Mass transportation is doomed to failure in North America because a person’s car is the only place where he can be alone and think. less than 1 minute read
The car has become the carapace, the protective and aggressive shell, of urban and suburban man. less than 1 minute read
Never say never, but the thought of electively cutting oneself is beyond my grasp, and I also object to it politically. Denying the lines on our faces makes a comment about age and wisdom I don’t care to make. less than 1 minute read
My mother was determined to make us independent. When I was four years old, she stopped the car a few miles from our house and made me find my own way home across the fields. I got hopelessly lost. less than 1 minute read
People who have car collections - I never understood that. I always thought that was unnecessary. It’s not beautiful, it’s not creative. It’s just showing how much money you’ve got. less than 1 minute read
My parents were what I like to call proper musical fans. Lots of Sondheim was played in the car. less than 1 minute read
I remember driving to North Carolina when I was a little girl in a snowstorm to get down to my mom’s family in the Carolinas. There were chains on the car - it was the late sixties - and we were just singing in the car. Christmas carols. less than 1 minute read
My first car, I got it in an auction at my temple. It was an ‘86 Volvo that I got for 500 bucks, and then wound up throwing $10,000 into the stereo system and put TVs in the foot rests. It was the most ridiculous Volvo you’d ever seen, but I had never had money before and I was out of my mind. less than 1 minute read
