I really appreciate my 1998 Toyota Camry with tape deck, dirty interior, yucky exterior color and a smashy body. I affectionately call it “my smashy car”. It warrants that name due to the front driver’s side being all smashed in in front of the door. This happened because a concrete pillar was in my blind spot as I pulled out of my stall in a parkade about 3 years ago. I smashed the rear-view mirror pretty good that day too. Said smash-in with a concrete pillar causes the door to creak when I open it and rust now creeps around parts of the smash where the paint came off. My steering wheel and brakes creak and squeak too. I clean smashed off the passenger-side rear-view mirror while pulling out of my narrow garage door during winter months a while back too. It wasn’t anything good ol’ crazy glue couldn’t fix 
(crazy glue has kept it adhered now for multiple years – oh yes), but you can see the crack where the mirror is being held on and a shallow, hollow hole on the upper side. The other thing about my smashy car is that it attracts bird poop. It’s like a giant bulls-eye for birds, pooping from the air. I don’t know why. Everytime I clean the bird poop off, more appears. I don’t fuss to clean it off – it lends character to an already repute chariot.
My smashy car kind of reminds me of seedy bars, which I also have noted appreciation for. When I was a drunk, I enjoyed the seedy bars way more than the classy ones. You know, the bars that stink of sour, skunky beer from years of spillage and that have your token wallflower patrons whose best friend is the bartender. I never much appreciated clubs that dripped with pretentious hook-up vibes, where stiletto shoes and bulging biceps were like the unspoken entry code. I liked rubbing shoulders and sharing drinks with folk whose clothes and skin were a little dirty, hair unkempt and beards too long.
There was this seedy bar I used to attend regularly back in the day called Mona Lisa, right by my apartment on 118th avenue. The bartender was a woman who looked like she washed her hair in olive oil, her smile comparable to an old picket fence. My buddy Dan and I would go, drown in Pilsner and sing karaoke, much to the enchantment of the handful of patrons, who were otherwise gathering dust. I would sing Daniel by Elton John as a lyrical memento to my friend and my favorite karaoke song of all time, White Room by Cream.
Here’s the parallel: character. My smashy car and seedy bars are both brimming with character. But more than just character – REAL character. Raw character. Rough around the edges character. To me, these are the celebrations of life. The stinks, smashes, dirt and grime are indicative of wear and tear, and wear and tear is indicative of living. A type of living that doesn’t always go well, is unpolished and messy, ugly, but serving a valuable purpose and getting from point A to point B anyway, despite appearances. Smashy cars and seedy bars are symbolic of vulnerability and the coarseness of humanity. They don’t fit into any conspicuous or grandiloquent mould and sometimes, they are unabashed in their crudity, which is my favorite expression of all. Because that expression of unabashedness, is an expression of humility. And humility, a spiritual principle, is what keeps us on an equal playing field with one another. Humility is the glue of connectivity.
Seedy bars are not my scene anymore – I’ve found healthier ways of celebrating mine and others’ authenticity. One of these ways is to unabashedly ride around in my smashy car. Doing so is one ordinary attempt to stay mobile in that which is real and raw.