Update: request for new trial to fight unfairly high parking fine!

Still trying to fight the $102 parking fine, on the basis that it is unfairly high. They gave me a trial date that I couldn't make. I requested a new date. This is their letter in response:

They usually make it so that it is too difficult to even bother fighting. They assume that most people have day jobs and that they won't bother losing pay to fight the ticket. Not me: I plan to be a big pain in the ass to Baltimore City, who makes her residents put up with a lot of shit in this area. Is the penalty for parking ever worth $102 dollars? Does the punishment fit the crime?
I don't think so.

I'm fighting my $102 parking ticket...

Tuesday was a much needed day off where I took care of many of the ordinary things I used to take for granted. When it came time for dinner, I jumped in the car and headed down toward the stadium to Potbelly’s (a wonderful Chicago-based sandwich joint which utterly destroys the swill they serve at Subway). Usually when we are down that way for an O’s game, I park for free in a secret spot (okay: I used to live in that neighborhood, so it’s not really so secret.) But for whatever reason I got down there and parked somewhere else. Hell, I was only going to be picking up some sandwiches, it wasn’t like I was parking for the game…

I took the short walk down to the sandwich place, picked up our food, plus lunch for tomorrow, and when I returned no more than 20 minutes later, the three cars on the street were getting ticketed: including mine.

It’s been awhile, I thought. I guess I was due. I turned it over to see what the damage was: $102! For parking in a stadium zone!

I felt myself going through the six stages of grief, already firmly in stage 1: denial. How was this possible? I was away for 20 minutes! I’d been parking down here forever, on the other side of the street, and never had a problem. But now, because I was silly enough to put it on the “odd” side, I got a massive, unrealistically large sum of $102. The only good part about this was that I had made it back early enough to avoid the tow truck, which was already taking the other wayward parked cars on the street.

I’ve been going over in my head what $102 means to me: how many bags I have to stack to make that, how much overtime, how many hours that is for me...and it hurts. I just don’t see how what I did warrants that level of a ticket. I can accept the occasional $27 for an expired meter, maybe even a $42 for parking in a two hour zone for three hours. But $102 for 20 minutes? It really seems excessive. And that is why I am going to court to fight this.

Anytime I get a ticket, I always defiantly claim stuff like “I’m gonna fight this with every last ounce of strength left in my body!” only to give in to the eventual apathy and just pay the stupid fine. But now, I’m actually going to do it.

I’ve put in a request for a trial, if for no better reason than because I feel I have nothing to lose. My argument is simple: the fine is excessive. If I have to pay it then I have to pay it. But living in Baltimore City is painful enough: high crime, a crappy baseball team, awful traffic, bad public transportation, corruption at City Hall…I think it’s time to stand up and make someone justify this to me. The worst that can happen is the judge tells me to shut up and pay the stupid fine. But maybe, just maybe I will prevail...

Has anyone out there ever challenged a parking ticket? I want to hear from you!

The end of the road for Kyle.

I bought Kyle, my 1992 Honda Civic back in February of 2004. This was after my return from the land of Portland in a car that had traversed the nation twice, gone on many countless road trips to my homeland of Massachusetts, delivered many pizzas and rocked out to many tunes. The few months I spent mourning the death of this car were largely spent working two jobs to save up for the car we came to know as Kyle, a name I chose largely because I thought it was funny: “C’mon Kyle, you can do it!” Plus, while other more challenged men feel the need to assign female names to their vehicles, I also was okay with assigning a male name to mine.
Kyle was a two door white Civic, smaller than my first car but still the same old reliable brand. The previous owner loved it, telling me how much he liked the ease with which he could park, and how it never gave him any problems. I was ready to take it the minute I saw it. When the engine turned over on my very first try, I was sold.
First car, first love, they say it never comes again. But I grew to love Kyle, in spite of his many flaws (many of which were my fault.) Only a few months in, I was smashed into by a drunk driver at a blinking red light. The driver’s side was bent in, just behind the door. A foot one way, it would have been totaled. A foot the other, I would have been killed. I was so angry at the time at this irresponsible person who had ran the light, and even attempted to blame me for the accident, that I forgot to realize how lucky I was, and how lucky Kyle was to be able to drive away from the scene.
Later on, we broke down on the side of the road on the way to the racetrack. This would be the first of many breakdowns, and tows, the most dramatic being at a rest stop on the Taconic State Parkway, which forced me to blow over 1000 dollars on repairs, train tickets, a hotel, and left me without a car for three weeks. But he still kept going, as I kept making the repairs happen. I can’t complain too much--the little lady who drove me to the train station so that I could go back and pick up my car is the one who became my wife.
Later still, there was the time I was rear-ended on my way to (of all the fucking irony) Jiffy Lube. That was in fact my fault. This caused my hatch to be permanently closed on the bottom, but broke the latch on the top, effectively making my car a sitting duck for thieves to break in and steal my stuff. Someone stole my radio not long after this, by simply crawling in the back.
And then there was the many months where my door wouldn’t close, and I had to tie it shut with a rope. Ah, memories. It was during this period where I received my first notice for the Maryland Vehicle Emissions Test, which would soon become the bane of my existence….
I wrote a lot about this in the blog, about how my car failed the emissions test and then I had to keep coming back every month and try again. I did 16 of these $14 dollar tests and afterward I would fail and I would be given an order to re-test. At first I was really worried about what would happen if I kept failing. Then I just got annoyed. I vented my thoughts about the futility of the VEIP program, and how it doesn’t really keep polluting cars off the road, it just makes it a pain in the ass for people like me.
Then I went two weeks ago, where they told me that they could not test me because of a crack in my muffler. They gave me a two week extension for a test that was due over two years ago.
Lately, Kyle has been running poorly--stalling at stoplights, having trouble making it up the hills. So I’d hoped that maybe this muffler situation, if cleared up, would help the car’s performance. After all, the mechanic did say that Honda’s performance could be tied to the exhaust system; others in my circle indicated that my problem might just be as simple as this.
Alas, the call from my mechanic came back. Oxygen sensor, major tune up, spark plugs, muffler, right lower control arm…basically a plethora of problems, to the tune of $2000. For a car that cost me $1150 back in 2004. Whew.
I’d given up on Kyle many times over and watched him come back from the dead. But this was it. For one thing, even the cheapest of these repairs is more than I am willing to spend. For another, there is no guarantee that something else won’t break on an 18 year old car, even if it is a Honda Civic. And then there is the fact that I have been talking about going car-less for a while now--after all, most of my transportation needs now are very easily met with my bicycle. And it really all boils down to money. There was a time in my life when I would have barely thought twice about running up something like this on a credit card and just worrying about it later. But that time has past. With adulthood and corresponding responsibilities, so go my romantic notions of holding on to something beyond all reason. The adult in me says, Dave, it’s just a car. Move on. So I am. He’s getting picked up and brought to a better place. I hope that his engine and spare parts will bring happiness to a vehicle that still has a fighting chance.
I will miss having a car. I will miss having Kyle. I had a lot of good memories in that car--first dates with Michele, trips to the track (both painful and triumphant), strangers complimenting my car and offering to buy it, more trips to the homeland, the Davey G shows. On a day-to-day basis I don’t really need a car, but it has always been a security blanket, a way to supplement my biking, a way to stay dry on my way to work on rainy days. But as I drive it today, using up my last tank of gas, stalling out at every light, I tell myself: I won’t miss this. I won’t miss the emissions test or the inexplicable breakdowns.
But when you love something, it is still very hard to let it go.



NOTE: this post is still a work in progress--I’ll add more text and links and pictures later, I just really wanted to get this up now. Thanks for reading.

The most useless “feel good” regulation of the year.

I put my feelings about the Maryland Vehicle Emissions Inspection Program (or VEIP) in a blog post awhile back, based on my own, unique situation with my 1992 Honda Civic. (for those who don’t feel like reviewing the post: It doesn’t pass the VEIP test, therefore I have to go back every month and pay 14 dollars every time just to keep it on the road, which, as it happens, costs less than it would take for me to fix the car.) Now that Barack Obama is President, there are environmentalists who want him to help them adopt stricter emissions standards that surpass the federal standards.

From yesterday’s Examiner:

“Obama called on the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency to re-examine a Bush administration policy that denied California and other states the ability to set their own emissions standards.”

Environmentalists are thrilled.

“It gives leadership states like Maryland the assurance they will be able to meet their own goals to protect the citizens.”--Derek Walker, director of the California Climate Initiative for the Environmental defense Fund, and former head of the Maryland Democratic Party.

(again--I think cleaning up the environment is important, but my experience with the VEIP is that it just doesn’t work--I outlined this thoroughly in an earlier post)


Go ahead! Raise the emissions standards! My car will still keep coming back and failing the test because the law is still toothless and weak, but hey--it’s no skin off my nose.

Dave “The Polluter” G.

Kyle, and why VEIP sucks.

Kyle, My hard-luck little car.

This is an update on the status of Kyle, my 1992 Honda Civic VTEC, and why I really hate the Maryland Vehicle Emissions Inspection Program (VEIP).

My car has been unable to pass the VEIP, which is a test that all cars in Maryland have to take every two years to help reduce carbon monoxide and hydrocarbons, thereby helping to control pollution. In theory, I am totally in favor of this. But in practice, it is a seriously messed up system, and here is why.

As some readers may remember, my car had a problem last year where my door did not shut, and therefore I had to hold it shut with a rope and then climb out the passenger’s side door. Because of this, I asked for an extension on my emissions test, as it requires the testers to get in and out of the car. I had three more months to put off taking this test while I tried to figure out the problem. Then, in what I referred to as the Christmas Miracle, Kyle was fixed, and I was overjoyed to finally be able to enter and exit my car like a real person. I immediately took him to the emissions facility…and failed, and was given another three month extension.

One of the ways to get a waiver for this test is if you can show you have spent at least $450 in emissions-related repairs. I took him to my mechanic, and he pretty much said that he’d have a really hard time working up that kind of a bill for me to get a waiver, and furthermore, some older cars just cannot pass this test. And furthermore than that, the VEIP level of $450 is not cumulative. In other words, you can’t drop $200, fail, and then spend another $250 and count it as $450 and get a waiver--you have to spend that much before the test. I decided it would be better to just wait until the three months were almost up and then give Kyle a tune-up and see if that would help.

I waited the three months, got the tune-up (this tune-up would cost about $220)
and went to the emissions place…and failed again. Now what? I wondered.

Question: What happens when your car keeps failing the emissions test?

Answer: Nothing.

Nothing happens. They gave me an inspection certificate with a new due date on it, one month from that date. I went into the office and I asked them, “What happens if my car keeps failing?”
“You keep coming back,” was the answer. And you keep paying $14 every time. And now I have come back and failed the emissions test every month since April. I now have a stack of papers from every failed test, and now I come to my point about why VEIP sucks:
My car, which according to their test which is designed to curb pollution, fails that test every month. According to their test, my car pollutes beyond a reasonable degree. But the only consequence is that I just have to keep coming back and giving them money every month, so that I am complying with the law. I had grave fears that failing emissions meant that I had to take my car off the road or something, but apparently that fear was unfounded. The state of Maryland apparently doesn’t actually care whether my car pollutes or not--they just want me to keep paying $14 a month to stay out of trouble.

What a fucking toothless law. Never mind the fact that my car averages less than 6000 miles a year, that the trip to the emissions place constitutes the most driving I do all month. (I ride my bike everywhere, I walk all the time and my car is mostly for errands or get my equipment to shows, so if anyone is going to accuse me of being “part of the problem” of climate change, they need to calm down.)

It is actually cheaper for me to go ahead and pay the $14 every month than it would be to actually fix my car (and believe me, while I love Kyle, he is 15 years old and I am not putting any more serious money into him).

So to review: My car, while running great, is not passing the VEIP test; the VEIP program is toothless and silly.

Not that I am unhappy that no one’s taking my car off the road or anything, but every month I do this silly pain in the ass trip to the emissions place and every month I fail and every month I give the state of Maryland $14 to keep my “polluting” car on the road.
How does this help the environment?

Davey “The polluter” G.
www.daveygandthekeyboard.com

Kyle Update

The last post about the Kyle Christmas Miracle...well, the car is running fine, but it failed that emissions test. I have 4 months to either fix the problem, or show that I've spent 450 dollars in trying to fix it and be granted an exemption. My mechanic says he'd have a hard time bringing my bill up to that level on this car. It's a strange problem: my mechanic doesn't want to rip me off (!) but there is no guarantee that even if he put, say 300 dollars worth of work into it, that it would pass the test. And, even if I did, and then it failed, then the money would not count up to that 450 dollar total.

Kyle is running really well--I don't want to trash the car because some bureaucrats made some messed up rule that there is no way for me to comply with. And people at the emissions place? They are just plain mean.

Kyle lives on! A Christmas Miracle!

Back on 6-18 I wrote about my car, the Kyle, cheating death a number of times (two collisions, breaking down in upstate New York, lots of trouble starting, etc.) and as I left things in the last Kyle-related post, I was stuck climbing into the passenger side door while a rope held my door shut (and let in the rain, the snow, and any elements thrown at me by passing cars and trucks).

Let me backtrack: September of 2006, My girl and I were going to the movies. After parking the car around the corner, I tried to shut the door when suddenly, I was greeted with a thud, the noise of a door that did not catch. I tried again--thud. And again. Thud. I thought that there was maybe just a seatbelt in the door or something, so I checked it and then tried again. Thud. And again. Thud thud. And it was now that I realized that the damn door was just broken. The latch that holds the door shut was busted.

The next day I went to a body shop. A guy came out to take a look at it, told me it was the latch, but then he was intercepted by his boss, who upon seeing the mess the rest of my car was (the drunk driver who hit me in 2004 left a big dent just behind the door and the guy who rear-ended me in 2005--my fault--left a big dent on the back of the car) refused to even touch the car. “I don’t want to be responsible for this.” I left, annoyed, but certain that the next shop would be happy to take my money and fix the latch.

The woman at the next shop came out and looked at my car, looked at the body damage, and pretty much dismissed my problem as one that would require thousands of dollars in body work, which she claimed was the reason for my door not closing. “Sure, we could replace the latch, but it won’t hold because of the body damage.” I knew this was a lie: I had the body damage a full 2 years before this incident with the door not closing. While a cursory and superficial examination of my car might lead someone to think that the body damage was to blame for this, I knew that this was not the case.

Two places turning down my business was annoying, and frustrated me into just saying “Screw it.” I let it go…and as a result, I kind of let my car go. No Jiffy Lube, no car washes (not that I ever did that anyway), no basic maintenance, save for one oil change during Kyle’s brush with death last June.
A few months ago, a flyer was distributed in the neighborhood, on all the cars on my street for a body shop that claimed it could beat any of it’s competitors estimates. Realizing that I soon have to face the dreaded Maryland Emissions Test (in which they climb into your car and try to determine if your car meets the states environmental standards, but in which they can pretty much fail you for any safety problems--I failed once because of balding tires) I knew I would have to get this fixed if I have any chance of passing.

I drove over there, the guy looked at it and said he could look at it for 75, and if it was just a latch, it would be another 75. Great, I thought. The only catch was that this place was Cash Only. Two problems: One, I just didn’t have 150 bucks on me, and two, I doubted the integrity of a business that does not accept credit cards. It’s 2007, for Chrissakes! Get a web-site, take plastic, do something! I left, ultimately going to a place across the street. The guy across the street took plastic, but did the dismissive “You need a new door,” thing as he started walking away. As I’ve said, I know this to be a lie. It’s a small part on a small car that was causing me more heartache than I would have ever imagined, and my problem was that Kyle and I do not look like we have any money, so body shops are unwilling to invest any serious attention to us.

I went home more depressed than ever. I made a last ditch appointment for an estimate at another body shop, but was pretty sure, given my experience with this, that any place that takes appointments would not be interested in helping me.
In my darkest hour, I headed to the warm inner place that comforts me: Google.

I literally picked to first place in the alphabet that showed up on my google search, wrote down the name and number, along with a couple other close places. I just decided that I was going to hit one after the other until someone would help me. I called them up with a completely new approach: I would position whomever I was talking to against every other body shop in town. As in, “The other body shops all are giving me this line of crap. I know what the problem is, I just want someone to give me a straight answer and help me.” It must have been at least partly effective, because the very nice man on the phone invited me down there.
I found the place on Maryland Ave, drove in to the garage and let the man look at Kyle. I kept up my spiel from the telephone about how I just really needed someone to help me, and no one would. “Can you come take a look at this?” he called to one of the mechanics.

The guy came over, I undid the ropes around the car so he could get in there, and he took a look at it. “I’m going to have to take the door panel off,” he warned, “and then I can see. You might need a brand new latch, which we’d have to get from the dealer. Or a junkyard. But good luck with finding one for a car like this.” Old Honda Civics are unusually popular with the do-it-yourselfers crowd.
The nice man said, “I’ll get on the phone with the dealer.” I felt good: things were moving. He just started to go into his office when the mechanic said “hold on a minute.” And then I saw him shut the door and I heard a sound I had not heard in over a year: Click. The door shut! “”There was some broken plastic wedged in there, I got it out.”

Tears practically formed in my eyes as Kyle’s door was finally shut on it’s own. I went over to him, opened and closed the door myself, in complete disbelief that this moment had finally arrived. Kyle was whole again.
I thanked the men, over and over, more happy than I ever thought possible. I offered money, but they both said no. “You could give him a few bucks,” the nice man said about the mechanic, “but he won’t take it.”

Just today, I cleaned out the inside of the car, for the first time in forever. I vacuumed it, even as a light snow is falling around me. And the final touch: I “Febreezed” it.
For now I have my Kyle back: my early Christmas miracle.



I guess I love this car because I feel sorry for it. And yeah, I know it’s gay to call your car a boys name. Shut it.--my quote from 6-18

www.daveygandthekeyboard.com

These are the people who helped me:A Reliable Body & Paint Shop
(410) 727-0077
1815 Maryland Ave - Baltimore, MD 21201

The Ballad of Kyle

My car, the Kyle, has cheated death more than once. After three years with him, he has survived two very serious challenges, as well as a few smaller ones.

The first came two years ago, when I broke down in upstate New York, on my way back from recording “Prepare to be Keyboarded” in Massachusetts. As I cruised down the Taconic State Parkway, idly doing an Andy Rooney impression (“don’t you hate when your car coffee cup holders are…just a bit too small?”) suddenly the engine began revving, and revving, the RPMs going off the scale, the shift light coming on, even though I was already in 5th gear. By the time I reached the top of a big hill to limp into a “scenic overlook,” I knew I was in trouble. Hours later, as the tow truck came and took me to Red Hook, New York, little did I know that this would be where he would stay for 3 weeks as I debated whether this was the end for Kyle until the mechanics finally got around to putting in my new clutch.


A few months after that, I was rear-ended as I was driving in the rain while rocking out to a Bad Religion song. This caused my trunk to be permanently shut. Then sometime last year, my radio was stolen as I was at work--I mean, who the hell steals radios anymore? And then at some point last year my driver’s side door latch broke, causing the door not to shut and making me use rope to hold it while I am stuck climbing in the passenger side.

And lately there has been the problem of Kyle not starting…which is what led to the second major challenge to my ownership of him. As the car sat, not starting at all, in its spot in front of the house, I made calls and inquiries about other cars, assuming that Kyle was dead (or at any rate, too expensive for me to bother with anymore). The next day, for the sheer hell of it I tried to start him up…which he did. Confounded, wondering what to do, I decided to drive him to the local service station. Ever since the “rope holds my door shut” thing, I’ve been hesitant to take him to any mechanic, for fear that he would laugh at me and tell me he didn’t want to bother with my little piece of…Kyle. But he looked at him, and figured out it was the main relay and now he lives. He lives!

I guess I love this car because I feel sorry for it. And yeah, I know it’s gay to call your car a boys name. Shut it.
www.daveygandthekeyboard.com