Much unlike many a magazine editor who recommends you buy all sorts of crap that they most likely got for free, your Jezebel staff doesn’t get jack shit (other than books, unsolicited). And that’s how it should be. But on our own time, in our personal lives, we still buy stuff. So this is Worth It, our recommendation of random things that we’ve actually spent our own money on. These are the things we buy regularly or really like, things we’d actually tell our friends about. And now we’re telling you.
Like most of America, when I was a kid, the only way I could reliably get from place to place was if my parents drove me there. When you live 25 miles from the nearest hospital, biking from place to place just isn’t an option, and adult independence (and survival, since we also lived several miles from the nearest grocery store) and driving are inexorably linked. I devoted an entire page in my FEINGOLD 1998 bumper sticker emblazoned journal to the day I got my Wisconsin driver’s license, a day that, in my teenage mind, was the beginning of a whole career of driving around without my parents’ help. I had arrived!
But my attitude toward driving soured quickly after college when I moved to Chicago, a lovely city where the government exploits car ownership as another way to pump its citizens for more money, and having a car there amounted to much more trouble than it was worth. Sure, it was nice to have a vehicle for when I had to go to the grocery store and get the cat hoarder-size vat o’ kitty litter (“I only have one cat! I’m just super lazy about going to the store!” I’d titter to the clerk as they nodded incredulously) or pick someone up from the airport, but other than that, it was basically a gas-powered headache machine. Once, it was towed three times in ten days. Another time, a group of youths defaced it, smashing the windshield for fun while the old lady who lived in the garden apartment across the street watched. Eventually, I drove it back home and dropped it off at my parents’ house. I was done having a car; from that day forward, if public transportation couldn’t get me there, it wasn’t worth going. The next year, my license expired. I didn’t renew it.