I've been warring with a pair of rusted-on rear license plate screws since Tuesday. This is Friday. I tried everything in my arsenal -- every screwdriver that was even close to the right size, WD-40, silicone spray, a screwdriver borrowed from a friend, even a screwdriver borrowed from the local AutoZone. The one from AutoZone was finally a tight fit in the slotted head, but resulted in halfway stripping one of the screws. It was to the point where I considered getting a friend to drill out the screws. (Or zapping them with my sonic screwdriver.) But I tried one last time. Another squirt of silicone spray, several taps on each screw and a couple hours' wait. And then, the last straw: A pair of combination pliers with teeth that might either wear down the edges of the screws or sink into them tight enough to provide some leverage. So into the cold garage I went, at about 8:45 p.m. No more daylight left, but I finally had the energy to give it a go. Setting the pliers

I had promised a friend of mine yesterday that I would give her a ride in my new car before leaving for work. I forgot when the time came to leave, so I made it up to her today after church. Parked next to a visiting college student's Camaro, the Miata looked to me almost like a toy car. She said it was gorgeous. Throughout the beginning of the ride, she felt along every surface she could reach - the textured plastic door handles, the smooth plastic dash and its round - almost bulbous - HVAC vents, the cloth seat, the vinyl soft top, the cold, metal framework holding the soft top up, the thin flap of fabric hiding that framework from view. She felt the comparative roominess of the passenger legroom, which surpassed the expectations she'd formed after seeing the red-and-black mass we approached in the parking lot and feeling how short it was - shorter than even her petite frame. She could lean her elbow up on the top of the car. My friend listened to the rumble of the engi

I've liked the Mazda Miata roadster since I was about 11 years old. I called it a "Mrs. Peel car," alluding to one of the characters in the old British TV show "The Avengers" that I and my siblings watched growing up. Pretty much any cute little roadster qualified as a Mrs. Peel car. Yes, it's an old TV show... But I was able to see a Miata in person -- even sit in it -- when my parents visited a used car dealer to look for a minivan. I thought it was the bee's knees. Even after I bought my first car of my very own, I realized my taste in cars hadn't changed much. I loved small and I loved stick-shift. And I still liked a Miata. So when I made a "bucket list" of things I definitely wanted to do sometime in my life, owning a Miata made it on the list. And now it's checked off. I bought a 2007 Mazda Miata touring car last week and can hardly wrap my mind around it. I own my dream car. How is that even possible??