Car Culture and Other Nonsense

I was thinking of Ken Justice's post to my last blog entry. Ken, by the way, is my hero because he gets to ride around on his motorcycle and do whatever he damn well pleases. I try to do that and get all kinds of flack from my fiance, my parents, and the kids (who alternate between telling me I can't possibly do something because it 'just isn't done' or that I'm a damn conformist. Get real) As long as the bills get paid in an ethical way and everybody eats who cares. I'm been thinking of car culture alot lately because my fiance has become a perpetual victim of it. He is a fabulous person, there's just not disputing how damn smart and wonderful he is. But...Achilles has a heel. What is it about humans, particularly in Southern California, that makes them identify themselves totally with their mode of transportation? Back a few years ago, the soccer moms eschewed the minivan for the SUV in an attempt to appear more interesting and dangerous and give the impression that at any minute they might go off on an adventure. My fiance had the car of his dreams taken from him and wound up driving a older Mercury Topaz. He has completely driven it into the ground in a very short time. The amount of rage that he has when he is on the road because of this tragic reversal of fortune is phenomenal. He has replaced three sets of brakes in one year. I make this declaration right now: JOSEPH, YOU ARE NOT A MERCURY TOPAZ!!