Q&A

Q&A

Georgia Gearhead asks: Ford or Chevy?
Dear Gearhead: You have managed to ask me a question which I, more than most, am completely unequipped to answer. Despite my advanced age, and the fact that I was born right here in America, I have never driven a car in my entire lifetime. Not even once. A friend of mine even handed me his keys once, and asked me just to go and start the car in the driveway, so that it would have time to warm up, and I could only look at him, helpless, clueless, unable to do even that.
I suppose that there must be a reason for this anachronism. My mother never drove, either, so perhaps there’s something in the genes. Perhaps I have some deep-seated fear of driving, I don’t know. That seems more like the topic for an entire essay at some point (or perhaps an entire self-effacing book. Or six months of therapy). Suffice to say that for me, sitting in the driver’s seat of a moving automobile is somewhat akin to being handed the controls of a 747 and being told, “Just point this at the runway, OK?”
So, I must answer your question from the only point of view which I have: my own. That is, the point of view of the perpetual passenger, who knows absolutely nothing about cars, except maybe which ones are pretty.
My answer to your question would have to be “Chevy,” and there are three main reasons why:
1) I have heard that Henry Ford was a complete bigot and Anti-Semite. If World War II had gone differently, we’d probably be driving around in the “Adolf Hatchback” or the “Ford Übermensch”
2) I knew a guy once who rearranged the letters across the hood of his Ford pickup so that they said “DORF” instead of “FORD”. This would be nearly impossible to do with a Chevrolet.
3) When I think of cool cars, I think ‘57 Chevy. It’s that simple.

Kurious in Killeen wonders: Why?
Dear Kurious: To be honest, when I started this exchange, I was expecting more small, insignificant questions, such as, “How do I get Midori stains out of taffeta?” or “Are open-toed shoes appropriate at a May cotillion?” But, I suppose it was inevitable that the Big Questions would eventually be thrown my way; questions like this one, or “What is the meaning of Life?” or “Why, exactly, are the Kardashians famous?” I am going to attempt a reply, but I feel that I must consult the Oracle first.
(there is half an Oracle in the ashtray.)
…
Well, the Oracle seems to think that I could really go for a chocolate shake and some cheese fries right now, but that’s neither here nor there.
There are many different ideas and beliefs on exactly what it is which separates us, as human beings, from “the animals”. Some people think it’s our opposable thumbs, our self-awareness, or our ability to use tools and solve problems. Others say it is our ability to laugh, some say to cry, and according to Olympia Dukakis in “Steel Magnolias”, the only thing which separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize.
Perhaps we should add this question to the list of things which separate us from the animals. We tend to wonder ‘why?’. The dog doesn’t wonder why the tennis ball is so irresistible, he just chases after it. The cat doesn’t wonder why you are reading the newspaper, she just lies down on top of it. The oyster doesn’t wonder why… well, whatever the hell it is oysters wonder about.
The point is that it is profoundly human to wonder ‘why’. Sometimes the answer is knowable: When Nancy Kerrigan was clutching her knee in that ice rink all those years ago, pathetically whining, “Why? Why?”, the answer was obvious: Because Tanya Harding is one crazy-assed white trash bitch. But sometimes the answer is far more elusive.
Anyone who has ever had a conversation with a 4 year-old can also tell you that the question, “Why?” is never really answered.
“Why is Duke scratching?”
“Because he’s itchy.”
“Why?”
“Because he has fleas.”
“Why?”
“Because fleas like dogs.”
“Why?”
“Go ask your mother.”
“Why?”
“Because shut up.”
And on and on. So it seems that no matter how much we want to know why, we never can. Perhaps we’d be better off following the example of the dog and the cat, and simply chase the ball because it’s fun and lie down wherever we want.

Pedigreed in Provincetown ponders: Where did the tipping of ones hat to a woman stem from?
Dear Pedigreed: Way back in the Dark Ages, after King Arthur but before the Battle of Hastings, there was a small middle-European kingdom run by a powerful queen named Queen Leona. She had been born into privilege and was used to getting her own way. At a time when life was cheap, she was quite fond of using phrases such as, “Off with her head!” and “To the snake pit!” and so on. Leona became known far and wide as “The Queen of Mean Queens.”
One of Queen Leona’s knights was called Sir Jeffery Whitebread, fairly wet behind the ears and wholly unsuited for the job. Sir Jeffery’s wife, Lady Myrtle, was one of the Queen’s Ladies in Waiting, and was still on the job despite being 8½ months pregnant.
One day Sir Jeffery was summoned to the Great Hall, where the Queen and her entourage had gathered. In those days, when in the presence of Her Majesty, the knights were required to wear full battle armor, including a pike, a shield, and a panache of feathers on their helmets. Jeffery, who was small-boned, skinny and meek, struggled into the Great Hall, despite the fact that his helmet and visor prevented him from seeing anyone above the mid-chest.
He saw his wife’s shoes and thought he smelled her perfume as his eyes traveled upward, admiring the fine brocades and rich silk of her dress, the full ripeness of her rounded, fecund belly, heavy with child. He reached out and patted her good-naturedly. “We’re going to have that baby one day, eh, darlin’?”
The Queen, who stood before Sir Jeffery, horrified and fuming, removed his hand from her ample belly. “Off with his head!” she bellowed, with no small amount of delight.
The hooded executioner held up Sir Jeffery’s head by the hair so he could face the circle of onlookers around him. “Any last words?” he asked.
“Aye,” said Sir Jeffery. “Gents, always lift your visors when addressing a lady. It could mean your life.”
Over the years, as helmets became hats, the custom became one of tipping one’s hat as a sign of respect for a lady.
Or something like that.

Testing in Truro writes: How many natural archipelagos exist in Europe?
Dear Testing: I wonder about this question. Why would you ask such a question? Are you studying for the SAT’s? If so, I would simply ignore this one, take a wild guess or just answer ‘C’. It’s just one question so it won’t affect your score too much.
Then I thought that maybe you were testing me, to see if I even knew what an archipelago was. Well, guess what: I do know, so there. My mom was very politically-minded, so when she brought home a copy of Solzhenitsyn’s “Gulag Archipelago” in the 70s, I looked up both of those words in the dictionary. A gulag, in case you don’t know, is a prison camp.
Actually, I have no idea how many natural archipelagos exist in Europe, but then again, I doubt that anyone does. You could count gigantic archipelagos, such as the British Isles, or little tiny ones, such as a small group of islands in a Finnish lake somewhere. And by ‘Europe’, are you including non-EU countries?
I have been to one archipelago in Europe personally. It was Venice, Italy. The food there was awesome and it has a really nice casino. But I suppose there could be some debate about how “natural” it is.
So, I hope I have answered your question by not answering it. This is the same talent which got me through most of my high school midterms, by the way.
If you really do need an answer to this question, I suggest you a) consult a knowledgeable cartographer, b) consider a career change, or c) acquire a hobby. I hear batik is fun.

Elegant in the East End wonders: Where does the saying "Dressed to the Nines" come from and what does it mean? Don't we all strive to be a Ten?
Dear Elegant: Our usage of the term “dressed to the nines” comes from the fact that the beauty pageant predates the introduction of the concept of ‘zero’ into Europe by a few hundred years. The idea of ‘zero’ was brought to Europe by the so-called “lesser” cultures of Arabia, China and India, sometime around the twelfth century, whereas various “Miss Hovel” and “Beetroot Queen" pageants were known to have been held since sometime in the 700’s. The earliest known reference to a pageant in written history is in a ninth century manuscript, which tells the story of a Miss Windsor, who set the bar quite high when, for the talent portion of her pageant, she sang “Greensleeves” while twirling a flaming baton and playing an Irish harp with her feet.
So, until the introduction of ‘zero’, a ‘nine’ was the highest score possible. After that came ‘nine and one more’, but contestants complained that ‘nine and one more’ made them sound “fat”, so scoring topped off at ‘nine’.
Beauty pageants have always had a very deep and profound effect on our culture. Wars have been fought, ships launched and sunk, lives forever altered because of who won a tiara or who tripped over their own dress during Evening Gown. One of these lasting effects is our usage of the phrase “dressed to the nines” to mean “dressed as nicely as possible”.
As far as everyone striving to “be a Ten”, as you ask, I have my doubts about that. Some days, I only strive to get out of bed and make it through the day without harming myself or those around me, much less striving to “be a Ten.” But then again, I’m no pageant queen. At least, not any more.