Vanity of vanities. All is vanity

by chuckofish

Last week, you will recall, I posted about my misadventures dealing with complex computer programs. By Friday, I needed a break, and as it turned out, I got one. The DH and I had to go to Plattsburgh to trade in our old CRV for a new one. After a pleasant two-hour drive, we arrived at the dealer’s to find everything ready for us. It all went astonishingly smoothly, at least until our salesperson tried to explain how the new car works. Indulge me while I give you a little backstory. I am partial to “obsidian blue pearl”, the color of our previous CRVs, and I wanted the new one to be the same color. (I’m not really that weird. The other options are gray and maroon).

Alas, Honda is discontinuing my color, so the only way to get the right one was to get the Hybrid CRV-ex. We rationalized that in settling for a fancier model, we would make ourselves happy, while helping to save the planet. But imagine my chagrin when I discovered that instead of a nice, straightforward CRV, we got the car with — I kid you not — a four-hundred and fifty page owner’s manual! So much for the relaxing, low-tech break.

So far, I’ve learned that the car, which has no key and no gear shift, does have automatic heated seats that you can program to return to your position after someone else has driven the car, automatic lane adjustment and BREAK NOW lights that flash at you if you get too close to the car in front, an automatic sun roof, and dual air-conditioning controls so that the driver and passenger can be separately comfortable. The car remembers me and will unlock with just the touch of my hand. It’s a little creepy. Heaven knows what else it does, but I have no intention of finding out. Trying to find a radio station nearly made me crash.

Although the car drives like a dream, I can’t help feeling that all the bells and whistles are extravagant, unnecessary bling. What, I ask you, does this excess say about our culture? Then again, what does it say about me that I chose a fancier car just to get the right color?

As you ponder those questions, consider another example of unnecessary, yet extremely beautiful, bling: life-size porcelain wedding shoes from 17th century Iran.

Even if they’re impractical and would hurt your feet, at least you wouldn’t need to master an owner’s manual before wearing them.