Volkswagen Beetle, 1974.
Sold!
Perhaps I’m being thick, but for some reason the ‘74 VW is more appealing to me than any one of the government-mandated third brake lights, air bags, antilock brakes, fuel-injected-emission-controlled, unibody-crumple-zoned, plastic-bumpered, liquid-cooled, automatic, classless, expensive monstrosities that people happily buy up at 72-month, 16% interest, and use and abuse and discard today.
Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need. We’re the middle children of history, man; no purpose or place. We have no Great War, no Great Depression. Our Great War is a spiritual war. Our Great Depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised by television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires and movie gods and rock stars. But we won’t; and we’re slowly learning that fact.
Dinnertime in an RV park can be measured by the regularity of smoke detectors going off. Folks, it’s a smoke detector. Not a cooking timer.
I’m kidding on that last part, of course – and quite glad those things are so sensitive when we live in a plastic box built to burn.
the rest of me 