Man vs. Machine: My Miracle Worker Drives a Harley

“What is this place supposed to be?” I ask one of the Hummer women. “Um, I think it’s kind of a futuristic brewing pot,” she says. “Too bad the smoke isn’t working right now.” At least it’s Unique. Daring.

Meanwhile, the “Wake up and drive” slogan at the Mitsubishi display doesn’t exactly inspire confidence either. And I’m not sure I buy into the rescue theme that seems so central now to the marketing of luxury cars. Consider the filmed dramatization of the successful businessman who, upon driving his car into a field, hears a voice in his dashboard asking, “Mr. Jones, are you all right? We’ve been notified that your air bag has been deployed.” I think I’ll just avoid driving my non-luxury car into random fields.

Maybe, I decide for a few brief moments, I’m part of the heretofore unacknowledged Nihilist/Anarchist market that Pontiac seems to be reaching for with its commercial for a minivan called Vibe. The words “Free spirit! Punked out! Cyber-freak! Punk rock! Rock star!” fly about as we consider a group of mussy-haired, 20-something, semi-waster kids loading arty accessories that prove they are painters, musicians and dancers into the back of the van for a day of good-natured if occasionally rage-driven creative posturing. Darby Crash wouldn’t have wanted a new car that pandered to punks, even if he had the extra cash, but Pontiac is pretty sure that kind of silly, grouchy attitude is behind us now.

Just in case it’s not, Acura is going after the more compromised rebels with its film of a late-30s white couple sporting an expensive messiness as they race along PCH. “People with good jobs and drug problems,” Andy says. Still not me.

I walk out of the show no closer to a new-car purchase than before. And when I get back to my old car, I discover that some weasel has placed a red, white and blue Mickey Mouse ball on my antenna and a plastic cup full of orange soda behind my tire. “As car vandalism goes,” Andy sniffs, “this is pretty sad.”

My thought? “Damn those good-for-nothing Pontiac punks.” —Merrill Markoe

Spontaneous, by Diana Wagman:

“If Flannery O’Connor had popped out a daughter, her sentences would sound like Diana Wagman’s. She writes with the pen of a poet, the eye of a sage, and the heart of the best friend you ever had. Spontaneous is a pitch-perfect, deeply felt, massively enjoyable jewel of a novel.”

The Other Side of Mulholland, by Stephen Randall:

“If Bridget Jones had a sex change, and teamed up with Nathanael West, the result would be the scathing, hysterical, drop-dead-accurate portrayal of contempo L.A. captured in Stephen Randall’s The Other Side of Mulholland. With laser-sharp wit and sentences you want to read out loud to strangers, Randall lays bare the pretensions, rituals and peculiar air-conditioned dementia of life in the City of Angels. A hugely readable debut by a terrific new voice in American fiction.”

The Bus, by Steve Abee:

“Steve Abee is the Walt Whitman of up-from-the-gutter contempo poetry, the Kerouac of every corner you’ve ever slimed by without listening to the music of word-drunk skeeks and beautiful mutants with matted hair. The Bus is a naked celebration of love for the damaged, and damaged love – the gritty yin and savage yang of the real Los Angeles.”

Sarah, by J.T. LeRoy:

“J.T. LeRoy writes like Flannery O’Connor tied to the bed and plied with angel dust. Sarah is an exhilarating, hysterical and beautifully written disturbing novel. Whatever young LeRoy had to live through to write a book like this, we’re lucky he’s here. An off-the-map brilliant, brutally funny debut.”

Mall, by Eric Bogosian:

“Eric Bogosian writes like an M-16 ripping through the brain pan of Western civilization. A read-till-your-eyes-bleed chronicle of American appetites run amok.”

Apocalypse Culture II, edited by Adam Parfrey:

“Adam Parfrey’s astonishing, un-put-downable and absolutely brilliant compilation . . . will blow a hole through your mind the size of JonBenet’s fist. This book should be in hotel rooms.”

Another Day in Paradise, by Eddie Little:

“A brilliant, deeply satisfying novel that instantly elevates Eddie Little to the top shelf of American tough-guy fiction.”

How To Stop Time, by Ann Marlowe:

“The little black dress of dope books. Smart, sleek and savagely subtle, Ms. Marlowe is the most gifted druggie to pop out of Harvard since the late Timothy Leary.”

Go West Young Fucked-Up Chick, by Rachel Resnick:

“F*cking amazing! Imagine Irvine Welsh with a sex change and airdropped onto Hollywood. Go West . . .is more than a great book, it’s a phenomenon. A flat-out hysterical guide through end-of-the-line Los Angeles. Rachel Resnick can write the ass off any man.”

—Compiled by Deborah Vankin