Me: Men don't fall in love with a person.
They fall in love with the way they feel
when they're with that person.
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They fall in love with the way they feel
when they're with that person.
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I saw "Gran Torino" last night, in that totally sexy home theater in Valatie last night. The drive upriver was exciting again. It rained so hard at one point that I couldn't see the tail lights of the car four lengths ahead of me, and there was no place to pull off the road. Torrent.
There were four guys and me at the movie. They were more offended by some of the language used in the movie than I - or maybe it's that old chauvinistic problem, the language would have been fine with them had I, a female, not been there. Two of the guys couldn't believe that real street thugs talk that way. Heck, I don't know where they live, but ordinary high school kids talk like that these days (every third word starts with "f", that all-purpose adjective, adverb, verb, and interjection).
I highly recommend the movie, by the way.
The car wasn't really as big an issue in the movie as either the title or synopsis would imply, but on the drive home I was thinking about cars I have known.
Before he retired, my father bought a new car every three years or so, and always a Buick with all the options, like the one with "air ride", where when you turned the car on it actually rose into the air as the pillows in the shocks filled. Or the one with the electric eye on the dashboard (in the late '50s!) that sensed whether it was day or night, and automatically turned the headlights on if it was dark, and lowered them for oncoming cars. I guess it was handy, but it tended to overreact, and turned the lights on in garages, underpasses, and tunnels, or even if there were trees closed over the road. Lightning at night (as there was tonight, which is what made me think of it) made it go crazy clicking from high to low beams.
I also thought about my series of VW Karmann Ghias (coupe and convertible) in the mid 60s to mid 70s. Loved those cars. But a lot of my friends in those days were young and unsophisticated guys in their 20s, and they thought a motor in the rear was incredibly stupid. That was the days of long hoods covering huge mega-horsepower motors, and all real cars had two drive wheels, in the rear. Everybody knew if you put drive wheels in the front, you wouldn't be able to steer.
Their argument against the rear motor: "Where do you put a horse to a cart? In front! You don't put the horse behind the cart! That's stupid! The horse pulls the cart, doesn't push it! Yuk yuk yuk (slapping each other on the back - ha, good one!)"
I'd respond, "Where are your drive wheels? In the rear! Your car is pushed, not pulled. You don't even know where your horse IS!" Silence.
They thought I was too smart for my britches. (Eh. Maybe that's why they kept trying to get them off me. Had to exert dominance somehow....)
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2 comments:
I can totally see you in a red KG with the top down.
I drove a muscle car (1973 Camaro) and loved it like mad.
In my family, we kept cars until...well, my grandfather had a 1963 Ford Galaxy 500 in pristine condition in the garage until he died - in 1991.
Oooo, Camero! I loved Cameros!
My convertible KG was yellow. The coupe was pale ice blue.
My family didn't keep cars long because nobody knew how to change the oil, let alone anything else. Odd - my daughter took an auto mechanics class in high school for some spare credits, and works on her own car.
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