It's Dream Cruise time in the fair city of Detroit. I've never been a car person, truth be told, and when asked what kind of car I had, I answered in all seriousness, A white one. The one before that was Polynesian metallic green. But I do love the words, dream cruise. They are so evocative and lovely even though most of my dreams are nightmares where my exes become uber successful, winning Pulitzers and getting their stories made into films, like Jeffrey Eugenides did in The Switch (yes, this movie is based on his short story, "Baster").
So where are you guys cruising on this Friday afternoon? I've always loved Fridays, that feeling of possibility. In college, I'd use Friday afternoons to open the windows of my dorm room and blast BB King's "The Thrill Is Gone" over and over. What thrill and where it went, who the hell knew? All I knew is that I liked the feeling of world-weariness it gave me, all of eighteen and ready to throw in the towel or at least close my eyes until a bottle of cheap jug wine appeared when mysteriously the thrill returned.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"One can have, it turns out, an affection for the war years." Steve Martin
Cocktail Hour
Looking forward to the Pat Tillman documentary.
Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Friday!
9 comments:
First: King's "Thrill is Gone" is blessed. The best. Shame on you for exposing his grandosity to a bunch of punks who were listening to Other. B.B. King is the king for a reason.
Second: The Dream Cruise? Nice cars to look at, nice people-watching, but--really?--who cares? It is far over-blown.
Third: You in a shirt and nothing much else? Fricking priceless and beautiful and your man is oh-so-proud.
My Dream Cruise would have you and my girlfriend cavorting about, on the top of my 2002 hatchback Ford Focus, whilst I cruised in the "cruiser lanes" up Woodward to Birmingham.
Now, that?! That'd be sweet!
--A___
PS: El Caminos rock my head. They're kinda like an automotive mullet: Power and Party yet serviceable Get-Shit-Done. Short in front and long in back. Also Chevelles; I like Chevelles. And people-watching; I like that, too!
:-P
But...who am I?
(But a fan of your writings. You are *damned* good. I would say: Poetic.)
I grew up Cruising Gratiot from six mile to about fourteen. It seemed so important back then. There was some street racing a few girls showing their breast from the safety of their machines but letting loose of all the pent up frustration of growing up came out. We had some illegal guns, a fast car and a life that lived for that moment as if that was the pinnacle of life. One night our car ran out of gas then limped into Eastland mall’s parking lot, then the cops pull up on us just as we our putting in the couple gallons we walked miles to get, too late to ditch my gun. We got bright lights in a dark parking lot, conversation, and the danger we lived for. That would be the second time carrying with running into the cops without warning. The first was passing the fruit market as it was being robbed. I dumped my Army jacket and gun into the trash can just before the cops were coming out of the store and face to face. I suppose most would have left the gun, but where is the feeling of danger in that. The third time I was being pulled over for speeding, while carrying the little stainless automatic the girl I ran with palmed at the gun show. I slid the cocaine I was holding for her and the gun under the seat, got out and faced down the cop. I did get a ticket, but now wonder how so little happened with running that close to the end where risk was normal and like a drug needed to up the dosage to find even the feeling of yesterday. I never got into drugs or alcohol I was so far out then they would have just dulled the experience.
Chris with a C
I'd wander down to Woodward just to watch the nuts and bolts fall off the self restored machines built by guys who don't know what a torque wrench is for/
And spend time taking wild guesses at how many coats of clear coat overlay went on the the $15000 paint jobs laid on the Bondo filled metal (nobody uses lead anymore)and wonder what the hell the fascination is all about.
Old men driving old shit one or two days a year so they can profile like they still had youth is a fools game. All those hairless heads creates quite the glare for the spectator.
Now they are too concerned with getting a ding or a scratch to light them up in the fifteen mile long traffic jam, the insurance rates for "baby" and getting a ticket for doing a burn when the light turns green to make it more than a parade of dollar bill signs on rubber.
I'm with C with a C except the real racing and fast times were across town on Telegraph where we built them for speed not for tits(those came out later). Back when the car was the bullet.
It is safe to say I will be anywhere but Woodward where they will haul them in on trailers run them long enough to warm the engine up and go back home to their oatmeal and fruit dinners after they put the covers back on for another year.
Old men driving old shit one or two days a year so they can profile like they still had youth is a fools game. All those hairless heads creates quite the glare for the spectator.
Alas, you are right, Walking Man...the only thing more pathetic is the old man who triea to score women half their age in order to feel 'young' again (Mel Gibson; Larry King, etc.).
Mel and Larry: Don't fear The Reaper!
I spent too much time cruising during my commute this week. Gonna dream on the couch.
I'm afraid my Friday afternoon was uneventful. I finished work & went home, just glad that the weekend was ahead. I actually went to bed around 8:30pm, I was so tired...
I AM a car person !
MUSTANG !!!!
ALL THE POWER, LOW PRICE.
Ya CAN'T beat 'em. pound for pound the best musclecar for the money !
ok, I'll get off my soapbox now.....
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