Bridget's post of yesterday has me thinking about the automobile. Is a car just a car to you, a means to get from Point A to Point B, or is it more, something special, something personal? For me, it's much more; in a purely logical way, I can explain it by saying how expensive cars are to own and maintain, and how something that takes such a huge chunk of one's budget ought necessarily to bring one pleasure, pride, happiness - be more than merely functional. I've owned cars I bought because of budget constraints and I tell you, having to be confronted with it every day and say calmly "well, it's all I can afford" totally pissed me off. Realistically, I can say that thousands of dollars of therapy don't buy the thrilling feeling of going just a wee bit too fast on a perfect summer's day in a convertible with the wind in your hair and then one of your favorite songs (probably Led Zeppelin) comes on the radio so you have to punch it a little and that's the best feeling ever, but honestly, though, my typically American love affair with the automobile began much earlier and is anything but sensible. I blame my father.

When I was very young, 5 or 6 I guess, a man who lived down the street purchased a burgundy Corvette Stingray. I thought it was the height of fabulous, the most beautiful vehicle ever made, and I would beg my mother to turn a certain way whenever we left the house for errands and such, so she would drive by those peoples' house and I could see that gorgeous car. I loved that car so much. Even the name was evocative of magic to me: Corvette. Fantastic. All to which one could aspire. Corvette. The quintessential American sports car. The Ferrari Americana. Though I didn't think of it in quite those terms at that age, still the very sound of the name was magical to me, and evoked feelings that I could not precisely define: Corvette - magic. Corvette - freedom. Corvette - speed and luxury and wonderfulness that I understood instinctively but could not articulate. All I could verbalize was how I liked it and how pretty it was. I would tell Mom, "When I grow up, I'm gonna buy me one of them!" and she'd reply doubtfully, "Um...yes, honey, I'm sure you will,", but you can't blame her: Corvettes probably cost eight or ten thousand dollars back then. And you know I'd never make THAT kind of money.

We got new cars far more often than the Corvette-owning guy. When he bought it, we had a a beige Chevy Bel Air which we got because it was old and classic. Yeah. Then we bought a black Ford LTD. Next we got a red car - red exterior, red leather interior, with shiny wheels - I think it was a Plymouth, but hey, I was five (Mom? What was the red thing?). Daddy had a Shelby Cobra at some point, because he worked for Carroll Shelby and yeah, it was SWEEEEET but it wasn't a Corvette. We got a white Pontiac Grand Prix, we got a Pimpmobile Cadillac. Mom had the lack of taste to buy a four-door Ford: a SEDAN! The HUMILIATION! So, yeah, the rents shopped for this and that; my mom even test-drove a station wagon (it was the seventies, yo). And each and every time we went car shopping, each and every time my parents bought a new car, I SOOO didn't understand why they didn't buy a Corvette. I mean, why wouldn't you, if you're a grownup and can do whatever you want and there's no authority figure to stop you and all that matters is what makes you happy? WHY???

I mean, REALLY. You're a grownup, you get to do WHATEVER you want without retribution, freedom in all its glorious glory is yours, all options are open - why the hell DON'T you buy a Corvette?!? I totally didn't get it. When you're a grownup, you can do anything, absolutely ANYTHING, even stay up late enough to watch Saturday Night Live without having to take an enforced nap in the middle of the day which I was way too old for and wasn't necessary in any event and was TOTALLY stupid and...my mother said, either fostering or acquiescing to my stubborn way of looking at everything ultra-logically, that we simply didn't have the money to buy a Corvette.

Well, I knew that excuse was patently absurd. Once or twice a year (every August, once I started school), my mom took me shopping for clothes. Oddly enough, the selection was limited in Cowshit, Georgia (no! it's true!) so we went to the Big City to spend the day. Every time we went to the big downtown Rich's, we got to stop in the bakery/confectionary section, and Every. Single. Time. my mom bought candy by the pound or half-pound. You see my point. At any given time, my mother had enough bills in her wallet to buy candy BY THE POUND, not by the piece as I was forced to do locally. And really, to my small childhood self, what is the definition of wealth but than to always have enough money in your wallet to buy as much as you want of all the kinds of candy that you like?!? No having to pick and choose, no having to weigh the odds and options, just - a half pound of this, a pound of that, a pound of the other. It was obvious that we were wealthy. Yet, each and every time, with every option imaginable available to them, with the blessings of adult freedom to do exactly as one pleased, my parents did not buy a Corvette.

My parents were, obviously, insane.

The weekend after I turned 21 and my insurance costs went down, I bought a Corvette - white with a red leather interior. I bought it used, for financial reasons, and as it hadn't been taken care of properly, it didn't last long (18 months or so). Enter cars bought for SENSIBLE reasons, financial reasons, other idiocy...blech. Even my Mercedes-Benz, which was a convertible and cost quite a bit more, didn't fulfill me. Finally, I bought the car I'd always wanted since I was five years old. She is a 6-speed, black-on-black hardtop convertible. You know, I don't care if she's impractical, I don't care that I can't drive her every day, I don't care that necessary repairs (because things wear out, no matter how well made) are more than SENSIBLE car payments, I don't care that other people may think it's a frivolous waste of money. I don't care. I love her.

If you're curious, her name is Nadine, which is because "Nadine" is the greatest Chuck Berry song EVAH from the greatest rock guitarest except Jimmy Page EVAH, so:

As I got on the city bus and found a vacant seat
I thought I saw my future bride a-walkin' down the street
I hollered to the driver, "Hey conductor! You must slow down!
I think I see her, please let me off this bus!

Nadine, honey is that you?
Oh Nadine, honey is that you?
Seems like every time I see you darlin', you got somethin' else to do!

I saw her from the corner when she turned and doubled back
And started walkin' toward a coffee colored Cadillac
I was pushin' through the crowd to get to where she's at
And I was campaign' shouting like a southern diplomat.

Nadine, honey is that you?
Seems like everytime I see you darlin' you're up to somethin' new!

Downtown searching for her, looking all around,
Saw her getting in a yellow cab,heading uptown.
Caught a loaded taxi, paid up everybody's tab.
With a twenty-dollar bill, told him "Catch that yellow cab!"

She moves around like a wave of summer breeze,
Go, driver, go, go, catch her pretty please.
Moving through the traffic like a mounted cavalier
Leaning out the taxi window, trying to make her hear.

Nadine, honey is that you?
Seems like everytime I see you darlin' you got somethin' else to do.