Not our Santa Fe

In 2004, my wife and I traded in our 98 Pontiac Sunfire and bought a  Hyundai Santa Fe. It just turned 5 years old and we were thinking about how much we love the thing. Over 140,000 clicks and the only problem we’ve had was a faulty mirror switch. I’m a complete car ‘tard; I don’t know a damn thing about them other than how to drive ‘em. The only time I’m under the hood is to add washer fluid. So the fact that the Santa Fe starts each time I turn the key and runs just as efficiently as the day we bought it is enough to make it a winner in my book.

By contrast, the Sunfire was a complete piece of crap. I think the “Check Engine” light came on as soon as we drove it off the lot. We must have paid for a dozen engine scans (which never found anything conclusive, but always seemed to warrant the replacement of various sensors and other expensive parts). The ABS brakes acted up, making an ominous grating sound and shaking the car violently if we applied pressure to the pedal at low speeds. Once, during a routine checkup before a long road-trip, the technicians informed us that the brake lines would need to be flushed and repaired. Trip = postponed, wallet = empty.

Of course, it seemed to be GM policy at every dealership (from BC to ON to NS, as the car followed us during our moving adventures) to up-sell and gouge us for as much as they could get. “Oh, you need this…” or “Oh, you need that…” Always something. I don’t think we ever just paid for the oil change or services we booked, they always found something to charge us extra for. Hell, MacPhee Pontiac in Dartmouth wouldn’t even shuttle us home (we live 20 mins away). But they did value our business so much that they offered us a rental to use while we waited for the servicing to be completed. Thanks, assholes!

When we got tired of the greedy and useless GM dealerships, we started taking the car to Coast Tire. For the most part, they did a good job, until this one time they gave it an alignment. During a trip to Magnetic Mountain in Moncton, they actually refunded our money because the car would not play along and be dragged up the hill by the “mysterious” magnetic forces (i.e. a “mysterious” slight downhill slope). We didn’t know it at the time but the alignment was way off, and after a few weeks the tires ended up being stripped to the steel. It seemed we couldn’t win with that car.

For five years now we have been taking the vehicle to the Hyundai dealership for servicing and not once have they found “issues” that required extensive billing and repairs. The servicing has been professional, courteous, and always completed on time. They have no problem shuttling us around or giving us a loaner. This is how loyal and repeat customers are made. Suck it, MacPhee.

I’d recommend the Santa Fe to anyone who wants an affordable, decent rig to truck around in. Sure, you won’t be able to waste money on premium fuel and outrageous parts prices like you would with a so-called “luxury car”. But it will get you from A to B safely and reliably. And after the servicing nightmares we faced with GM and their craptacular vehicle, its nice to have a dealership that actually sells a decent product and seems to take customer service seriously.

Everyone has certain regrets in life. One of mine is that I’ve never made the trek to The Amazing Meeting, a get-together for skeptics, rabblerousers, atheists, and debunkers, originally organized and hosted by James “The Amazing” Randi. Randi is 81 now and has intestinal cancer, so the sad reality is that he will likely be leaving us before we’re ready to let him go. But his legacy, the influence he has had on thousands, is undeniable and will last for decades to come.

During my first year of high school, I found his book Flim Flam in the school library. The book exposed all sorts of frauds, such as the cousins Elsie Wright and Frances Griffiths, two young girls who had supposedly photographed fairies in their garden. Many people were fooled by the hoax, including Sir Arthur Conan Doyle of Sherlock Holmes fame.

Randi also revealed the chicanery behind all sorts of paranormal claims, such as mindreaders and psychics, and showed how easy it is for someone with the right kind of skills to fool people into believing almost anything. Even scientists, who were supposedly too smart to be duped. But duped they were. Repeatedly, in fact.

Shortly after that, I saw a NOVA special where, among other things, he demonstrated the techniques astrologers and religious “faith healers” use to deceive an unwitting public (watch some segments on YouTube). Suddenly, I was looking very differently at all the things I had, to some degree, believed in. Information wasn’t as abundant in those days, and if you weren’t looking for it, chances are you wouldn’t come across it. It was easy to remain intellectually idle about the weird and wonderful things we saw in magazines, tabloids, and daytime talk shows.

But Randi taught me that things aren’t always as they seem. The mind and the eye can easily be fooled, and we must always approach any extraordinary claim with a demand for extraordinary evidence. It wasn’t too long before religion also found itself under a more scrutinous eye, and my feet were planted firmly on the road to secularism.

Whether it is seeing him face off against “psychics” on talk shows, reading his columns in Skeptic Magazine, or recognizing his influence on shows such as Penn & Teller’s excellent Bullshit, Randi has been educating and entertaining me and countless others for years.  He truly is a legend of the skeptic community and his works have left a lasting impact, one that will no doubt continue to reverberate for generations to come.

It seems a lot of folks are shocked and disturbed by the recent allegations that former bishop Raymond Lahey, who recently helped negotiate a landmark $15 million settlement in an abuse case before abruptly resigning,  is involved in child pornography. Why the shock?

Though the Roman Catholic organization attracts many decent and morally-abiding people to its professions, the fact remains it is also attractive to those who are harboring certain sexual tendencies, such as those with an unhealthy interest in children. It’s not a stretch to wonder if Lahey’s own feelings of guilt and self-loathing might have played a part in reaching the agreement with abuse survivors.

The priesthood has long been a traditional hiding place for repressed homosexuals and others with personally distressing sexual proclivities. Perhaps they feel that by burying themselves in celibacy and “service to God” that they will overcome what, to them, are disturbing feelings and thoughts. After all, no one will question a priest as to why he is not married or without a girlfriend. Yet the desires never completely go away, and combined with easy access and the ability to psychologically manipulate and intimidate followers, it’s inevitable that slip-ups will occur.

The Roman Catholic organization has always known this, has always made it easy for offenders to slip in and out of parishes and dioceses, has always left a wake of abused and traumatized children wherever it sets its claws. So why the surprise that yet another of its ranks has fallen to these kinds of accusations?

Letting priests marry will solve nothing. A pedophile is a pedophile; gay or straight, married or single, it makes no difference. Pedophiles are attracted to the Roman Catholic Church because it provides a safe haven for them to prey on victims. When they get caught they are simply moved somewhere else and the files get buried or vanish entirely. Or, if there is publicity, victims are paid off.

Either way, the practice has been widespread for centuries and the highest-ranking church officials right up to the Pope have always been aware of it. It’s only been in recent times that the Church has been confronted with any sense of justice and punishment from the societies it victimizes. Before that, it was open season on children (and anyone else) with complete impunity.

So no, I’m not shocked that ex-Bishop Lahey was allegedly found with a laptop full of child porn. What shocks me is that people still willingly support and endorse this long obsolete and abhorrent institution, this organization that feeds on guilt, ignorance, and fear, this unrepentant and remorseless destroyer of children. That’s what really shocks and surprises me. Who can take this organization seriously anymore? Who really thinks that they have any interest in anything other than the pursuit and protection of their own wealth and power?

It seems parents are no longer allowed to discipline their children. An Ottawa man has been charged for spanking his young son. Okay, so maybe he first grabbed the little guy by the throat. But still, cut the guy some slack. In the course of a day I see at least a dozen children deserving of a merciless beating. From the screeching tykes in the local mall to those annoying brats in the restaurant who keep peeking over their booths to stare at us while we eat, there are many times when stern, firm, and painful physical discipline could be a useful tool in correcting this misbehavior.

My brother and I were beaten all the time as kids. I remember being held down and burned with cigarettes, thrashed with belts and wooden spoons, and being confined to a 3×3 foot cage until I “learned my lesson”. Did I learn it? Of course! To this day I sit quietly with my hands folded, and always say “Yes, sir” and “No, sir” when I am spoken to (and ONLY when spoken to). My parents loved us. I mean, how many other parents would take the time to teach the lesson of the hot stove by actually placing your hand on the scorching hot burner? Ours did.

And how many parents these days help keep their kids fit by chaining them to a trailer hitch and driving so fast that you either keep up or end up being dragged along the road? Ours certainly did. My brother and I excelled at track in high school, and though our parents never attended our events or awards ceremonies (they didn’t have to—they knew they had trained us well), we knew they were proud. And when we forgot to go out into the yard and clean up the dog poop one day, our father simply took the dog away. We don’t know where ol’ Sam went, but we had learned our lesson. Thanks Dad!

So I say go easy on this guy. He’s only trying to do what’s right. Now excuse me, I have fires to set and small animals to torture.