Suggested soundtrack: "Sonata for Cello and Piano in F minor" by Mark Mothersbaugh
Is it possible to love something that is intimately connected to something you hate? Anyone in a failing relationship would say "yes," and say it quickly, but what about inanimate objects? To wit: I hate driving, but I love my car.
I don't think about my car too much, which is clearly evident to anyone who has ever seen it: seldom washed, barely maintained, interior strewn with old water bottles and fast-food napkins, exterior badly dented in places with the hood creased so badly in the middle that it gives the car "angry eyes." Despite all this, my tan 1993 BMW 325i very recently drove its 200,000th mile. As this happened, a rush of memories came flooding in, and I realized just how long the car had been with me, and how much we had been through together. I got the car late in 2001, when I was still pretty new to San Diego. Before I was able to give up the majority of my driving about two years ago (until I moved to this fucking place, that is), the car was my constant companion. In this car, over the years, I have eaten many meals, smoked much weed, drank much booze (usually while parked), seen lots of places, traveled with many people, sunk much money, and participated in quite a few sex acts. For those who care for or enjoy elaboration, I will go over some of my favorite moments in the history of my car.
Palm Springs Idea Drives: My Papa lives in Palm Springs, so visiting him involved a two-hour drive. I would usually do these drives late at night, after work. It was on these drives that I had the best ideas for writing or moviemaking. I would text myself these ideas so I wouldn't forget, as I was usually fighting for consciousness at about the same time. My little black and white movie "Revenge of the Chump" started as a brainfart on interstate 15 just north of Temecula.
The "Passenger and Driver" Shoot: Speaking of movies, there was a month in there where we used my car to shoot a movie (never finished) called "Passenger and Driver." It was a funny script, a good idea for a short film, but the talent (me) sucked, and Nick wasn't quite the gifted cinematographer then as he is now. The action revolved around me and another guy driving around town in a car. My car. The movie was shot two hours at a time over a few weeks, always first thing in the morning since at the time I was trying to make it in the mortgage business and had to be at work at noon. It was in these days, with Nick squeezed in the backseat trying to get a good angle, that our friendship was solidified.
Drunk Olympics in East County: Leaving East County's illustrious Flynn Springs Inn one night, I got pulled over by a cop. I had a head full of double-Crown-and-waters, and I hadn't slept in two days since it was finals week and I had written something like 40 pages worth of last-minute research papers. Tired and drunk, I was still able to pass the rigorous testing, insisting all the while that I was merely "tired from writing all night" and offering to show the cop my research papers. I'll never forget the frightened, intoxicated faces of my passengers as they stared at me through the back window of my car, and their stunned expressions as the officer let me go.
Beach trips with Mike: Just before my good friend Mike moved to Dallas, we spent his last San Diego summer at the beach almost every day. I was spending a lot of time sleeping on his couch, so we'd wake up, pile the chairs and cooler and boombox into my car, and hit the road. Windows down, sunroof open, music blasting: this was the life. He had quit Outback, but I was still working there, so drinking all day meant working drunk that night. I was late to work a lot of the time. The high point for me was pissing in a half full water bottle while going 80mph on Interstate 8. No spills!!
Fear and Loathing in Carlsbad: Speaking of being drunk with Mike, there's this legendary bender. I had just bought the "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" soundtrack, and it was playing whenever I was in the car. Headed to a party in Carlsbad, Mike and I stopped for Sushi, hot sake, beer and painkillers. We were out of our minds when we left the Sushi joint and got lost in the neighborhood of the party. We bought a map at a gas station, found the party, and got more polluted. We drank, ate vicodin, and danced. Hours passed in this manner. Later, after a sweaty bit of impromptu romance, I passed out in a guest bedroom. Some time later, Mike woke me up by repeatedly slapping me in the face. We had to leave RIGHT THEN, he said, so we made our way through the dark and empty house, heading downstairs and out the back door, taking most of the booze and a bread bowl filled with spinach-artichoke dip with us. At the car, I realized I left my shirt on the bedpost, so I snuck back in, up, and out, bumping into shit and cursing loudly the whole way. Mike and I tag-teamed the drive home, with him working the pedals and me steering. With "One Toke Over The Line" blaring out of the open windows and sunroof, and the car reaching speeds in excess of 100mph, I yelled to Mike (with breath that stank of whiskey, women and spinach-artichoke dip) that if a cop pulled us over, we should just get out and climb into the back of his car. We made it home without incident, further proof that my car is itself a magical charm that protects against DUIs.
Trips to LA with RC: When we lived together in San Diego, my friend RC and I would sometimes just pile into the car and drive north, stopping in Laguna Beach before heading into LA and getting up to no good. Most times we slept in the car by the beach. It felt so good waking up to frosty windows, the steering wheel in my lap, getting out and stretching in the misty beach air, and then hopping back in and setting off to find a place with good biscuits and gravy.
Last night out in SD: I don't remember much, but I know I made Nick drive home from downtown, and that I stood up out of the sunroof for the little stretch of Highway 163 and Richmond Ave that led home. Cold air, a good buzz, a great friend, and a hole in the top of the car I could climb through. Looking back, maybe not so safe, but it was a good last impression of the warm San Diego nights and of the carefree existence I enjoyed in those days.
Drive to Texas: See my July 29 entry for a full account of this Labor of Hercules.
I don't think about my car too much, which is clearly evident to anyone who has ever seen it: seldom washed, barely maintained, interior strewn with old water bottles and fast-food napkins, exterior badly dented in places with the hood creased so badly in the middle that it gives the car "angry eyes." Despite all this, my tan 1993 BMW 325i very recently drove its 200,000th mile. As this happened, a rush of memories came flooding in, and I realized just how long the car had been with me, and how much we had been through together. I got the car late in 2001, when I was still pretty new to San Diego. Before I was able to give up the majority of my driving about two years ago (until I moved to this fucking place, that is), the car was my constant companion. In this car, over the years, I have eaten many meals, smoked much weed, drank much booze (usually while parked), seen lots of places, traveled with many people, sunk much money, and participated in quite a few sex acts. For those who care for or enjoy elaboration, I will go over some of my favorite moments in the history of my car.
Palm Springs Idea Drives: My Papa lives in Palm Springs, so visiting him involved a two-hour drive. I would usually do these drives late at night, after work. It was on these drives that I had the best ideas for writing or moviemaking. I would text myself these ideas so I wouldn't forget, as I was usually fighting for consciousness at about the same time. My little black and white movie "Revenge of the Chump" started as a brainfart on interstate 15 just north of Temecula.
The "Passenger and Driver" Shoot: Speaking of movies, there was a month in there where we used my car to shoot a movie (never finished) called "Passenger and Driver." It was a funny script, a good idea for a short film, but the talent (me) sucked, and Nick wasn't quite the gifted cinematographer then as he is now. The action revolved around me and another guy driving around town in a car. My car. The movie was shot two hours at a time over a few weeks, always first thing in the morning since at the time I was trying to make it in the mortgage business and had to be at work at noon. It was in these days, with Nick squeezed in the backseat trying to get a good angle, that our friendship was solidified.
Drunk Olympics in East County: Leaving East County's illustrious Flynn Springs Inn one night, I got pulled over by a cop. I had a head full of double-Crown-and-waters, and I hadn't slept in two days since it was finals week and I had written something like 40 pages worth of last-minute research papers. Tired and drunk, I was still able to pass the rigorous testing, insisting all the while that I was merely "tired from writing all night" and offering to show the cop my research papers. I'll never forget the frightened, intoxicated faces of my passengers as they stared at me through the back window of my car, and their stunned expressions as the officer let me go.
Beach trips with Mike: Just before my good friend Mike moved to Dallas, we spent his last San Diego summer at the beach almost every day. I was spending a lot of time sleeping on his couch, so we'd wake up, pile the chairs and cooler and boombox into my car, and hit the road. Windows down, sunroof open, music blasting: this was the life. He had quit Outback, but I was still working there, so drinking all day meant working drunk that night. I was late to work a lot of the time. The high point for me was pissing in a half full water bottle while going 80mph on Interstate 8. No spills!!
Fear and Loathing in Carlsbad: Speaking of being drunk with Mike, there's this legendary bender. I had just bought the "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" soundtrack, and it was playing whenever I was in the car. Headed to a party in Carlsbad, Mike and I stopped for Sushi, hot sake, beer and painkillers. We were out of our minds when we left the Sushi joint and got lost in the neighborhood of the party. We bought a map at a gas station, found the party, and got more polluted. We drank, ate vicodin, and danced. Hours passed in this manner. Later, after a sweaty bit of impromptu romance, I passed out in a guest bedroom. Some time later, Mike woke me up by repeatedly slapping me in the face. We had to leave RIGHT THEN, he said, so we made our way through the dark and empty house, heading downstairs and out the back door, taking most of the booze and a bread bowl filled with spinach-artichoke dip with us. At the car, I realized I left my shirt on the bedpost, so I snuck back in, up, and out, bumping into shit and cursing loudly the whole way. Mike and I tag-teamed the drive home, with him working the pedals and me steering. With "One Toke Over The Line" blaring out of the open windows and sunroof, and the car reaching speeds in excess of 100mph, I yelled to Mike (with breath that stank of whiskey, women and spinach-artichoke dip) that if a cop pulled us over, we should just get out and climb into the back of his car. We made it home without incident, further proof that my car is itself a magical charm that protects against DUIs.
Trips to LA with RC: When we lived together in San Diego, my friend RC and I would sometimes just pile into the car and drive north, stopping in Laguna Beach before heading into LA and getting up to no good. Most times we slept in the car by the beach. It felt so good waking up to frosty windows, the steering wheel in my lap, getting out and stretching in the misty beach air, and then hopping back in and setting off to find a place with good biscuits and gravy.
Last night out in SD: I don't remember much, but I know I made Nick drive home from downtown, and that I stood up out of the sunroof for the little stretch of Highway 163 and Richmond Ave that led home. Cold air, a good buzz, a great friend, and a hole in the top of the car I could climb through. Looking back, maybe not so safe, but it was a good last impression of the warm San Diego nights and of the carefree existence I enjoyed in those days.
Drive to Texas: See my July 29 entry for a full account of this Labor of Hercules.
***
Well, that's all for now. I still owe you all an update from my trip to the northwest, and now I've got some New Year's Eve crap, too. Look for that stuff here real soon.
Until next time...
1 comment:
Hey, nothing better than being nostalgic about a car. I remember some good times in my Explorer before it became Daniel's car. It has seen some good times since I turned the keys over to him...of that I am sure.
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