Thursday, September 4, 2008

The Duke of Kanat

We arrived to sounds of ukulele and sightings of big hair. Our friends had come to pick us up at the airport after attending a 70s-themed benefit. Ah, island arrivals with friends are the best.

They drove us up to our Kanat Tabla apartment. When we pulled into our parking lot, I saw my “new” car . . . propped up on cinder blocks, courtesy of our Chinese landlords who had spotted the flat tire.

I should mention I bought a very used car from my next-door colleague at the high school. Though Manny the Mechanic (who doesn’t advertise, instead shrugging “People with good karma, they find me”) said my car is the Lexus of Fords, I had my doubts after cataloguing the repairs: back brake light sloshing with water, passenger window duct-taped closed, stray cords snaking around the floor mats, a mysterious clanking sound in the front wheel, a very flat tire, radio . . . radio?

Still, Anna has a car! The Duke of Kanat. As in The Duke of Can Not Fall Any Further Apart. After a few days, dollars, and Manny’s stamp of approval, I hope not.

The Kanat part of the car’s name is our mountain (read: hillock). The Duke part was inspired by one of the car’s bumper stickers, which I was told is Japanese for crazy (clearly the state I was in when buying the car) and which, if pronounced correctly by someone else sounds like it has the word “duke” in it.

I’ve never been a fan of those stickers, both because they are a pain to remove and because a college friend once postulated that the number of bumper stickers on a car is inversely proportionate to the IQ of the car’s owner. Well. I now have sympathy for those who buy used cars with stickers that have welded to the paint after years of sun and salt.

Wecome home, me. I’d honk if my horn worked. (Yes, Dad, I’ll get it fixed pronto).