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David Spates Car windows have no power over me Real men know when the coach should call for
the corner blitz. Real men know how to use a lathe. Real men
also know not to chitchat in a public restroom. Well, I suppose I could make an educated guess
on when the defense should blitz with its cornerbacks, and, given
some practice, I'll bet I could figure out how to operate a lathe
safely and somewhat proficiently. And I'm keenly aware of the
code of silence employed in men's rooms across the country, but
real men also seem to appreciate fast and fancy cars, and that's
where my manhood seems to be lacking. The other day some friends of mine were discussing
cars, and I fully realized that I have absolutely no interest
in horsepower, turning radius, power this, automatic that or
whether a car can determine that you're lost before you can.
I simply don't care. For me, cars are utilitarian and that's
about it. All I ask is that it doesn't fall apart the minute
I drive it off the sales lot and that the air conditioner works.
Everything else is ancillary. We have two Nissans parked in our garage,
a Frontier pickup truck and a four-door Altima. Could we afford
fancier, faster cars? Probably, but rarely do I purchase what
I don't want. I've driven fancy cars before. I've been behind
the wheel of imported luxury sedans with more leather than a
Sturgis Harley rally, behemoth SUVs that can take a speed bump
at 45 mph and not spill the 200-degree coffee squeezed between
your knees, and sporty convertibles so aerodynamically perfect
that they're guaranteed not to ruin the driver's hair plugs. I've enjoyed my fleeting moments behind these
vehicles in the same way I enjoy my time at Disney World. It's
fun for a little while, but the fascination soon fades and you're
left wondering why you spend $120 for a four-day park-hopper
pass and $39,000 for a car that provides the same service as
a $14,000 model. The people who buy these overpriced cars are
quick to point out that luxury and stylish design are important
to them. Enjoying the journey is just as important as the destination,
they say. If you need faux wood paneling, seats hand-stitched
with fine Corinthian leather and a V-8 engine with more horses
than a glue factory to enjoy yourself, then by all means, enjoy
yourself. It's your dime. Call me unmanly if you must, but I
just don't get the attraction. While some thirtysomethings are busy scouting
the dealerships for their latest toy to rekindle the energy and
vigor they vaguely remember from their youth, my apathy toward
flashy cars seems to be increasing as the years go by. More and
more, I find myself admiring the low-tech, the old-school, the
cars that are able to chalk up a couple hundred thousand miles
with little more effort than regular oil changes. I've got enough
things to worry about without having to concern myself with replacing
a motor that adjusts my driver's seat a month after the warranty
expires. Ah, yes, the dozens of little motors, switches,
computer chips and processors that control everything in your
car from the LED clock in the dashboard to the electric locks
that automatically kick in when you open just one door. Well,
you can keep it all. I'm not interested. Take those ridiculous power windows, for instance.
I've owned plenty of vehicles over the years, most with power
windows, and every one of my cars has had a problem with the
windows. The electric motors that control power windows fail
about as often as an Oprah diet. My solution? Now, I buy cars that don't have
power anything. No power windows. No power locks. No power seat
adjustment. No power side mirrors. On the price sticker in a
new car's window, simply replace the word "power" with
the phrase "post-warranty failure" and you'll get a
clearer idea of what you're paying for. How lazy have we become? In the old days when
you had to manually roll down a window or unlock a door, was
it such a traumatic experience that you vowed to never again
roll that handle or flip that lock? No, of course not. It's only been since the
car manufacturers have introduced auto this and power that have
we convinced ourselves that we simply do not have the time to
roll down a window without the help of an electric motor. I relish
the fact that I know with 100-percent certainty that I'll never
have to replace a power window motor or auto-lock circuitry ever
again. And, somehow, I still manage to roll down my windows and
unlock my doors. Amazing. And how much horsepower is enough, anyway?
If I can move at the same speed of traffic, that's plenty for
me. Very rarely do I find myself with the need to hit a top speed
of 140 mph, and even more rarely must I be able to go from 0
to 60 in less than 5 seconds. I find that if I just leave the
house a little earlier, I have very little use for 260-horsepower
engines. I know, I know. A REAL man likes cars. He likes big, gas-guzzling engines and squealing tires. Am I a real man? I don't know. I need to go drive my wimpy weenie car and think it over. · · · |