I bought a new car. My current ride is 10 years old and has traveled more than 95,000 miles. I make the 250-mile drive to Chicagoland several times a year and the thought of a breakdown in the middle of nowhere is daunting. Besides, inflation is heating up, so even though the car seems expensive now, it will be much more a year from now. So says my rational self.
But really, I lust after a quiet ride. I want to listen to classical music on my way to the Chicago suburbs. The truth is I have just paid a Bzillion dollars for a stereo-on-wheels.
My new ride has a USB port. I can load a memory stick with all the music I love, plug the memory stick in, and listen over the car’s speakers. I’ve spent hours ripping all my favorite CDs. As I go through the music, I think back to when I first got these albums, many of them first purchased on vinyl when I was in college. Back then I spent what seemed like a Bzillion dollars on a KLH system, complete with turn table and speakers. My brother, who had far more sophisticated ears than mine, didn’t think much of my purchase. He thought I should have spent a Gzillion dollars on something better. I claimed my little stereo was fine for me. My elder and wiser brother nicknamed my stereo Boris Good-Enough, also known as Boris. And so it was called through college, grad school, through my first several jobs, until sometime after my first child was born, when CD players were available.
There is an analogy here. My husband thought I really should have added all kinds of bells and whistles to my new car – self-parking, you’re-going-to-crash detection, seats that shake to wake you up. He would have had me spend a Gzillion dollars on a really fine vehicle. I think my stereo-on-wheels is perfect for me, so I’m naming it Boris Good-Enough II, also known as Boris II.