Ph33r meh

My wife still doesn’t believe it, but I can prove it. And one day, I will.

There is a causal effect shared by my car and the weather. My car has a great deal of power over the universe. I will explain.

The very act of driving my car in bad weather–will instantly cause hundreds of knuckle-draggers to climb into their cars and take to the road, solely to come drive in front of me on the highway.

It’s true! The stupidest people on the planet, invariably, choose the worst weather as the perfect time to drive on the same roads with me.

Or perhaps my car just emits an IQ-reduction field, in a frontal cone? More scientific testing is required in order to explain this phenomenon.

My car can actually make the weather worse!

The weather grows colder, the snowfall grows heavier, the wind blows harder—the closer my gas tank is to “E”. If I pull into the gas station running on fumes, a localized blizzard is sure to be happening.

It astonishes and befuddles weathermen. But I can worsen a winter storm, just by trying to get to work!

Coincidence, you say. Thou Doubting Thomases, you will learn to Fear my car’s Awesum Cosmic Powah.

Some day, I may drive to your place to visit.

Better have your snow shovels ready.

You can single-handedly create a causal relation between two things that are currently unconnected — a word and an emotion, a song and an extreme weather event, wearing a certain color and winning the lottery. What cause would you link to what effect, and why?

Don’t make me do it!

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Rochester (III)

Rochester was the (for me at 20-something) dream car; cheap, low-maintenance, took a licking and kept on ticking. He was ugly as sin (kind of a puke green, boxy, square-ish body), but I don’t hold that against him too much.

Rochester was a 1977 Dodge Dart. A low-powered but very, very stable slant-6 engine (stock). Bench seats, front and back. Big, kind of cubical trunk. Box with wheels.

But damn Rochester just kept going and  going and going. After a series of costly cars, it was a relief to have one that didn’t suck money out of my wallet every other week. As old as he already was when I acquired him, that was a really, really unexpected bonus. Reliable; feed him a quart of oil now and then, and he just wouldn’t give you any trouble at all.

Rochester was the car I was driving when I met Annie. Thanks to Rochester, I was able to volunteer a ride home when she needed one. (Smooth!) Thanks to that Meatloaf cassette, I didn’t stumble over my own tongue too much on the trip…and thus failed to scare her away. (“Ain’t no doubt about it”).

And he kept us going, without embarrassing breakdowns or incidents, all through courtship. Unlike my other cars, he didn’t even endanger us at any time, what a guy!

We did finally kill Rochester. While driving Annie home in December, Rochester finally gave his dying gasp and blew a rod…that slow oil leak, simple age maybe. He was pretty decrepit at that point. We had to hike across a sub-zero corn field through the snow to borrow a phone (no cell phones, kids!) which was an adventure in Wind Chills…but the nice folks let us in and kept us warm until help arrived.

So remember Rochester fondly, he gave his all for us. :sniff sniff:

 

The Mustang (II)

Between Beauregard and Rochester, there was the Mustang.

It didn’t have (or earn) a name; I didn’t have it nearly as long, nor did it make much of an memory. My really only remaining impression of the car was…crap. It wasn’t even a Real Mustang; it was an early-70s Mustang II. A Pinto with a Mustang-inspired body.

The Top Gear guys picked the Mustang II among the Worst American cars ever made (S5E16), and I must endorse that choice.  All I remember about the Mustang II was how quickly it fell apart.

Ford committed larceny on a grand scale producing this…thing, and they should be ashamed. Less than six months from a car to a piece of yard art. In between, it was a money vacuum, sucking up dollars and producing only smoke.

Part III: Rochester