Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of a dear help-mate and companion. While it is true that he was not always dependable, he was still close to my heart. When I remember how little attention I paid him, how I expected him to be there when I needed him and gave nary a thought about him when I didn't, I am overcome with guilt, and I remind myself that his undependablilty was a direct result of my lack of attention. I am sorry. I hope that I will be forgiven by my litte Pony, my 1989 white Escort.

I bought him new in May of 1989. I was buying my first car, bringing along bro Bob so that I wouldn't be taken advantage of. I had sat in a convertible Mustang Saleen in the showroom, which I desperately wanted but couldn't afford. (Mustangs, specifically 1966 - 1968 convertible Mustangs, are the only cars that actually arouse me. No, really.) The interior was soft leather (this was eons before I became vegan), the seats had adjustable lumbar supports and the nifty gadgets on the dashboard made me feel like I was in the cockpit of a spaceship. I came to terms with the fact that I had to step down a few models (but I refused to go as low as the Festiva, since box shaped death traps were not my style).

After some previous research and renting an Escort for my driver's test four months earlier, I had already decided that the Escort would be my best bet. I just hoped that I could find one in my beloved deep blue. No problem, if I wanted a manual transmission. Seeing as I didn't have the vaguest idea of how to drive a stick shift (and I'm not much better now) I realized that I would have to compromise. Hey, I could always get it painted at a later date.

The salesman, after the usual faux-friendly financial interrogation and subsequent groveling (please, can I buy the car, pretty please, oh thank you for the 17% interest, no, the screw jammed up my ass is very comfortable, thank you), he took me and Bob (who wasn't much help at all) to the portion of the lot where the Escorts lived. It was there that I saw the car that would become my exciting and frustrating help-mate for the next eleven years. While it wasn't love at first sight, I soon grew to love that car.

Gleaming white, with a gray interior and that intoxicating new car smell, he was a bare bones automatic with no radio or air conditioning. I called him Pony. (Well, that was the name on the side car. Ok, so I'm not the most imaginative person in naming objects. It's not something I do often.)

Over the next eleven years he saw me through many adventures. He's been the spot of a number of sexual trysts (you'd be surprised at how well an Escort can accomodate a 6'4" guy built like a linebacker and 5'5", 150 pound woman - just fold down the back seat). Four very minor accidents over the years, with no resulting damage. A few speeding tickets, parking tickets and a couple for lack of updated registration.

I admit that I haven't taken the best care of him. He's been far too well acquainted with various mechanics due to my negligence. He's also the recipient of a second engine which I managed to get for a song (very long story behind that).

His body is no longer gleaming, he's been missing a lock on the driver's door for about five years (damn thieves ended up with only a gym bag full of work - serves them right), the driver's side window was smashed in back in '93 (that was replaced within a couple of days - I'm not that lame) and there are a number of dings. Did I mention the fact that a few months ago some car in some parking lot gouged in part of the passenger's door, making it impossible to open more than about fifteen inches? Luckily I rarely have passengers and most of my friends are trimmer than me (even I can squeeze in the tiny opening).

As I mentioned in my last entry of many, many days ago, I've beenn having transmission trouble. Finally my dad and I took Pony to a mechanic that specializes in transmissions. After a few days I found out that it would require approximately $1500 in repairs. Since the mechanic is someone my father trusts (with good reason, I might add), I have no reason to think that he's trying to screw with me. Needless to say, I do not have $1500 to fix Pony's transmission. If I had that kind of money, I would use it as a down payment for a new car. (Yes, I love Pony. But I'm not stupid.)

So it looks like my dear Pony will be used as a trade-in, then consigned to a junkyard to be cannabalized for parts. An ignoble end for such a faithful and frustrating partner, but I don't think I have much of a choice.

Let us bow our heads and pray.