Yes, Halloween's over, folks, and 'tis the season to become comfortably discouraged about the future of the automobile.
Read this article and see if you feel an urging for Prozac.
Why is the future of the car so bleak? Why are we being invaded by a revolutionary desire to reinvent the car? Is it environmentalists, fighting for the deification of the Prius and the evangelization of the Church of the Smart Car? Is it the worldwide oil crisis, a political debacle as well as an economical one, breathing down the necks of motorists as they swipe their plastic at the pump? Or is it simply all media hype; whining writers, journalists, and bloggers like me trying to gain an audience by attempting to sound exciting? I simply don't know. There, I said it.
But now that I've asked the questions, and answered them, I can now sit down in my fat leather chair, cigar in hand (just kidding), and chew on the issue with impunity.
If five years from now you all find yourselves putzing around in Altoid tin-sized squeakers running on hydrogen's child, I will be living far away somewhere in the Swiss mountains, driving a real car. That's my game plan. If the end times come, and the Apocalypse is on the horizon; and if the world is in turmoil, and governments and nations are in total disarray, I will retreat to the famously-neutral nation, and live in a tiny cabin with a 5-car garage stocked full of Shelby Cobras, Hemis, Maranello 12-kickers, and British beauties. I will have gas shipped to me through the black market, and limit my driving to the lone asphalt trails twisting through the Alps. When I needed to go into town, I'd drive the fuel sipper just to keep my cover. But then, as the sun set, the people of the village would be haunted by the mysterious roar of what sounded like a motor. A motor! A long-forgotten memory of years past, a thing done away with by governments around the world. But only here, in the resonating slops of Switzerland does the spirit of the real automobile still ring loud and clear.
Anybody want to join me?
Read this article and see if you feel an urging for Prozac.
Why is the future of the car so bleak? Why are we being invaded by a revolutionary desire to reinvent the car? Is it environmentalists, fighting for the deification of the Prius and the evangelization of the Church of the Smart Car? Is it the worldwide oil crisis, a political debacle as well as an economical one, breathing down the necks of motorists as they swipe their plastic at the pump? Or is it simply all media hype; whining writers, journalists, and bloggers like me trying to gain an audience by attempting to sound exciting? I simply don't know. There, I said it.
But now that I've asked the questions, and answered them, I can now sit down in my fat leather chair, cigar in hand (just kidding), and chew on the issue with impunity.
If five years from now you all find yourselves putzing around in Altoid tin-sized squeakers running on hydrogen's child, I will be living far away somewhere in the Swiss mountains, driving a real car. That's my game plan. If the end times come, and the Apocalypse is on the horizon; and if the world is in turmoil, and governments and nations are in total disarray, I will retreat to the famously-neutral nation, and live in a tiny cabin with a 5-car garage stocked full of Shelby Cobras, Hemis, Maranello 12-kickers, and British beauties. I will have gas shipped to me through the black market, and limit my driving to the lone asphalt trails twisting through the Alps. When I needed to go into town, I'd drive the fuel sipper just to keep my cover. But then, as the sun set, the people of the village would be haunted by the mysterious roar of what sounded like a motor. A motor! A long-forgotten memory of years past, a thing done away with by governments around the world. But only here, in the resonating slops of Switzerland does the spirit of the real automobile still ring loud and clear.
Anybody want to join me?
posted by J.L.D at 6:11 PM
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