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Jewish World Review
Dec. 22, 2008
/ 25 Kislev 5769
I had fun, fun, fun till someone took my Vega away
By
Dave Barry
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http://www.JewishWorldReview.com |
So the other day I was waiting at a stoplight in my car, which is nice, but like most cars today, boring. For example, when you turn the key, it starts. Every time! It has one of those modern, quiet, dependable engines. At least I ASSUME it has an engine: I've never had a reason to look under the hood. For all I know, there's a small alien spacecraft in there.
Cars were different back when I got my first driver's license, just after the invention of roads. In those days, cars were powered by an insane system called "internal combustion," which involved gasoline actually EXPLODING INSIDE THE ENGINE. Naturally, this was very hard on engine parts such as the "carburetor" and the "pinions." Cars were always breaking down, which meant that, if you were a male, you were always opening the hood so you could glare manfully at the engine until somebody came along who actually knew how to fix it. In those days, you did not expect perfection from a car. For example, in 1971, I bought a Chevrolet Vega, which was the result of a bet among General Motors designers to see if they could make a car entirely out of plastic and rust. If a Vega had a head-on collision with a moth, the Vega would be reduced to a small pile of subatomic particles, while the moth would flit away, laughing. For several years, the only way I could start my Vega was to raise the hood and use a screwdriver to connect two pieces of metal; any thief could have done the same thing, but no thief ever did. "He's so stupid, he'd steal a Vega," was a popular expression among car thieves.
So by today's nitpicky standards, the Vega was not so much a motor vehicle as a paperweight with a horn. And yet I vividly remember that car, unlike the cars I've had in recent decades, all of which have the personality of a pension actuary. In fact, that might be the formal name of my current car: The Actuary.
So anyway, I was at this stoplight, and a guy about my age pulled up next to me in a Pontiac GTO convertible, 1964 or 1965 I believe, light blue, top down, engine rumbling. I lowered my window and said: "Nice Goat."
Lest you think I am some kind of pervert who was trying to fondle this man's livestock, I should explain that "Goat" is the hepcat slang nickname we used to use for the GTO.
"Thanks," said the GTO driver, and the light turned green, and he rumbled off, gasoline exploding audibly in his large internal-combustion engine, while I glided forward in my eerily silent Actuary, which I think runs on a computer hard drive powered by nuclear fusion. I knew the GTO guy would probably have to pull over within the next 150 yards for gas, oil, new pinions, etc., but I was jealous of him. I found myself humming "Little GTO," the 1964 hit by Ronny and the Daytonas, in which Ronny describes the GTO in loving technical detail ("Three deuces and a four speed and a 389") and the Daytonas, not quite in tune, sing: "Turnin' it on! Blowin' it out! Turnin' it on! Blowin' it out!"
That was from the Golden Age of Car Songs, songs like the Beach Boys' "409" ("My four-speed, dual-quad, positraction 409!") and of course Chuck Berry's "Maybelline," in which Chuck's V-8 Ford (pronounced "Foad") chases down a Cadillac, and Chuck displays his grasp of automotive thermodynamics ("Rainwater blowin' all under my hood; I knew that was doin' my motor good").
Nobody will ever write a song like that about my Actuary, or any other modern car. No, today's cars are just not exciting. I've thought about getting a fun old car, like a GTO or a vintage Mustang. But then I'd have to keep it garaged, find a mechanic, etc. So maybe instead I'll just get a vintage Vega. I'll keep it in a Tupperware container, which I'll carry in my glove compartment. When I encounter other vintage-car guys, I'll lower my window, and shake my Vega at them. That way they'll know that, inside my Actuary, I am still cool.
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Previously:
Attack on language from Shaq to shark
Defusing the turkey bomb
Driving While Stupid
I'm living in a perpetual state of confusion
Traveling with little ones is just plane crazy
It's time to unmask a more traditional Halloween
U.S. needs to shoot for a better class of criminals
Mountain man training involves some trash talk
Ten rules for making the world a much better place
A slide down memory lane reminds me I got burned
This latest research is enough to drive you nuts
Wrestling with night critters gives me butterflies
Silly songs get this old teapot into some hot water
Kids better wise up, or they're doomed to repeat
Overweight? I'm in training for the next Ice Age
The bleu plate special proves just ducky on this trip
Just weighting for the day I can build a better body
Better to light a single gift candle than to curse your wife
These camping tips will make for some happy trails I'm shooting the rapids with eyes wide shut
People's bad grammar is enough to make me sic
Toilet water as a weapon? That idea really stinks
The carefree days of summer begin with the ants in my pants
Heartland's moovers & shakers are an udder disgrace
I've found a guy who can do this better than I can
If you really love Dad, give him a big box of nothing
Graduates, the world is your oyster and it's shut
How to look good in a swimsuit no ifs, ands or butts
Trip proves I'm the king of my own castle
The writer vs. the writher beats the Hil & Obama fight
Complain about gridlock? That's just a dead end
New phone tactics help me develop new hangups
For faithful readers, a course in Journalism $1.01
How to speak English very much better
When it comes to laundry, men are all washed up
This houseguest is ready to throw in the towel
Fixing your home can truly be a bonding experience The lies about this mammal just drive me batty
In spin cycle of love, hard to be delicate
It's just not the time to thumb our nose at bagels
Latest fitness Rx for men is a yawn
My daughter's party, I'll cry if I want to
Sanguine ride on rabid transportation
One experiment worth repeating
Nothing like a good trip to help me see the light
The lord of the dance doesn't have anything on me
Invention clearly worth the brewhaha
Safe on the slopes
Why-oh-why-oh-why-oh…
A gross national columnist
Mr. Language Person: Weird word
I (cough) was a teenage smoker!
Frogs hop into the headlines
Great American turkeys
Mr. Fixit strikes again
Einstein Gap: It's all relative
Lost in space
The Trojan Twinkie Caper
MR. LANGUAGE PERSON: WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE!
Feeding your worst fears
Sock it to 'em, sartorially
The rubber band man
Does public art make sense?
Needling the birthday boy
On calamities (in the sky and on your head)
Modern medical mysteries
Bored games
Dave's Field of Nightmares
Lewis and Clark stepped here!
The ultimate water gun
Poetic license, with no rhyme or reason
Great moments in science
This won't hurt a bit
One giant leap for frogkind
My visit to Nether-Netherland
Smile and say cheese
Shooting carps in Wisconsin
The perfect storm
Stickup in aisle 3
Please don't feed the tourists
Land of the Frozen Earwax
The birth of wail
Honk if you're married and can't cope with anger
Rabbit ears get poor reception
Percentage of frogs in food jumps
Night of the living roach
Mr. Language Person: Some words of wisdomality
Mind your P's and Q's and teas
Loose lips sink sequels
NOW WE'RE COOKIN'!
The right to Bear clubs
Science: It's just not fair
Road warrior specials
Where's the beef? (Low fat)
There is nothing like a male (guys)
MOTIVATE! THEN FAIL! NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS
Rooting for the midgets of the Midway
Revolt of the rodents
He can drive any truck named Tonka
All bets are off
How do you spell S-A-T?
Sour grapes and mud
Pro golf: A game of non-stop boredom
Guard-dog vigilance is nothing to sniff at
Warm and fuzzy Cold War memories
The funny side of Beowulf
HOLY HEAT WAVE, BATMAN!
Abs-olute madness
Beware of brainy bugs
I'm in a sorry state
The frog plague: The inside story
If she had a hammer….
Keeping an eye on crime
Camping and Lewis and Clark
When in Iowa, don't forget to duck
Junior takes the wheel
Growing old with Dave
Sites for sore eyes
Beware of sheep droppings
Ireland, land of bad Elvis
Mr. Peabrain's misadventures
When they're out to get you, keep cool
Mothers of invention
Kill 'em with kindness
© 2006, The Miami Herald Distributed by Tribune Media Services, Inc.
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