Make Believe

2008-06-24T23:46:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I pretend that I'm a music critic and write crappy reviews for Live Music Blog.

Like this one.

Ninety miles an hour, girl, is the speed I drive

2008-03-11T20:34:00.000-07:00

So says Hendrix. So says I. He was obviously speaking metaphorically (I'm not even certain he had a license), but I'm speaking from a purely literal standpoint. As in actually driving a car. This is remarkable only because it's been a long time since I've last driven a car, and being a city dweller, it seemed like a luxury that I really didn't need. But then work took me to California last week, and renting a car was part of the plan.

So what have I been missing?

moving at high speeds

talking on my phone while driving

illegal u-turns

fast food drivethroughs

pumping gas

using my iPhone to find my location and get directions from that point [1]

moderating my drinking

Ok, so that last one isn't such a great feature, but the rest left me with a fairly exhilarating experience. But not quite exhilarating enough to purchase a new car. And not quite exhilarating enough to pull my old car out of storage (vintage mustang which will probably be sold this spring, but that's another story). But almost enough to activate that zipcar membership. It's just like the first Coke I drank after a self-imposed boycott of soft drinks. Or the first episode of Friends that I watched after I decided that watching TV was acceptable.

My last driving experience? It was several years ago, just after my guitar teacher Cathy's birthday party. We had gone to the Double Door to see Hurra Torpedo. They're this Norwegian band with an almost typical lineup - bass, guitar, vocals... and a guy who pounds on old stoves and washers and dryers for percussion. Gimmicky, sure, but it's actually quite compelling when seen live. They're best known for this cover of "Total Eclipse of the Heart".

Anyway, my friend Cindy has a brother who works as a soundman at some club in New York, and he befriended these guys and told her to say hi for him. So she did and we ended up hanging out with them for the rest of the night after their set. So there we were - just a couple of musicians and us and beers and a photo booth. Only one thing could possibly happen: pile into the booth and take some pictures.

The next day I woke up and had some printed photographic evidence, but being sans scanner, there was no way to get the pics online. Cindy said she'd pick me up and we would go to Kinko's. It was late at night, and when she got to my place, she was whining about how she was tired and didn't want to drive and that I should drive. Here's one of the pics. Note the haircut that I don't have anymore and the glasses that I don't wear anymore and the shirt that I probably still wear all the time. Lord knows the last time I bought new clothes.

And that was the last time I was in the driver's seat. Until last week.

[1] Locating myself on the iPhone is a nice feature, but most of the time in Chicago, I know where I am. So pulling up a map of the office or of my friend's house is a cute novelty, but not all that exciting. Once you are moving in a car, or potentially lost in a car, this makes so much more sense. It got to the point where I would just start driving in the general direction of my destination and just keep locating myself on the map until I got where I was going. We live in some very magical times.

alden's blog

Make Believe

Ninety miles an hour, girl, is the speed I drive