Jamie Antonisse

I can't really blame Sangria for being Sangria. Eating the wine-soaked fruit out of the bottom of the glass is an undeniable pleasure. Worth the risk.

Same goes for tapas. Who can resist tapas. They are an acceptable means of eating appetizers for dinner. For that social contribution that they deserve at least a medal.

Even though I'd like to blame Jodorowsky for being so damn weird, I can't even do that. He is bizarre, but he's honest. As a viewer, if you see a flaming piano intercut with hands crushing raw eggs in the first ten minutes, you should pretty much know what you're getting into. Plus you just can't go to a traditional Hollywood movie these days and see a woman who uses a bowling ball to knock over men. Or maybe you can... now that I write it out, it seems like Hollywood might like that sort of thing. Either way, Jodorowsky has his place.

So, as I make a point of not blaming numbers for my problems, there are only two culprits left for the world of gastrocide several of us experienced last night. First and foremost, ourselves. We were fools, and we paid the 2-hour price for our foolishness.

That leaves THE MINIVAN.

Here's my design problem with the traditional minivan: It steers like a top-heavy boat on painkillers, it has a blind spot in the left mirror that a tank could get lost in, its seatbacks have these nonsensical curves that were clearly designed for people with two extra ribcages and an extra mid-thigh butt. Ostensibly these features make it the perfect family vehicle. Pile in, kids!
And yet: Minivans Make People Sick. I don't get carsick... I read in the car, draw in the car, play my DS in the car (except when I'm driving... that's just irresponsible). I love the Mad Hatter's Teacups at Disneyland. With that in mind, I can honestly say there's no place more vomit-inducing than the back seat of an '01 Dodge Caravan.

Do parents really put babies back there? Is a minivan some sort of standing punishment for being conceived in a family of more than four?

When I was a kid, my dad had a VW Vanagon bus. It was an aluminum box with four wheels, a pop top, and a sink (a sink!) which, to me knowledge, had never been turned on and could not be connected to any water source.
We drove from Maryland to Florida and back every year for twelve years straight in that thing... and in all those hundreds of backseat hours, I felt sick only once (and I threw up in my sister's shoes... sorry Michelle).

I don't understand how they messed up an entire genre of vehicle this badly. Was it all a ploy, to get the fam into gas-guzzling SUV's? Is there any remaining way for a relatively large group of people to get from point A to point B without feeling utterly gross?

I post this post in support of Charles and Diana (and a little bit John) who suffered even more than I did. Some day, some day, the VW bus will come back in style, and San Diego will seem a little closer to home.