Orel Family

Family Car For 6 days, starting last Wednesday, I had the privilege of driving a Chevrolet Volt . A lot has been written about the Volt, a vehicle that to a large extent runs on electricity. But, until recently it has been very difficult to get behind the wheel of one. First things first: I had the Volt for 6 days. During those six days, I drove 348 miles. This included my regular commute, as well as picking up and dropping off children, local errands, a night out, and so forth. In the course of my driving, I used a total of 1.74 gallons. That is not a misprint. 1.74 gallons. That comes out to exactly 200 miles per gallon. Let's say that again: 200 miles per gallon. Highlights? Oh, start with the very first song I turned on Sirius/XM Kids Place Live when I picked up Elianna the first day: They Might Be Giants, with Electric Car. I couldn't make that up if I tried. Then, there was the extreme quiet . No "car noise" while on electricity. This means...

I tend to live on plastic. I charge everything I can. I use cards with no annual fees and cash back features, and I never carry a balance or pay late. Except for not paying interest, I'm a "good customer." So I'm always surprised when something seems to go wrong. Yesterday, something went wrong. I went to the incomparable Russell Street Deli in Detroit's Eastern Market for lunch. I used to go there frequently when I worked within walking distance, but have only been rarely in recent times. They serve the best $3.95 soups money can buy (cash only). Eating lunch there -- even by myself, which was the case yesterday -- always makes me feel good. So, as I sometimes do after a lunch at Russell Street, I decided to roam the nearby shops. First stop was to Germack . Germack is known for their pistachios, but what I love is their fresh-made peanut butter. A simple old-fashioned grinder, and they'll do it on the spot if there's none on the shelves. And ...

Earlier this evening, a long-awaited message finally showed in my inbox: Bruce Springsteen's new album, Wrecking Ball, had finally leaked. It didn't take long for my inbox and facebook to overflow. Press reports had hinted that this was Bruce's "angriest" album to date, but coverage of some of the lyrics -- with Guthriesque references to bankers and robber barons and fat cats -- had left me concerned that the anger might come off as an over-the-top pose. I needn't have worried. One listen -- well, I guess it's 4 now, but the evening isn't over yet -- probably isn't sufficient to declare this a masterpiece. But it's damn good, and current. Musically and lyrically, the record is alive . Its people have been kicked in the gut and left to wither away, but they stand. Even the fallen stand to testify. Bruce's previous album, Working On a Dream, was largely a personal album dealing with issues such as the realities of mortality. So...

I had a classmates in college named Roosevelt . Everyone knew him as Rosey. I didn't really know him, just met him once, really. But everyone knew who he was. He was a star. His matriculation was reported in Sports Illustrated . He got straight A's. He worked for the governor of Arkansas. He won a Rhodes Scholarship. Everyone who met him loved him, pretty much instantly. And, everyone, everyone , already knew that someday Rosey would be the first African-American to become President of the United States. This isn't about Rosey, though. Not really. But I thought of Rosey today, when considering recent events. Last Friday morning, Jeff Zaslow died. His car skidded on ice in to the path of an oncoming semi; he never had a chance. I didn't really know him, just met him once, really. Sure, he did a magic trick for Elianna, who was 5 at the time. And we had a great talk about (what else?) Bruce Springsteen. After that, we traded emails for a time. He se...