Navigating the Car-Buying Teeter-Totter: Our Journey to the Audi A6 Allroad

Barb and I have been on the new car teeter-totter for months. We’ve evaluated the cost and environmental impact of cars with gasoline engines vs. electric or hybrid styles. And we parried whether to buy a 4-door sedan or drive out of a dealership in a new SUV.

I am a sedan type of guy. I prefer them understated, stylish, and engineered in Germany. I’ve been that way for 30 years. Yes, I’ve driven various SUVs as rentals or loaners but I have never comprehended their immense popularity. And although I am a member of the Riverwoods Sustainability Committee, I am not quite sold on going EV, especially for long-range travel.

We decided on a pairing of objectives. If we bought a new sedan, to be used mostly for short-haul local trips and Saturday night date nights, an EV sedan made the most sense. But if we were looking for a car suited for long-distance driving, our best alternative was a gas-powered SUV. It was a difficult choice. We flip-flopped so often that I felt like JD Vance talking about Donald Trump.

Until Barb stumbled upon a quote in an online Car and Driver review.”If you can’t choose between a luxury sedan and an SUV, the Audi A6 Allroad splits the difference–and beautifully so.” Is someone at Car and Driver clairvoyant?

We were intrigued by the Allroad. I currently drive an A6 sedan, but neither Barb nor I had heard of an Allroad version. Driving deeper into the C & D article, we read that it was a powerful, gas engine, all-wheel drive vehicle mimicking the A6, but with a roof rack and a roofline less like a sedan and more like…a station wagon.

The Allroad is popular on the West Coast but has barely made a dent in the Chicago market. Checking with local dealers we found that only the downtown Audi dealership had even a single Allroad in stock. We made an appointment and then drove into the city for a test drive.

The salesperson with whom we had an appointment ghosted us, but after a discussion with the world’s least helpful receptionist, a salesman was found who could help us. He brought us to the Allroad on the showroom floor and spent 20 minutes showing us new electronic features; the Allroad has more doodads than my current A6, though it is nowhere near as techie as a Tesla. We then took a test drive around the Near North neighborhood, making one stop for the salesman to show us the buttons and touch screens he had missed during his first demonstration.

Barb and I liked the car — the lines, the size, and the ride. The color, gray with a cringe green hue in the sunlight, was less to our liking. The salesperson checked his inventory and found an Allroad still in production in a more comforting gray. A snazzy brown interior sounded good too. We discussed pricing and trade-in, were introduced to the sales manager (there is no way to look for a car without that happening), and agreed that when the Allroad arrives from the factory in 2 or 3 months, it’s ours.

Once we have the car I’ll be easy to spot. While most men my age love driving their Viagra-blue Porsches, Vettes, and Maseratis I’ll be the guy tooling around in a dark gray Audi station wagon. Be sure to wave when you see me!

Is the Democratic Party Living in Fantasyland?

Which quote should be the new motto of the Democratic party?

A. “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!” The Wizard of Oz

B. “Who ya gonna believe, me or your own eyes?” Duck Soup

C. “The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears.” 1984

D. All of the Above

I’m going with “D”. Each one of those lines is an embodiment of what the Democratic Party and President Joe Biden’s inner circle are trying to tell us.

“It was a one-time blip.” “Like everyone he has good days and bad days.” “He had a cold.” Horsefeathers!

I’ll give you one more movie quote.

“I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore.” Network

The party of my youth, my middle age, and my retirement, the party whose convention I have planned on volunteering at, the party that was going to save our nation, has gone ostrich, sticking its head in the sand. Do they really think that a few million voters in key states will forget last Thursday?

I read in today’s New York Times that “in a Zoom audio call on Monday with about 500 members of campaign’s National Finance Committee and some other contributors, some of the Biden campaign’s senior-most officials held forth for an hour on a special call, including the chair Jennifer O’Malley Dillon, deputy campaign manager Quentin Fulks and a pollster Molly Murphy.”

Am I the only one who has a problem with that Zoom call? Where was Joe? The ONLY person who can convince me and the masses that Joe Biden can successfully serve four more years in the White House is Joe Biden. If he can’t be allowed to meet with his biggest donors, what message is he sending to them, and to us?

I know that President Biden has served our country well. I understand he has pride and a combative nature. I realize some party bigwigs fear a divided convention while others fret over a Kamala Harris candidacy. There is no crystal ball predicting the future.

But I am fearful and angry when I hear the President plans to stick with this all the way to November.

And so, just as a young White Sox fan once begged Shoeless Joe Jackson over 100 years ago, I am beseeching you to say it ain’t so, Joe.

Do you agree with me? disagree? Leave a comment and let me know.

Related: Jill Help Joe.

Please Dr. Biden. Help Joe Out.

I am worried. I am concerned. I am terrified. What I witnessed last night has left me shaken and fearful.

Half a year ago. I posted a blog asking President Biden to weigh his options and announce that we would not run for re-election in 2024. Heck, I even wrote the speech for him–and a pretty damn good one, if I must say so myself.

Sadly, Good Ole Joe felt in his bones that he had another four years left. And with his State of the Union address, he came close to convincing me. But last night was a different Joe.

All the backroom talk I had heard about his decline took on new vibrancy. From his first moment walking to the podium, until his final summation, I saw that this was not a man our country would choose in November.

Sure, the spin is that he gained momentum as the evening went on. So what? It’s like a drama critic writing that I wrote a terrible play, but the epilogue was OK. By then, it’s just too late, the damage has been done.

I disagree with almost everything Donald Trump says and stands for. He is a liar, a bully, a narcissist. He has the potential to lead us into a nightmare future. But after last night, I see him as our country’s next President. And I quake.

So Dr. Jill Biden, please intervene. Talk to Joe. Tell him not to run. You don’t have to say it’s because of age or fragility. Say it for the sake of you – his wife, or Hunter – his son. Do it for me. Do it for our country. Do it now.

Reflections in A Three-Way Mirror: An Encounter with Self-Discovery

Reflections of the Way Life Used To Be. The Supremes, 1967.

“Who is that man in the mirror?” I thought to myself. “It couldn’t be me, could it?”

I was standing in the dressing room of the Lululemon store in Northbrook Court. The shopping mall was its usual semi-deserted self, though I suspect a crowd was forming at the Apple Store to play with Vision-Pro, Apple’s new virtual reality gizmo.

Barb had suggested I go to Lululemon to pick out some comfortable slacks for our upcoming long airplane voyage. I asked her to meet me there, knowing she was much more stylish than me and would be a valuable asset. We selected several styles of lightweight gray and black pants. I headed back to the dressing rooms to try them on while Barb continued to search the shelves.

On my way to the back of the store. I was intercepted by one of the store sales associates who directed me to one of the small try-on cubicles. I gave her my name and she wrote it on a whiteboard on the changing room door. I thought this was a nice touch; they don’t do that at the men’s store I shop at. I was particularly impressed that she spelled my name correctly.

Once in the booth, I dropped my jeans to the floor and began trying on the various pairs of slacks. The first was too large, the second too small, but yes, the third did feel just right.

And that is when I discovered that I am no Goldilocks. A full-length three-way mirror took up one corner of the cubicle. I’m sure the main purpose of the mirror is to allow women of all sizes and shapes to see their butts as they try on skin-tight leggings, but I wasn’t looking at my tush in the mirror, no matter how shapely it might be. No, I was staring a little higher…at the back of my head to be precise. And instead of the thinning whitish-gray hair I expected to see, all that greeted my gaze was an unfettered glistening scalp.

I am not naïve or overly vain. I suspected that at age 68 I have a bit of a bald spot. My dad had one at this age too. But what I didn’t expect to see was a clearing the size of a pair of mating tarantulas. I was stunned.

This explains so much. Why the grandkids rub my head for luck. Why the top of my scalp is always cold. Why Tina, my hairstylist for the last 30 years, schedules shorter and shorter appointments for me.

I left Lululemon with a new understanding of myself. I now know it is time to start putting sunblock on my dome as part of my daily routine. My African safari hat is going to get a lot more use. And maybe I’ll start checking out those hair growth ads that keep popping up in my Facebook feed.

But I think I’ll keep away from three-way mirrors for a while. Wouldn’t you?

Does Trump Have America By The Pussy?

“Grab ’em by the pussy. You can do anything.”

Where were you in October of 2016 when the Washington Post published the infamous Donald Trump/Hollywood Access tapes? Did you, like me, assume that this was it, that this was the moment the wheels would come flying off and the Trump train would derail for good?

How wrong we were. That comment and the rest of his “locker room” chatter with Billy Bush proved to be barely a speed bump in the theretofore unimaginable presidential campaign of 2016. And that was just the beginning of the Trump Express. Trump won in 2016, claimed he won in 2020, and has an excellent chance of winning in 2024.

Trump has grabbed us right in the privates. How have we let this happen? How has the American electorate elevated a demagogue with no discernable skills other than to shine a light on our fears and stoke our hatred to once again be within baby steps of the highest office of the land?

He has informed us of his plans to be a dictator. As he told Mr. Bush on that long-ago recording “…when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything.” For millions of Americans, he is more than a star. He is a prince, a king, a god waiting to ascend to Mt. Olympus. After all, he has let us know God (Judeo-Christian variety to be precise) has anointed him. Just ask an evangelical.

America, I think we are in trouble. The world is a powder keg, a tinder box. An irrational, unprincipled US President will not bring to the world peace or an end to all wars. He will create a vacuum. The race by aggressive world leaders to fill that void will have the explosive force of hydrogen atoms crunching together in a fusion reactor. None of us will escape the fallout.

I will concede things are not perfect in the present administration. Yes, we need to figure out and pass a humanitarian border/dreamer policy. Yes, we may need to take a more nuanced stand on events on the world stage. The far left is as outrageous as the far right (though I would argue less dangerous.)

But America, please don’t reelect the guy who wants to grab us by the pussy. Let’s grow some balls and welcome Joe Biden for another four years. Not all nice guys have to finish last!