It's 1972 again! Somerville, MA 5/12.
But dude, tell me you can look at that car and not get all misty eyed and irrational! So what if I can't can't tell a spanner from a spaniel! I just know that if I found a sweet fixer-upper I could learn to become a crackerjack mechanic in no time at all! And after I was done getting the engine and suspension squared away I'd make a temporary paint-shop in my driveway like this guy did and finish the job right!
Mass Ave Matchbox, Cambridge, MA 5/12.
Ok. Maybe I am delusional. After all I really don't know much about the inner workings of an automobile, simple or complex. Just ask my girl-friend who thought I was lying to her when she asked me what kind of oil her car took and I said, "Uh...huh? I dunno." Beyond, push right pedal down go fast, push other pedal down go slow, all I really know is what colors I like and that American cars have sucked for, like, ever.
These American cars do not suck. At least they don't suck to look at. And I bet they don't suck to drive as long as you don't have to turn very much. And I know they sound damn hot.
Sharing the Sidewalk, Chelsea, NY 1/12.
For me cars represent potential (I, too, could be mechanically talented!)and fantasy (Race-car drivers are so dreamy and macho! I drive cars too. Am I dreamy and macho?)and a connection to a glorious past that I struggle to find true connection with. My dad *Madmen alert!* used to work on his cars in the driveway in his jeans (for weekends only) a white t-shirt (called an undershirt back then) with a beer close-by and a working knowledge of all the tools in the box. There was probably a transistor radio mumbling the play-by-play of some game in the background competing with the drone of a few lawn mowers being piloted by dads in distant yards. I was like an electron circling the whatever an electron circles, bouncing around the driveway, the garage, the backyard, with excitement until that magic moment when he pulled himself out from under the car and while wiping his hands off on a dingy towel he'd survey his work as if he could see through metal. He'd take a long pull from his can of Budweiser (the KING(!) of beers) like a performer cranking up the drama before settling into the groan of the drivers seat to turn the key and prove yet again that he was a wizard.
The suspense was delicious and safe. I knew that darn car was going to not only start but after the back-fires settled and the exhaust cleared it would purr like it had the day it rolled off the assembly line.
Jacked Nova, Los Angeles, CA 3/12.
And it usually did. Try telling an 8 year old kid that's not magic, and not powerful, and not proof that his dad has some kind of super-powers.
So yes, cars are a powerful image holder for me and as such I take a lot of pictures of cars of all types and in all conditions. I've had fun driving and admiring the ugliest shit-boxes to the swankiest of the swanky and honestly I've found fun and personality in all of them.
California Convertible, La Jolla, CA 3/12.
Some are easier to love than others of course but as long as they don't strand you on the side of some forsaken highway in the rain they all have their charms. Plus all of them, no matter how humble, go vroom-vroom if you roll up the windows and make the noise with your mouth as you step on the gas. And that sounds frickin' awesome.
Sad Face, Somerville, MA 1/12
I say goodbye for now with one last photo of a car so damn hot that it melts many parts of me simultaneously. My eyes, my heart and my brain all succumb to it's automotive charms, not to mention my loins. Speaking of, as always, touching the photos makes them bigger. If only everything reacted thusly.
Too Darn Hot, Somerville, MA 10/11.