Today, my car died. I don't know what's wrong with it, but by the time it breathed its last breath in the middle of the street, it was making the kind of noises that you never, ever want a car to make. It may well be that this story does not have a happy ending. I thought I was in the clear, it being nearly the end of the year. Apparently not.
I like this car. I wonder if the world turns animated when you drive it? Anything is possible with Queens of the Stone Age, really. Sadly, Josh Homme not included.
Purely out of coincidence -- or, perhaps, prescience? -- I was reading about the Maybach Zeppelin yesterday. I could probably do without that aroma-humidifier thing, though. Maybe Santa will spring for the $500K? Maybe not.
Check out Joan Didion and her little yellow Corvette. Driving around LA. Cruising towards Babylon. She's. So. Cool.
The main character in my novel drives a black 1966 Oldsmobile Toronado. The first front-wheel drive made for the common man, people! It's a hell of a car. 5,000 pounds of grade-A American steel. "Toronado really handles great!" says Bobby Unser. Those retractable headlights are nothin' but sexy. I used to own a 1972 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. That was a hell of a car.
Probably my all-time favorite car is the Lamborghini Reventón Roadster. It's just so fly. Am I the chosen one? I suppose that remains to be seen.