I buzzed by yet another of The Husband’s car shows today.
Note I say “buzzed by.” I did not stay long enough to tour the rows of exquisite automobiles (mostly Mustangs, in this case), or chat up their owners, with grease in most of their bodily creases and lawn chairs set up protectively close to their prized four-wheel possessions. I’ve been to my share of these automotive chatfests, with devotees discussing everything from horsepower to hubcap styles.
This particular show was made all the worse by the fact that it was a car show at an automotive dealership. It’s nice that the dealership gave up the time and space for the show, which was a fundraiser for a sick little girl. But if you’re not the type that loves the smell of a good oil change and fresh rubber first thing, it’s probably too much motoring for the money. And if the sight of many 5.0 V-8 engines with all the parts shiny from weeks of cleaning (and absolutely NO driving, so they stay that way) leaves you asking “Why?”, then most car shows will bore the spit out of you.
A little basic car knowledge will get you through most car shows just fine, at least for an hour or so. It’s when conversations around you begin to bog down in the esoteric of 10W-30 versus 10W-40 oil, how often to change that oil, brake pads, the best cleaners and waxes, and seat conditioners that cost $100 a bottle and promise to keep baby’s seat as soft as a baby’s seat, that you may think it’s time to either take out your knitting or find the nearest mall.
For me, I’ll check out a local food store; a mom-and-pop or a supermarket, to see what’s cooking in the neighborhood. I got lucky today, and found a large Latin market just two blocks away. Forget tachometers, transmission tires. Manchego, chorizo and sofrito, I’ve got you covered.