What was YOUR Favorite Car?

For over a year now, I have been turning to my husband and saying when we drive , “Where is everybody? It’s Sunday!” It upsets me that on certain days the streets are empty, and not for lack of people. What are they doing? Hiding in their cell phones?

I know why: Everyone has to conserve gas, …trips are being carefully planned by all of us, and I KNOW it’s shouldn’t bug me…but it does. The car to most Americans– represents, plain and simple: freedom. Especially if you live in California, where according to the movie, “MACHETE” we will be invaded by Mexicans in their elevated chassis, bearing giant machine guns, bazookas, and various home-made bombs, with men reeking of the need for a strong deodorant.

The future’s so bright, I gotta wear a bullet proof vest.

Obama has made it clear: He wants us OUT of our cars, and onto the trains. I don’t know how most feel about it, but if you lose the ability to get in your car and drive to Colorado, or New York, or Texas, and you lose your freedom.

I woke up thinking about this…really. I was remembering all the cars that I have owned, and realized I could measure the years and events of my life by my cars. America has been…all about the car. Just ask P.J. O’Rourke. For the boys: it the car. You reach puberty and that first car is probably, next to sex, the most important thing on your mind.

So, my second waking thought was— Why did I like one car over another?  My favorite car, was not what you would have expected.

“The Purple People Eater” was my first car. I was sixteen, and I had purple everything: boots, bell-bottoms, shirts, dresses, eye shadow to match. It was my ticket to college.

Free at last!  I liked that so much, that I traded it in for a brown duster. My favorite memory was in that Duster: I was eighteen when I asked a young fellow to be my escort, and we drove 13 hours straight into New Orleans, to see Mardi Gras, where we both, innocent as lambs, went to our first strip bar, and got kicked OUT of our first strip bar, because neither one of us had more than dollar bills on us. The strippers had to have tens. Who knew? But the back seat folded down, and left plenty of room for two to sleep. And you know what? We were completely innocent. Not even a kiss. I remember, a hand on my hip, because it was cold. Boy, was I ever so glad he was there.

Now, I came back, and my parents, who were real sticklers about trading in a car every three years, talked me into getting rid of it. So, I got a blue firebird, with white leather seats. I remember the guy who sold me the car, he could NOT believe that I actually wanted to keep my old brown duster. (That’s me standing next to the car, the day I bought it. )

Later…I traded that blue firebird in for a van, because, as a musician I had a lot of equipment to haul. I had four 4560 JBL speakers, and they took up the whole back end. The whole inside was carpeted. I loved that van, and had it for a good ten years, but then I traded it in for another firebird.  A truly beautiful yellow.

When I saw that care on the Pontiac display floor, I wanted it bad. The headlights folded up..so cool. . My five year old son kept saying “Get this one mommy” …Okay. Sold. I kept it and gave it to him when he was sixteen.

That’s him going to his first dance.

Once, Americans could fix any car. It’s one of the reasons we won WWII. When a machine broke down, our men could fix them, the Germans, not so much.  Now, with parts from all over the globe. Give it up.  Unless you are fortunate enough to have the talent to fix cars. Those men should be videotaped and their knowledge preserved. Hell…those men should be worshipped.

We are a vast country, and when Obama starts into his dreams of high speed trains everywhere, it gives me the willies. Here in St. Louis we have a train going downtown, and be real, I won’t ride it. Why? I can sit in a air conditioned car, with the power of the wheel, the speed as I pass the lonely streets…are you kidding? Take away the freedom to explore?

The elites want to change all that. If they had their way, we’d all go to work holding our lunch bags cruising along on our Segways.

Nobody says” You will tear my car out of my cold dead hands!”

Every car in my life brings back memories…drive in movies, back seats, driving in a blizzard in the mountains of Colorado. Even being tortured by the vast wheat fields of Kansas. I had some pretty nice memories…the yellow firebird was my favoirte to drive, but memories? The brown duster wins hands down.
You want to know why?

Because it was in that plain old brown Duster that I learned, that men can be noble, kind, sweet, gentle, and your best friend if you let them. They are not all out to get women, and trust me, that was the message from the great feminists at the time. I don’t know what it’s like for men, but I still wonder where Mike is. Looking back on it, he looked like a young Keeana Reeves. And If I had to do it all over again, I might never have gotten the blue firebird. I’m a practical gal.

UNLESS of course, you gave me the new
Lamborghini Aventador.

I’ve had many cars since then. But, we should make sure, that it’s not just the elites to get to drive cars in the future, don’t you think?

July 18, 2011 - Posted by Joyanna Adams | economy, Life