She was kidding, of course. She knows that driverâ€™s licenses werenâ€™t being issued in the mid-19th Century. But as far as sheâ€™s concerned, the car I so admire belongs in the same dustbin of history as the Civil War and, for that matter, most anything that occurred before, say Lady Gaga and Justin Whatisname.
Is sheÂ wrong to think Iâ€™m so traumatized by modern times that I need to hide in â€œfuddyduddydomâ€ by clinging to reminders of my youth?
Hey Iâ€™m on the Internet every day using my broadband connection. I own, and sometimes wear, a shirt made of organic recycled material (old Beef Jerky wrappers I think). Iâ€™ve been known to text message on my BlackBerry (though itâ€™s the ancient version that wonâ€™t play videos, snap photosÂ in 3-D, or double as a remote control for the BlueRay player.)
Indeed I know how to live, even operate–more or less–like a functioning human being, in the present. I get along all right.
Still, thereâ€™s something about that classic car, its styling, and memories it brings up, that I find comforting. Particularly when Iâ€™m stymied in attempts to complete my work. The phone? It yields plenty of robo-calls but no responses to my recorded messages asking for information. The email application is no better, as it serves up only arguments from colleagues (â€œthe dog ate my homeworkâ€) when I ask for progress reports on over-due projects. Some technical tools give me a particularly hard time: (â€œError Message #329-847. The operation requested cannot be performed at this time. Visit our website, www.thejokeisonyou.com, to learn about special offers for application upgrades which might solve your problem.â€)
At times like that, I could kick the cat–if Boscoe hadnâ€™t left home (and maybe that was why)–or I can stare at the photo of the Studie and remember how the scooped chrome moldings on the dash, curving around the speedometer and the gauges, somehow had me believing that the car could go a million miles an hour, and attract someone beautiful who would love me–or at least make out a little. I sat in a Golden Hawk once, and for a moment or two, found myself believing it could transport me to a better place.
No, I donâ€™t want to pretend itâ€™s 1957, I just want a moment of pure joy to creep into my experience of 2011.