Cars — for drivin’, not likin'
Mtthew Abra
I like a good car chase, I like the movie Cars, but in the real world, I don’t like cars for any reason other than their practical everyday use. I am a phenomenon I like to refer to as an “A to B person” — someone who indulges in the use of automobiles for the sole purpose of getting from point A to point B.
Paul Newman likes cars. He likes them for reasons beyond this simple purpose. He races them, he promotes them, and he even has a habit of almost getting himself killed in them. He exhibits an interesting attitude towards cars that people like me strain to understand. As the voice of the old-school Doc Hudson in the movie Cars, he even cast his influence over other characters’ lines like: “I create feelings in others that they themselves don’t understand.” Excuse me?
The truth is, I don’t get it. I don’t get the “feeling,” I don’t get the anal and perfectionist mindset, or, as Maverick and Goose put it, I don’t get the general “need for speed” that is embraced by many people in regards to cars. I like to refer to them as “H to N people” — people who use this supposed mystique to go from “Hot to Not.” To me a car is a sweet and reliable method of transportation, the end.
But that’s fine. I don’t need to get it. Certainly there are many people with passions not shared by the rest of the world, and it isn’t our right to judge. Fair enough. So then why is it that this particular one irks me so much?
Perhaps the answer lies in the pompous superiority complex that seems to come along with the whole thing. In as sarcastic as way as I can muster, here is how I see it. With every car, the H to N people see a “window” of opportunity. First, they roll down the window to let their wannabe-gangster rap reverberate for the rest of us to enjoy. How nice. Next, they use the open window to casually rest their arm, an act of relaxation that gives us the added bonus of a free gun show. That’s hot. Finally, the window is used as a temporary ashtray, whereby a sea of embers are discarded into the night, lighting the way for a happy A to B person frantically trying to make his news meeting. I don’t know about you, but I find it all sexily impressive.
But that’s just one case. Most of the people within my social circle who classify as H to N people achieve it through pure fantasy. For them, a car stands as a symbol. Never mind that the speed limit is 50, they still need to hold nothing more than the knowledge that they are fastest. I once had a conversation with a friend that went a little something like this:
