No, it's not a guess at Marlon Brando's weight.

No, it's not the number of Tupac albums released since he died.

Yes, it is Dick Clark's real age, but that's not why I said it.

One thousand four hundred and fifty dollars. That's how much I have to pay to fix all the leaks in my car.

For those of you who don't know my car, "Shantiqua", let me describe it for you now. Picture a 1987 Nissan 300ZX. Pretty slick car. Picture it with chrome everything, limo tint so dark that Ray Charles has better vision than someone trying to look through it, and a stereo system that has enough power to, hypothetically, solve the power crisis in California while simultaneously telling you that it never meant to make your daughter cry and has apologized a million times. This is my car. This car has the power to make gangstaz both weep at its remarkable beauty AND pop a cap in my blindingly white, non-gangsta ass for driving it at the same time. And for that reason, I love my car.

But not today.

Today I would like to put it in neutral and push it off of a cliff, preferably onto jagged stones, or, say, even the Rolling Stones.

I brought my car in to have the alternator replaced and to have a coolant leak checked. That afternoon, I received a phone call, telling me I have an oil leak that will cost over 300 dollars, another oil leak that will cost almost 600 dollars, and a steering leak that will cost well over 400 dollars.

"So what about the coolant leak," I say.

"Oh, that's just a radiator cap. That'll cost you 14 bucks," he laughs.

I didn't think it was too funny.

To me, that was like hearing, "Well, son, you came to the hospital today because you were having severe stomach cramps. Well, we ran several tests, and have determined that you are suffering from lung cancer, a strange liver condition, and you have a blood clot near your brain. But your stomach was just some bad pizza. Some TUMS would have fixed that right up! Ha-HA!

Is life not cruel?