Hooray! My car has survived 130,000 miles with me behind the wheel. (This is a picture from last December, so don’t freak out, we don’t have snow on the ground in early July.) The car is ten years old, and in a couple of weeks I will have had it for nine of those years. It got me to Green Bay, and brought me back, and it’s still hanging in there despite huge sheets of white paint that have detached from the body and flown off. I have a feeling it probably isn’t going to hang in there much longer – there are some serious engine problems cropping up that it just isn’t going to be worth it to fix. I could probably get more out of the car in salvage than I could get in trade for another car (and in any case, my wife has a “spare” car since she got her SUV last summer, so there’s another set of wheels waiting in the wings). But y’know, this little car is one of a kind. Okay, granted, it’s not hard to see a ’96/’97/’98 Corsica on the streets (they’re still incredibly common). But this car is like my trusty steed. I’ll truly be sad when the day comes to put her out to pasture.