From sometime around 2000:
Alex told me he was impressed when I, without thinking, blew out of a stop light just turned green, from the parking lane and cut in front of the long row of cars pulling out next to me. I respect Alex a great deal and this positive feedback meant a lot to me. Especially on a Saturday morning after being up all night save for a short nap on the beach with a St. Ides Special Brew.
What he said snuck its way into my subconscious. I started doing it at every light. Just like Charlie had taught me. "Secrets of city driving," he'd said. We'd come back for the weekend from Michigan, me from my parents' in Lansing, Alex and Crystal from Detroit. We were supposed to be looking for places to live, so we ended up driving around the city North-East-West-South whatever. Wherever we went though, I'd still subconsciously refer back to the secrets of city driving, fueled by Alex's compliment.
All of the sudden, "Why do you do that?"
"I dunno," I replied, not consciously remembering what he'd said earlier that was driving my behavior. Lack of sleep and ten cups of coffee. My head was swimming, I was feeling great. Too good to worry about pissin' people off at stop lights and too good to worry about Alex's loving critique of my technique. Which was rough, I might add. But I wasn't trying to impress anyone. Although it seems like a real dick-in-hand, machismo thing to do, to peel out like that, it wasn't like that. It couldn't possibly be with the car I was driving. Let's just say the flower vase is a standard feature. It's pretty tough to look tough in a car like that. Perhaps it was my subconscious intention, trying to make up in speed and agility what I lacked in coolness. Like deep inside I was painfully aware of how silly driving this automobile looked and just had to prove to all the other drivers and the pedestrians I almost hit in the crosswalks that there was more than meets the eye. More power. More speed. How dumb is that?
What he said snuck its way into my subconscious. I started doing it at every light. Just like Charlie had taught me. "Secrets of city driving," he'd said. We'd come back for the weekend from Michigan, me from my parents' in Lansing, Alex and Crystal from Detroit. We were supposed to be looking for places to live, so we ended up driving around the city North-East-West-South whatever. Wherever we went though, I'd still subconsciously refer back to the secrets of city driving, fueled by Alex's compliment.
All of the sudden, "Why do you do that?"
"I dunno," I replied, not consciously remembering what he'd said earlier that was driving my behavior. Lack of sleep and ten cups of coffee. My head was swimming, I was feeling great. Too good to worry about pissin' people off at stop lights and too good to worry about Alex's loving critique of my technique. Which was rough, I might add. But I wasn't trying to impress anyone. Although it seems like a real dick-in-hand, machismo thing to do, to peel out like that, it wasn't like that. It couldn't possibly be with the car I was driving. Let's just say the flower vase is a standard feature. It's pretty tough to look tough in a car like that. Perhaps it was my subconscious intention, trying to make up in speed and agility what I lacked in coolness. Like deep inside I was painfully aware of how silly driving this automobile looked and just had to prove to all the other drivers and the pedestrians I almost hit in the crosswalks that there was more than meets the eye. More power. More speed. How dumb is that?
posted by Andy at 11:25
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