10 August 2006
A couple in the next cubicle warren have acquired a 2006 Toyota Avalon in bank-vault grey, and she was mumbling something this morning about the keyless start routine: apparently you have to wiggle your body in the general direction of the sensor, that it may detect the presence of the fob somewhere on your person. Finally, pushing a button brings the mighty V6 to life.
I know something about this Gwendolyn has a remote starter and an acceptably-mighty V6 but I'm enough of a traditionalist to prefer actual keys. Maybe it's a guy thing, as Lileks might say:
I remember looking at my dad's key ring, and marveling at the locks to which he had access. Men had keys. There was a limit; men with thirty keys seemed like living versions of Marley's ghost, shackled to duty. But guys like having enough keys. There's a reason they don't remove the powerboat key at the end of the season. You're not defined by your locks, but by the locks you can open.
Women, at least according to stereotype, can't even find their keys. This is, of course, the stuff of comedy, and therefore subject to revision; I expect to hear some day on the news that the presence of all these metal devices hard against a man's thigh causes some sort of contusion which all by itself accounts for the seven-year difference in life expectancy. We would live longer, we guys, if we got proper bags.
But maybe aesthetics outweigh longevity; certainly nobody wants to witness the spectacle of me, having to wiggle my body in the general direction of a sensor, that it may detect the presence of a fob somewhere on my person.Posted at 7:45 AM to Almost Yogurt
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