Jack’s Old & Busted Blog

Your browser knows more about you than you think. Go, right now, and find the “favorites.html” file generated by Internet Explorer or Netscape. Open the file in your browser. Neat, huh? All of you favorites are arranged in your own meticulous hierarchy, or one giant random list depending on your organizational karma. Now, view the source code for the page. See all those odd things like “ADD_DATE=1234567890″? Those long strings of didgits tell how many seconds since 1970 (a standardized time reference a la UNIX) an event occured. Notice also the “Number of visits” and “Last visited” data. Sneaky, huh? All this data serves a useful purpose for subscribing to various sites; they can also incriminate. . . You’ve been warned!

Another reason not to buy a new car.

Sci-fi writers of the planet, take note! Here is a cool background for a plot: Increasing cases of schizophrenia are a result of time-travelers returning to our timeline to make adjustments to “improve” their own timeline (insert reasons why they need to do this here). However, these modifications do more than just change the course of major historical events; they create splices in the Space-Time Continuum

Well, we bought the Sport Trac. With six Ford dealerships in the area, it wasn’t hard to find a good deal. The farther north we drove, the better the deals got, in fact. We finally ended up in Rogers where we got it for less than invoice price. If we could’ve made it to Canada, I bet it would have been free.

I like the Sport Trac, and I hope it works out. This is much a cultural experiment as it was a transportation decision. For a long, long time, I have had a deep prejudice against American automobiles, stemming largely from my experience with a certain mid-1980s Cadillac. Of course, engineering has changed a lot since then, and competitive forces have forced tothe U.S. to retool, both literally and figuratively. We’ll see how it turns out.

My little reliable Nissan is for sale. I kinda feel guilty about disposing of it. It never did anything bad to justify selling it, really, and I’ve made a substantial effort to keep in in good condition. Someone will get a good deal.

Enough about cars for now . . .

Sitting in my driveway right now is a 2002 Ford Explorer Sport Trac. We haven’t pulled the trigger on it, but I’ll probably buy it this afternoon, when we go back to the nice dealer. I say “nice” dealer, because our experience at Toyota was less than satisfying.

We had the typical problems that come with going to one of those Car Planets: The salesman didn’t know anything about the inventory, or more specifically, the product; they are always looking around for people shopping with big wads of money in their fists, as opposed to just shopping; and, they just don’t seem very honest.

Point-in case: the nice Tacoma I was looking at said “ABS” on the sticker; it wasn’t until I had them print off a dealer invoice that it turned out it didn’t. Never mind they were asking more for the (slightly) used model than I would have gotten negotiating for a new one (at 2 percent over invoice, the most I would ever pay anyone for a new vehicle). I could go on, but what’s the point?

While driving the Tacoma around, we stopped at the Friendly Ford dealer “just to look” at the competition (I had already settled on a Toyota at that point). I was surprised to find that I preferred the Ford to the Toyota. I felt more like G.I. Joe in the Sport Trac than the Tacoma, which counts for something more than those silly intangibles like “resale value” or “reliability.” Honestly, whoever goes around romping on the gas saying, “Hear that growl? It’s reeeesale value, baby!”

The Ford has more horsepower, more torque, and weighs 700 pounds more. ‘Nuff said. I am a Ford Man now and have better things to do than argue with you over your tiny little Japanese, um, wheelbase. Go away or I shall be commencing a rollover on ya at highway speed.

I am considering buying a truck. Of course, it costs more than I want to pay, but there is something about red pickup trucks that resonates with me, ever since my grandfather bought a little red 1976 Datsun, which I guess technically qualifies as my First Car, because I used to sneak it out and drive it around the neighborhood in junior high, winding out the little 3-speed automatic as far as it would go in first gear.

Nevertheless, I always feel screwed when I buy a car. Something about buying a depreciating asset with a seemingly unascertainable final sale price seems just plain wrong. Basically, I want the dealer to pay me to drive their truck. I promise I would look cool and not pick my nose or sing too loud at stoplights.

I’ll probably buy it. Nah.

I blog; therefore, I am.