The Useless Vanity of Male Rage

The Friday High 5

Warner Bros. Pictures

Note: I hate to hit your inbox twice in two days, but the 80s Sex Comedy article took longer than I expected, and many of you are conditioned to expect a Friday post. Rest easy in the knowledge that you won’t hear from me again until Tuesday at the soonest.

One of my earliest memories is of my father flipping off a stranger.

I’m 4 or 5. We’re driving somewhere in a sedan, a Chevy Nova or similar. In my memory we’re on our way to Toys ‘R Us, which may or may not be true. I’m in the front seat, my little brother is in the back.

The windows are down to let in the summer air. Dad’s left elbow rests on the door and his hand grasps the roof. His fingers drum on the metal, heavy like rain, keeping time with the radio.

I rest my elbow on the door but my arm is too short to reach the roof.

Someone narrowly cuts us off, forcing Dad to slam on the brakes.

He punches the horn and holds it, drowning out the music. He starts cursing, angry accusations about the man’s stupidity and carelessness; doesn’t he know there are kids in this car?

As our paths diverge, Dad sticks his arm out the window and gives him the bird.

I’ve carried that memory my entire life. It recently resurfaced.

Two weekends ago my wife and I were on our way home from seeing my parents. She was driving because I was recovering from very minor surgery that nonetheless made certain things uncomfortable. We were almost home when another car hit us. Within the mythological 1 mile radius that several people helpfully mentioned in the aftermath, including the cop who sorted things out. (The majority of car accidents happen within a mile of your home.)

Ah, yes—if only we’d steered clear of home. Perhaps this could’ve been avoided.

The short of it: We were at a complete stop waiting to make a left turn and another car rear-ended us. We are fine. Our car less so.

I want to make a brief detour before describing what happened next.

Our car philosophy is basically: Drive it till the wheels fall off. We buy new, take care of it, and keep it forever. Which is why as recently as August 2023, our “new” car was a 2008 Camry, and the other a 2002 Escape. Those became hand-me-downs to my kids when they came of driving age. Which meant we needed a new car.

My wife and I spent most of 2023 trying to figure out what to buy. It was a long, miserable process, punctuated by a dealer who tacked on over $1000 in unnecessary fees. He tried to guilt-trip us. “I have to pay my guys. Think of the local economy.”

We got the fees removed by walking away when it came time to sign.

It was a deeply unpleasant experience, one I’m not rushing to repeat. I would honestly rather get another colonoscopy. Not even joking.

Then there’s the car itself, a Honda CR-V. New vehicles are marvels of design and function. Touchscreens, seat warmers, power gates, back-up cams—coming from a 2008, it was all new to us.

We’ve had the car for 16 months. It has just over 8k miles and still has the new car smell.

Which is partly why I leapt from the car after the accident.

The other driver climbed out of his car. “I didn’t see you.”

He could’ve said a lot of things that would’ve defused the situation:

• “I’m sorry.”

• “Is anyone hurt?”

• “Han Solo shot first.”

The only way he wouldn’t see our car is if God had briefly struck him blind—the Apostle Paul on the way to a 7-Eleven?—or if he was looking at his phone.

I was a bit incredulous.

“How could you not see us? We were stopped in the middle of the road!”

He quietly climbed back into his vehicle, an enormous Chevy Tahoe.

I stood looking at the innards of our car. He’d obliterated the rear quarter panel. Cars carefully swerved around us, crunching bits of my car under their tires.

He joined me in surveying the damage.

“It was practically a new car.”

He remained silent.

Still fuming, I glanced at him. And actually saw him for the first time. He was in his 50s. Glasses. Close shorn gray hair. Wearing a USPS uniform.

This isn’t exactly what happened, but it’s the nearest way I can explain it: I felt a jolt, like I’d been hit with lightning. My stepfather worked at the Post Office for over 25 years. It was hard work under crappy conditions. Given where and when the accident occurred, this guy was probably on his way home.

My anger immediately deflated. I saw my stepfather in him, and felt pity and shame.

I’ve not stopped reliving the accident since. The shoulda-woulda-couldas (if only we’d left 30 seconds later, or earlier, or turned on a different street, or driven faster, or slower, or gotten a flat tire, or stopped for ice cream) were the first wave. Then there was the latent guilt, which I only put aside by doing something I’ve never done before—I prayed for the guy who hit us. We’re still dealing with the fallout of his negligence: various administrative items and also logistical concerns. For several days I couldn’t even look at the car. Thankfully, it’s been spirited away to a collision center.

I try not to think about the fact that he just needs to replace a headlight. Why is it the guys with the biggest cars tend to be the most careless?

Mostly I think about my reaction. The Pierce temper is one of the things I inherited from my father. To paraphrase when Luke Skywalker tells Leia they’re related in Return of the Jedi, and thus probably shouldn’t make out anymore:

The temper is strong in my family. My father has it. I have it. My sister brother has it.

Unlike the Force, there’s also the nature vs nurture element. Imagine if Luke and Leia had been raised by Darth Vader. That’s not a perfect analogy but also not entirely inaccurate.

I could’ve taken a breath and decided to remain calm. But I wanted to be angry. That’s the truth. The Dark Side really is seductive.

I wanted him to know he’d messed up by crashing into my car.

It’s as stupid and useless as flipping off someone as they drive away. Chances are they don’t even see it. But the gesture isn’t for them, is it? Men do that kind of thing to feel better about ourselves. We were aggrieved, we responded, life can go on.

It’s easy to be mad at someone who doesn’t exist to you as anything other than an inconvenience or obstacle. Much harder when you’re forced to acknowledge their humanity.

I was in another rear-ending roughly 20 years ago, not far from where this one occurred.

Traffic had just crossed through a major intersection and was accelerating. I glanced at the radio to change the channel. When I looked up, I saw red lights.

I hit the brakes. Too late. The front of my Dodge Spirit crumbled like tinfoil. Airbags deployed. The car ended up totaled. We were only going 30 mph but the truck in front of me was cut from granite and had a trailer hitch to boot. I might’ve scratched his bumper.

The car ahead of him had slammed on their brakes at the last minute to make a left. The few seconds I looked away were enough to seal my fate.

The guy I hit calmly got out of his truck. He seemed more amused by it than anything.

Seems like a good way to be.

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Every Friday I share 5 things I enjoyed this week. Also, high fives are inherently cool, and I think we can all agree Friday is the bestest day. Hence the Friday High 5. 🙏🏻

The Night Agent: Season 2

The Night Agent is basically a highlight reel of the 2000s-era show 24. 10 episodes of propulsive thrills and sudden plot twists. It’s a Netflix series, and thus the cinematic equivalent of Walmart’s Great Value brand. It’ll get the job done but you won’t shake the sense that it feels like a budget product.

That said, Season 1 is really good! So good I was hoping they’d bring it back even as I recognized there was no way a second season could be anywhere as good. These kinds of shows tend to become stupidly ridiculous the longer they go, a problem 24 eventually succumbed to. How many times are we supposed to believe a covert government program can be infiltrated and taken over from the inside?

We’re 3 episodes into Season 2 and yeah, it’s already a bit silly. But I’m still enjoying the ride.

The Hobbit Trilogy

I recently rewatched The Lord of the Rings and decided I wasn’t done hanging out in Middle-earth. Give me orcses and goblinses any day over the fresh hell that is 2025, Precious. So I revisited The Hobbit trilogy for the first time since it was in theaters.

You know what? It wasn’t as bad as I remembered it being.

I mean, yes—the elves of it all is a bit much. Anything ancillary to the book that Peter Jackson bolted on is uniformly not good. The CGI has aged really poorly. LotR still looks amazing. The Hobbit films look like a bad video game.

My chief problem is it’s a complete mess, tonally. Grafting Jackson’s Middle-earth aesthetic onto The Hobbit works until he leans into the hijinks. The fact that all the insanity is powered by dated effects does not help the cause.

Basing a movie on a children’s book doesn’t mean it has to be Looney Tunes.

All that said, I am an unabashed fan of dwarves and love this trilogy for all the sullen bearded energy it brings.

Full Swing

I’ve become somewhat addicted to this Netflix series about professional golfers.

There’s the voyeuristic element of seeing behind the scenes at PGA tour events. What happens after someone wins millions in a tournament? (Answer: They cry, they give a brief interview, they are handed champagne and feted by old white dudes.) But what I find myself especially enamored with is the trappings of this life. Private planes, beautiful houses, being young and rich. It’s like the Kardashians without the artificial cattiness.

Whenever something grabs me like this, I spend time thinking about why. Just as often that ends up becoming something. So chances are you’ll hear about this again soon.

BTW: Season 3 drops February 25th.

Speed

One of my joys as a father is introducing my kids to things I like. That sounds very egocentric—I liked this thing, therefore you must too—but it’s done with an eye toward their preferences.

It doesn’t always work out. A few months ago, we rewatched Legally Blonde, thinking the feminist messaging would appeal to my teenage daughter. She didn’t really like it. Funnily enough, my 20-year-old son thought it was great.

Speed is more her… speed. (sorry) Quick-paced thrill ride with a hint of romance and a hunky male lead. I haven’t seen it myself in quite some time and was surprised at how well it holds up. Like, obviously the bus making a 50 foot jump is the height of ridiculousness, but otherwise this baby still hums.

Furiosa

This is a strange movie.

On one hand, it’s totally superfluous. There is no vital takeaway from this movie. It may enrich the Fury Road experience, but it’s optional and ultimately unnecessary in the way that all origin stories are.

On the other hand, I liked seeing more of Furiosa’s story. I enjoyed getting to understand her more as a character. Also Anya Taylor-Joy does a good job.

On a third hand, Chris Hemsworth is at least 25% too much in this movie. I have a hard time taking him seriously. It’s like he’s playing this as satire.

On a fourth hand—why not, this is an irradiated wasteland—the movie is often just weird. Not in a good way. Stylistically weird, which threw me out of the narrative.

I liked the movie well enough, but as I told my wife after: I think I would’ve rather rewatch Fury Road.

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Your turn!

What’s giving you good vibes this week? Let me know so I can check it out.