Henry Ford Carr, Iona Ford, and Mr. Zeus Garage
Salvete gemmae occulis meis,
A brief mention in an earlier post of the fact that I now own a car triggered a landslide of questions about the make and model of said vehicle for some unfathomable reason. Well, it's time (tempus) to let the speculation come to an end: I own a red 1989 Chevrolet Geo Spectrum, which is indistinguishable from the one pictured above (Please note that the car in the photo is not my car. As I keep my car in a very dimly lit garage and since cameras are not allowed at my workplace, it's difficult for me to get a decent picture of my car. I found the picture of the car above at this site, and PhotoShopped out the car's owner, replacing her with myself at last year's Dracula Parade. Needless to say, I was delighted to see that another picture of the car on the site clearly shows a trailer home in the background).
Two measures of American Manhood are rarely, if ever, discussed here at RATYHTL: Sports and cars. This is not because I have no interest in either (although I don't), but because I have little or no expertise in these areas. If you have no idea what you're writing about, maybe you shouldn't be writing about it. Since I'd like this to be my first and last post about cars, I'll go into as much detail as I can stomach.
The first question I'm sure that you have is "Why did you choose a red 1989 Chevrolet Geo Spectrum?" I didn't choose my car; my car chose me. The car used to belong to my Aunt. When my Aunt no longer wanted the car, she sold it to my parents. When my parents found out that I needed the car, they gave it me.
Have I made any modifications to the car? Only one. I removed the front "license" plate which read "Ireland forever. God made the Irish #1. Irish American." I'm not an Irish American. For that matter, neither is my Aunt who put the plate on the car. In fact, I'm pretty sure that, despite the maternal branch of my family (from which my Aunt hails) originating in the Orkney Islands (OK, technically, they started off in Africa), I have no Irish ancestry whatsoever. Even if I were an Irish American, I'm an Atheist, so I still wouldn't have a plate on my car that proclaims the existence of some supernatural being. And, even if I were an Irish American who believed in God, I'd like to think that the overwhelming abundance of evidence (Potato Famine, alcoholism, and three shots in seven seconds: The Prosecution rests) that God did not make the Irish #1 that I'd be more likely to adorn my vehicle with a bumper sticker proclaiming "Spring Break Tehran. No Rules!" than with anything declaring that the Irish are God's chosen people.
I would like to get one of those "Darwin fish" for the back of my car. If anyone knows where, in the Philadelphia or Wilmington area I can buy one, please let me know.
Does my car have a name? No, not yet. Although I've given the matter much thought and have already rejected Incitatus (Caligula's horse) and am leaning towards Ekka (a small one-horse carriage). Your suggestions are more than welcome.
Hasn't it been a while since I've driven a car? No, why just yesterday I was out driving for two hours. In fact (quidem), yesterday (heri) was a bit of a milestone for me. It was the first day that, after living in Philadelphia for over twenty years, I finally got to drive on the Schuylkill Expressway. However, if by "hasn't it been a while since I've driven a car?" you mean "wasn't there about a twenty year period in my life when I didn't get behind the wheel of a vehicle?" then the answer is yes. That's why, upon realizing that I would need a car to get to my new job, I immediately began taking driving lessons. Believe it or not, there are some people who, after spending years not driving, think nothing of suddenly getting back into the driver's seat and speeding, unaccompanied, along the interstate.
Having not driven for over two decades, there were many things that I had to relearn. For instance, I reached another milestone on Friday: I pumped my own gas. While I felt more than a little stupid for asking my wife to show me how, I couldn't help but think about all of the people of seemingly normal intelligence who've approached me in train stations to ask for help in understanding the train schedules.
Speaking of public transportation, do I miss it? Well, what I don't miss is the smell of someone's McDonald's breakfast: A smell that (pardon the pun) ranks just above "explosion at a sewage treatment plant" on my list of most offensive odors. No sooner would I catch a whiff of a Shit Burger with Cheese than another passage would inevitably shout "Mmmmm. I smell somethin' good." Then there would be a lengthy conversation about the merits of the McSausage and Egg combo. This chain of events was as certain as someone saying "I'm comfortable with my weight" following it up a few months later with "I'm comfortable with my Type Two Diabetes" and, finally, "I'm comfortable with my amputation."
otium -a - leisure
sxolh - leisure