY! Nothing to worry about over the weekend! Nothing abnormal, nothing questionable, no further medical intervention necessary. Now I am free to whine about how itchy my bandage is.

Plus Ca Change. . .

Sursels had a volleyball game today, and there is a dedicated cadre of parents who come to watch the games. Today I had the pleasure of watching with one of the coolest parents in the gym.

Because we are parents, cheer every play whether it is successful or not. So do the players. In fact, whenever one of them makes a good play, they high five. When one of them makes a bad play, they low five in support.

My friend mentioned this. "When I was a kid, I don't think we did all that congratulating and touching each other. You know, after every play?"

I thought for a moment and realized that she was right. "Actually, when we were kids, we were a lot more likely to point out the kid who made the bad play and blame him. 'You idiot! Why did you do that? We would have won except for you!'"

"Oh yes. Exactly! Maybe this IS better."

Health News

I had a biopsy today. Since my mother had breast cancer three years ago, my health history is a lot less rosy. A close female relative has had cancer. Recently. A friend of mine is doing a 3 day walk for the Susan J. Kommen Foundation, and she shamed me into getting my annual mammogram.

Shall we talk about mammograms? Ugh. Man, it's like they are calculated to make you feel differently about your body. Those aren't breasts! They are tennis balls in a stocking! No wonder they can get stretched and squashed and pressed flat. It's because they are just accidentally attached to your body. I mean, jeepers! As I get older, my skin is becoming less elastic, less able to snap right back to where it was. At some point, if I keep getting annual mammograms, I might as well just leave my breasts there at the doctor's office, since there's no way they are going to spring back onto my chest any more.

I thought that things looked clear when I left the doctor's office last week. But I got a call early this week--doctor wants to see some new views. He will look at the films right there, and possibly order a sonogram. You will have answers before you leave the office today.

So I made the earliest appointment I could, and went back over. I dutifully put my clothing and jewelry into the provided locker, donned the faded patient "robe" and waited to get squashed again.

It was even worse this time. Only one side was questionable, so the up side was that they only had to torture one breast. On the down side, I quickly felt asymmetrical, with one side pulled and stretched, and the other side left alone.

You know the stupid thing about the robes they give you? Once you get into the room with the machine, you have to pull your arm out, at which point you are essentially undressed anyway. And then the technician has to position the questionable boob, pushing and pulling it across a VERY FLAT steel surface. The extra fun part is that, because this is a retake, and they are trying to get a magnification of a specific area, the pain is extra exquisite. Because once the technician gets your boob in place, and squishes it flat like a pancake with the automatic Boob Squisher (I think that is the actual name of the device)--she then has to give the thing an extra turn to really make things painful.

So, there I am, squished and bent over a very solid and very square machine, which is also COLD, and the final turn has knocked the breath out of me. So it's really not necessary for the tech to say "hold your breath." Because really, who's breathing?

I went through this three times, and then was sent back to the waiting room while the doctor reviewed the films. I hadn't even made it all the way through an US magazine when I was called into a new room. A "procedure" room.

Turns out that I had calcifications. Not that that is unusual, of course. Lots of women have calcifications. These particular calcifications, however, had changed over the years. They were kind of hard to see. The doctor wanted to be certain, so he wasn't going to order an ultrasound. No. He wanted a biopsy.

And the reason I was in this particular "procedure" room was because that was where the biopsy would be. Right here! Here in this room where there was a large examination table with a hole the size of a dinner plate in the middle of it. Because that's where you put your boob so the doctor can shoot it full of lidocaine, cut it open, and use a computer to take tissue out. But the fun doesn't end there! No! Because as you are lying there, they run the tissue out and x-ray it to be certain they got what they wanted. And then! Are we done? No we are not! Then the doctor inserts a titanium thing that looks like a tiny staple, so that if they need to get another sample, they can go right to the same place. And! The titanium thing works as a marker, so in future years, they can watch for other changes in that location!

So! Do I want to do it now? Or do I want to schedule it for another day? It's clear they would prefer I do it now. Maybe they are afraid that if I leave I will never come back. The idea is kind of appealing. But really, maybe I can just get it over with. So I climb on the table, and have to lie perfectly still.

Which is easier said than done, of course. Because as I find out as the procedure takes its time, when I first lay down, I was very tense. Tension in my arms holding me up from the table, keeping my head parallel to the pillow. As time passed, the muscles in my shoulder and neck started complaining. Which was kind of distracting, and actually hurt more than the shots for the anesthetic.

I had a doctor and two technician/assistants. The two assistants took turns laying a hand on my arm or shoulder--to comfort, or to keep me from moving? You be the judge. "Now the doctor is doing X. Now the doctor is. . ." and the second one said, "Don't tell her what the doctor is doing now. She doesn't want to know."

It wasn't too bad, actually. Especially since I was given a list of things I can't do for a couple of days until the incision heals. Not that they put in stitches or anything. But I should mow the lawn or rake. I shouldn't lift anything over 20 pounds. "I'll bet I can't cook dinner either, right?"

"Oh, not for at least three days, up to two weeks! And no vacuuming. What else should she not do?"

After the doctor was done, I got to get up and. . .have ANOTHER MAMMOGRAM! Oh, what fun! Of course, my whole boob was pretty numb at that point, but this time, they don't need it to be as squished as they needed it every! other! time! Sure--the time it doesn't hurt is the time they don't hurt it anyway.

You know what else? They lied to me. They took the biopsy, but they didn't tell me anything about it. Nor will they. The results will be sent to my primary care physician, and SHE is supposed to call me. Oh, but by the way? She's out on maternity leave.

Well, too bad, but that's where the results are going, and I'm going to have to find somebody there to tell me what's going on.

What can you do? If I don't hear anything by Friday, I should call. Friday--is two days away! So, I'm just going to have to assume that everything is fine, unless I hear otherwise.

On Friday.

The Death Knell

Have you noticed how everybody even slightly famous seems to have a clothing line these days? Sarah Jessica Parker has Bitten, Madonna is at H&M, P. Diddy has Sean John, David Arquette (David effin' Arquette? Who died and left him behind as a style icon?) is starting one. All the cool kids have them too--Eminem, Snoop Dogg, Kanye West, 50 Cent. . .the list goes on and on.

So really, it should be no surprise that LL Cool J has a line as well. Actually, it is apparently this third line of clothing, after FUBU and Todd Smith. I was kind of surprised to hear about this latest one, however, since I haven't heard ANYTHING about ole LL since about 1989. While he's been making cds and acting and writing books since then, none of that ever showed up on my radar.

Hence, this latest effort has a decided whiff of desperation about it:

LL Cool J, exclusively at Sears.

Sears? SEARS? WTF? I mean, Sears has negative cool. Sears sells house paint! And lawn mowers! And tool boxes! I mean, if ever a store embodied dead white suburban dads of the 1950s, it would have to be Sears. If somebody cool went into a Sears, we'd experience a cool/anti-cool implosion that would rip the space time continuum.

Sears.

Huh.

Good luck with that.

Prius Easter Eggs

Some video games give you "Easter Eggs;" funny little extras that the game programmers put in for amusement. Easter eggs usually require that you do something unusual--some combination of moves and buttons that aren't ordinarily something you would do. The reward varies, but can be a video clip, an unusual inventory item, you get the picture.

In the Nancy Drew games by Her Interactive, the Easter eggs are really Easter Eggs that just sit in your inventory and sparkle.

Apparently, Toyota has some game programmers on their staff, because recently, I have had to do some pretty unusual things to change settings on my Prius to make it work the way I want it to.

The things I want to change are pretty innocuous--most recently, it occurred to me that my Bluetooth connection would be more useful if the person on the other end of the call could ACTUALLY HEAR ME. I mean, it's not terribly driver friendly to answer a call and then have to stick my mouth right up to where the microphone is hidden, just to be heard. Especially since I don't know where the microphone is hidden, so I just direct my voice toward the speaker from which I hear my caller, and TALK REALLY REALLY LOUDLY.

You could work yourself up to some road rage that way, having to holler until your neck veins stick out trying to make yourself understood.

"The word is 'flat.' FLAT. FLAT!!! F as in flag, L as in little, A as in apple, T as in table--you know--straight across! Horizontal! FLAT!!"

Yes, that was an actual conversation I have had from my car.

So, maybe, there's a way to increase the volume on the microphone? You know, make it so it picks up my voice better? That seems like a natural kind of thing--you change the volume on the radio, you can raise and dim the inside lights, you should be able to adjust the microphone as well.

So, clever me, I go to the MFD. It actually stands for Multi-Function Display, but sometimes we call it something else with the same initials. Anyway! I pull up the Information screen, get to the Phone screen, and tap the Settings button.

No sale. I can change the volume on the ring. I can change the volume of the caller. I cannot change the setting for the microphone. So I go look in the Owner's Manual.

First, I look in the index for "microphone." Nothing. Then I look up "BlueTooth." Yes! I go to page 272 and start to read. And turn the page. And turn the page. And turn the page. You are getting the idea, aren't you. There is nothing about the microphone--location OR settings--in the Owner's Manual.

Well, I'm not to be thwarted! No sirree! If there is even going to be a point to having BlueTooth in my car, I need to do something about this damn microphone. So, I go online.

Of course, there I find the answer. Answers, actually. I can find information and videos on how to install a second microphone. I can order a BlueTooth headset with attached mike, so I look like Britney Spears In Concert when I make a call.

And, bless their geeky little hearts, I find the answer on PriusChat. All I have to do is go turn on the car, hold down two buttons on my MFD and turn the headlights on and off. Three times. This will give me a new diagnostics screen on my MFD that will allow me to adjust the mike settings.

Of course, this is ridiculous, isn't it? Turn the headlights on and off three times in order to get a new screen on my in-dash monitor? Who would ever think of doing that? I don't know, but DANG! if that didn't give me exactly the tool I wanted. Factory setting for the microphone is "0" on a scale of 0-10! No wonder I sound like I'm living in the bottom of a tin can!

I wonder what would happen if I opened and closed the gas tank hatch three times?

Bumper Stickers That Don't Exist

We were talking about bumper stickers around the dinner table the other night, and Sursels presented us with her own composition:


HONK! . . .if you like noise.

Come Join the Conversation

I know I have mentioned the MinnMoms site here--it's a new site run by the St. Paul Pioneer Press to highlight newspaper articles that address mom issues. More to the point, it has community boards where I (along with 13 other metro moms) are talking and posting about the stuff that we are interested in.

We are having quite a lively discussion about Sarah Palin here. We are helping each other commit to writing with writing prompts here, and a round robin story here.

The main page is here, and you can contact me privately through that site. I'm AKAMom over there, and I hope you might come join us.

More Reasons to Love My Prius

Reason #4356: Cool young hipster at Labor Day protest parade points at Prius, points at me, and says "That's hip." (I'm hip! Who knew?!?)

Reason #4357: after getting a manicure, I can leave the keys in my pocket, and still unlock the car and drive away without marring the nail polish!

Sign that Prii are officially ubiquitous? Finding a parking place at Target, and ending up nose to nose with another one.

Bumper Stickers Seen in the Hood

The political season has brought out some new bumper stickers. Enjoy.

What Does It Mean. . .?

So, I just spent a LONG weekend nagging the kids to get ready for the first day of school. We bought school supplies, and I nagged and nudged and ordered them to pack their backpacks, and go over their class lists, and assemble their equipment, and clean out their closet full of last year's stuff, and made them pick out what they were going to wear. . .

And I STILL got a phone call because somebody forgot something and needed me to 1) find it and 2) bring it to school.

Does this mean I should stop nagging, or should I assume that my nagging meant only one thing was forgotten?

Oh, That Isn't What You Meant?

I was out on the river the other day, watching the alternative to water skiing: wave boarding.










Suddenly, I understood how the Bush Administration could keep saying that they didn't use torture at Guantanamo or Abu Garib. They just confused "water boarding" with "wave boarding!"

(Slapping palm against forehead) OH! So you mean we aren't subjecting suspected terrorists to healthy outdoor water sports? Who knew?

What I Did On The First Day of School

Did I mention? That today was the first day of school? Have I made that clear? Not that I'm happy about it or anything. . .

So what did I do with the family gone. Did I run around and clean up all the messes from the summer? Did I run 47 loads of laundry just because I could? Did I get out and pull weeds from the sadly neglected garden?

Of course not! It was a gorgeous day--bright and clear, with a lovely breeze and so I jumped into my little car and went to the zoo.

There are two zoos here. The Minnesota Zoo is where we usually go--it's large, it's glamorous, it's a zoo that exists not just to introduce people to animals, but to help preserve endangered species by participating in breeding programs and international efforts. Today, I went to the other zoo.

The Como Zoo lies inside the city limits of St. Paul, and has a humble beginning. It was started as a deer park when someone donate a pair of deer to the city. I went there often when the girls were little: it was free, it had a sea lion show, it had many different kinds of animals in an area easily managed by little legs. While it no longer showed animals in iron cages on concrete slabs, you could see those old cages still attached to one of the education buildings.

When my girls were little, there was a rickety carnival that set up on the edge of the park, run by the kind of carnies you thought only existed in the movies. These (mostly) men were tough and grizzled, tattooed and dried out. Their skin was dark from the sun, and possibly also from the thousands of cigarettes they smoked. The rides ranged from toddler-level to teen-level, although there were only a few of each kind. Everything rattled, and shed paint flakes, and had the eerie aura of being only half real--you could wake up one morning and it would all be gone, with only grease spills and trampled grass to show it had been there.

About five years ago, the city ended its contract with the carnies, and built its own rides. The first year this happened, my kids were disappointed, as all the new rides were too small and too tame for them. With the loss of the rides, we tended not to go to that zoo any longer, becoming members of the newer, more glamorous zoo. I was not prepared for what I saw when I went there today.

A great deal has changed in the last five years! The rides area, called "Como Town" has added back many of the old carnie rides, but with new and shiny bright equipment. It has added places to climb and dig, rides that require pedalling to make it work, and a sort of go-cart track that is used to teach kids traffic safety. Almost everything has an educational component, and now it's larger than the old carnival ever was, with more food, more guest services, and more restrooms, all brighter and cleaner than before.

Como Zoo has also opened an enormous Visitors' Center, which provides a clear entry point, and offers wheel chairs and strollers and clean and lovely bathrooms, as well as a gift store that looks like it actually is profitable! The polar bear exhibit has been closed, and the bears sent to another zoo while a new habitat is being built. This is a wonderful thing, since the old space was terribly small, made mostly of concrete terraces, and the bears tended to swim in the tiny pool in mind-numbing circles.

Even the Primate House has expanded, with at least four new species of monkeys and lemurs, with several updated habitats. Yes, the older exhibits remain, and seem a bit small for the animals, especially the giraffes. But surrounded as they are with all the new construction, they no longer feel tired and old, but rather temporary and soon to be remodeled and expanded.

This is only to the good, and I highly enjoyed my day at the zoo. Although I was the only person there who didn't have at least two kids under the age of 10 with me.

The New Beginning

Today, my girls went back to school. The house seems quiet without them here, and a little empty. This is when I can start to focus on my work--however I define that.

Not that this summer has been anything like as hard as when they were younger and looked to me to organize and enrich their lives. Those days when I felt like an ER surgeon must feel--constantly on call and having to be ready to rush to someone's aid when they call. Now, with the girls being older, and with iPods and computers and headphones and YouTube, the house actually isn't any quieter then when they are here: it just feels like it.

So, this feels like the right time to make a change to the cast of characters of this blog. "Pony" is now nearly 4 inches taller than I am, and will be eligible for drivers' training in a matter of weeks. "Bunny" has also topped me, though not yet by much, and has started 7th grade. Those names were what we called them when they were babies, and they no longer fit these Amazon warriors. So I'm looking for what to call them.

"Bunny's" new name is likely going to be "Sursels." This is her nickname from German camp--she made a name tag with her German name, "Ursel" but decorated it with squiggles, and so her camp buddies read it as "Sursels." "Pony" is harder. Her Chinese name is phonetically close to her real name, so I don't want to use that. It translates into "Elegant Writing," which isn't a good nickname at all. Maybe I'll just call her "Tonks" in honor of her love of reading, Harry Potter, and punk rock.

So here's to a new year, new beginnings, and new names.

Olympics Overload

So, really, I like the Olympics. I might even go out on a limb and say that I love the Olympics. I love opening ceremonies and will even sit through the parade of nations. I watched them 12 years ago after delivering my baby and having to be awake for 2 a.m. feedings. Did you know that rhythmic gymnastics as 2 a.m. are mesmerizing?

Captain Sweetie comes home and the Olympics come on. Which is great--I like watching people at the peak of a sport where only the tiniest of margins marks the difference between gold and silver. People who have spent their productive time training their bodies to do things I wouldn't want to do even if I could.

But I am TIRED of NBC's coverage. It's not Olympics, it's The Michael Phelps Show! Starring Michael Phelps! Produced by Michael Phelps! With the Michael Phelps Orchestra! Last night, we were treated to a montage of his races, because now that he has won EIGHT GOLD MEDALS IN A SINGLE OLYMPICS it appears NBC is physically cannot last an entire night without Michael Phelps.

It is not Michael Phelps' fault. He is being as thoughtful and cooperative with all the dumb ass interview questions as it is possible to be. But lay off the man already! You don't really need to ask him how he feels being the #1 most requested friend on Facebook. What do you think he's going to say?

I blame NBC. It's like they have this terrible crush on the guy (they are not the only ones, it seems) and they are all writing "Mrs. Michael Phelps" all over their trapper keepers, and decorating it with hearts and flowers. They've already picked the wedding colors and decided who to ask to be maid of honor. Let it go! There are other sports, you know.

Last night, an American woman won gold in discus, which was apparently the first gold any American has won in 76 y. ears. Not that there would be any interest in watching any of that competition, which is an event that dates back to the original Greek Olympics. No way! So we get a Michael Phelps retrospective dream montage, and we see the discus thrower for the duration of time it takes to play her national anthem at the podium.

I know--broadcast television sells viewers to advertisers, and their job is to put out something that the most people will want to see. Apparently, NBC has decided that most people want to see Michael Phelps, and aren't interested in anything else--not even his TEAM MATES who swam the OTHER THREE LAPS of the relay that brought Phelps his 8th gold medal. Nope. If you just listened to the commentary and didn't look at the pictures, you would think Phelps swam it all by his ownself.

It's just a sport! Not even a sport NBC covers any other time than the Olympics. Michael Phelps did something no one else has done, but he didn't invent cold fusion, or discover a cure for cancer, or save drowning puppies. He got in a pool, and swam. Fast. Get over it.

The News From Munchkinland

Well, it happened. Less than a week after her 12th birthday, Bunny is taller than I am. I am now officially the shortest person in my family.

I have long expected this--after all, Captain Sweetie is quite tall, and the girls have always been the tallest of their grades. So it wasn't nearly as traumatic as, say, turning 30 had been. But nobody really warns you about this happening--the day your kids are taller than you are. I mean, I am not a particularly short person--hell, I used to be the tallest girl in my class for years!

Fortunately, I know more nasty tricks and I have a MUCH more forceful personality, so I don't expect to have to give up my utter domination of this family. Plus, I still have the car keys.

Kiss 'n' Tell

So, I haven't been posting much lately--mostly I've been too busy making out with my new Prius. You know how it is, when you first fall in love, and you can't think about anything but the one you are totally crushing on? Yup. It's like that.

Do you think it's cheap to sleep together after the third date? Because I'm totally having the Prius' babies. Think how cute a baby Prius would be! Kind of like a Miata, with better gas mileage.

The touch screen in the center of the dashboard operates just about everything except the brake pedal, and it won't get you a Diet Coke, but short of that, it's amazing. Kind of like an iPhone, only bigger, and you can drive it. It takes voice commands for phone calls, gives incredibly useful driving directions--better than Google maps, or even your own husband/wife. Too bad Amelia Earhart didn't have a Prius navigator along instead of Fred Noonan, know what I'm saying?

I've had the car for a couple of weeks now, and I'm finally starting to notice a few things that are less than optimal. Some things are probably not included to cut down on the weight and improve the gas mileage, so I don't begrudge those--things like motorized seat adjustments, for example. It doesn't come with all the DVD screens and cup holders and skee ball lanes you can get on the minivans these days--it's a "family car" potentially, but not really a "mom car"--you'd never get the entire soccer team in it, for example. It supposedly seats five, although the middle back seat is pretty slim.

A major improvement (other than the gas mileage) over my last vehicle is that the Prius has an auxiliary jack in the center console between the two front seats, as well as a 12 volt outlet (what used to be known in the quaint old days as a "cigarette lighter"). This allows me to plug in the iPod directly to the stereo system, avoiding the hassle of finding unused FM frequencies. With the purchase of a nifty little "car kit" from Belkin, the iPod plugs into the outlet, and the audio jack runs from the charger to the auxiliary jack, which produces better sound than plugging in through the headphone jack. The downside? The iPod can't be controlled through the stereo controls, so you have to manually change playlists, albums, whatever. This can apparently be addressed through the addition of an aftermarket item, but shouldn't it be standard? If satellite radio capability is standard, can't they do the same for my iPod?

Another minor stereo glitch is the way that it posts information from radio stations. The audio screen shows six (pre-set) stations--the one actually playing is highlighted, and shows the name of the band and the song--more or less. There are only a limited number of characters visible at any time, which means that you have to watch for a significant amount of time to get all the information. Distracting much?

There is a "message" option, where a separate screen shows the station, band and song in an easy to read format, with no odd broken lines, no time delay to scroll. BUT! The message screen DOES NOT work while the car is in motion.

The other glitch is that once you change stations, the last bit of message remains on the screen--posting old data about what WAS on the LAST time you tuned in to that station. So I was driving around with "FOGHAT" staring at me--which I assure you I did not actually listen to.

Every day it seems I learn something new that the car can do, or else there is something new I can customize. I turned off the annoying reverse beep, programmed in my default destination for the GPS navigation, enabled Bluetooth for my cell phone and entered my four most frequently called numbers.

So, I'm off to see what else I can do with it. It's like a really good boyfriend--it's perfect, AND it can change!