||[Oct. 22nd, 2003|02:51 am]
|[||In the Moment
|||||Blue Öyster Cult - Career of Evil||]|
This thing looks large, even on a musty chewing gum card.
When styles change, it's pretty safe to assume that times have changed. Or is it ever safe to assume?
Driving is a chore I enjoy giving to others. I did drive my modest share of the round trip through Arkansas, but trips are different situations to me.
On a trip, it's okay to get lost. It's okay to spend some time in gridlock. It's okay to spend hours in a vehicle.
For work, for transit to play, or for the home drive, it's never seemingly worth the time it takes to drive to the destination.
My dislike of vehicles began at an early driving age. I had cleared the initial high school years and the resulting novice driver hijinks. Nothing spelled ignorant freedom more than hurtling myself down I-94 with the needle just above 100 mph, in my mother's Oldsmobile.
On my first day of college, someone couldn't stop his vehicle behind me, and his white Pontiac screeched and slammed into the rear of my brand new Cavalier.
Being ignorant, I motioned for him to pull over . . . I watched in horror as he bolted into the crowded intersection, losing me in pursuit. Being ignorant, and being shocked, these weren't great combinations, as I failed to catch his license plate.
Not only did this guy ruin my new ride feel, he ruined my love for driving, automobiles, and everything to do with the auto industry.
Instantly, from that point, I rested my rear end in every vehicle and grabbed hold of the steering wheel of the motorized transportation that would propel me from Point A to Point B.
I do have my folly and my weird taste. I still would like to purchase a refurbished DeLorean.
Personally, this somehow defies my previous statement of absolute rejection. A DeLorean would make driving exotic and fun. However, I have no desire to get all gung-ho over a strange blurb in automotive history. Most likely, I would obtain this ride, and then for one week, I would enjoy it. Then, I would car-coon it, and then, I wouldn't look at it or do anything with it.
The times, they are a-changin.'
Oh? This Yellow Beast lives, in the shape of the SUV.
What drives me mad are tinted windows.
Every SUV has them.
Every SUV, on a typical gridlocked MI road, has 30 SUVs, bunched together, towering over my Cavalier.
I can't see anything. I have the jocko or the whoever behind me in his SUV.
No, I'm not jealous. I wouldn't be envious of something that takes so much gas, not with these prices.
All the SUVs will bunch together, like a herd of buffalo. They will ride my rear end, and they will toot their precious horn of objection if I choose to slow down a bit, even one second, to gain just enough space between me and the next Giant Eyesore.
It's as if I cannot live my life as I see fit. Thanks, Michigan, for having shitty weather and a focus of industry of which I find useless to me.
When I found this musty card in a pile of my uncle's old ball cards, this card made me smile in smug glee. What a wonderful symbol of self-importance.
Regardless, it's an interesting lil' card. The dawn of . . . power steering!