Recently Mrs. Octopus and I have been thinking -- thinking -- about getting a Prius to replace our dear old friend, the Intrepid.
Something about the Prius has nagged at me for a while, and I think I can finally articulate it: the Prius is, in its own, shiny, happy, Al Gore-wearing-Patagonia-in-Alaska way, somewhat insidious, in that it makes driving feel like a virtuous act. One feels, while driving the Prius, that one is helping to scrub the environment clean with each passing mile. But what we should be doing is getting out of our cars and into buses and trains.
Also, I think becoming the owner of a Prius instantly makes one just a bit more insufferable. Somewhat like becoming the owner of an Iphone. (There's something horrible in contemplating scores of happy, young, rich, well-educated Google employees wearing ironic t-shirts and American Apparel, tooling around the Bay Area in their zero-emissions hybrids, composing blog posts, reading McSweeney's Internet Tendency, and watching "Heroes" on their Iphones, all choreographed to a catchy new tune by The Postal Service or The Shins, etc., etc.)
All that said, I guess 50 mpg beats 15.