An all-consuming weekend

One of my college roommates was always commenting disdainfully on other people's "conspicuous consumption," particularly during the semester we were both taking a sociology course in which we read "The McDonaldization of America," which was a really great book. Anyway, she was one of those people who was completely hypocritical about this kind of thing, one second ranting about how obsessed people are with things and denouncing the evils wreaking havoc on our environment, and then putting on her Ray-Bans and hopping into her Jeep Cherokee to drive a block from our on-campus apartment to her class because she was too lazy to walk.

Anyway. Her voice was in my head a fair amount this weekend, as the Smelmooo and I figured out how to use our new DVR (not TiVo, so I guess we score points for not getting sucked into the brand name) and waited in line at midnight for the new Harry Potter book, and I decided that, after not even six years, it's time for a new car for me.

This last one came about as I was getting ready to leave the ATM yesterday afternoon on my way to Shari's house; the Smelmooo and Mags went to Atlantic City to play poker, and Shari and I had a hot lunch date at Panera, followed by some fabulous bowling. Those of you who've bowled with me know that I'm completely inelegant, doing a little hop as I release the ball, but I must say that the woman in the lane next to us was even quirkier, doing sort of a gymnast's pre-vault-salute-to-the-judges as she prepared to release. Fascinating.

Anyway, I finished up my transaction, rolled up my window and...UUUHHHHRRRRRRRT...nope. Stuck, 3/4 of the way up.

Crap.

Hit "up" again.

WHUURRRRRRRRRRRR. Nothing.

Down?
NO! NO! I DIDN'T MEAN THAT!

WHURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR...CRASH!

FUUUUUUHHHHHHHHH.....

Bye-bye, window. Disappeared. Gone. Trapped between the inside and the outside of my driver's side door.

Oh, look. A giant raincloud, 30 miles from home, on a Sunday afternoon. Fabulous.

This same thing happened two summers ago, to my passenger side window. I had to take it back to the VW dealer THREE TIMES to get it fixed. Bastards.

Anyway, onward to Shari's house, because really, what else was there to do? I called her from around the corner, and I'm sure she expected me to be calling to tell her I was running super-late, rather than to ask how she was fixed for duct tape and Saran Wrap.

Ever the trooper, Shari helped me fashion a shield for the window using a Hefty garbage bag and scotch tape. It held up remarkably well during our afternoon of eating, bowling, and more eating (truly, the weekend was ALL about consumption, from Friday dinner out at a local seafood restaurant to Seth's mad grilling skills and Leslie's phenomenal baking skills on Saturday, to a giant pasta dinner as we watched The Godfather that night, it was all about the eating), keeping my car and its contents both dry and unstolen, but the Hefty bag was not so conducive to the drive home on the highway. So off I went, window hole uncovered, through the patches of thunderstorms and wind, managing to stay relatively dry, and then reaffixing the Hefty bag upon my return, because we have so much crap in our garage that I simply could not be bothered to move it all and park inside.

Miraculously, my car was perfectly dry this morning, and was fixed before I made it home from D.C. this afternoon. Bless my local mechanic. Love him.

Anyway, all of this brings me to a plea, dear readers: I need your help in escaping this toxic relationship I have with my car. No matter how badly it treats me, I just keep going back, remembering the good old days when it was new and everything ran smoothly without any effort at all, convincing myself we can recapture those precious days if only I keep up my routine maintenance and give in to the occasional tantrum. Please, help me break the cycle, and recommend me a good car other than my beloved but bad-for-me Jetta.

Out: SUVs, Mini Coopers, Buicks, Saabs, Lexuses (Lexi?)
On the table: anything else

Tell me what you love and why. Please, help me to continue to be a proud American, a conspicuous consumer.