The front needs more "bling." (Did I really just say that?)
When I look at it dead on front, for some reason I just see a mid '70's Ford LTD -- the kind that every polyester-clad cop drove in every half hour TV sitcom.
I seldom take notice of small cars, until two years ago, one of the sharpest things I'd ever seen zipped by me on Interstate 5 in San Diego. I gunned it and followed it for about two miles hoping to see who made it.
Turns out it was a blue three door Saturn Astra with the factory 18" alloy wheels. It was gorgeous.
I'd never, ever gone to a dealership to specifically look at a brand new car. This time I did. Much to my surprise, I noticed that the car was built in Antwerp, Belgium! The engine built in Hungary, and the remainder from Germany and Austria. Really? A genuine European car with looks, fuel economy, and handling with the Saturn name badge?
I bought my first and only new car that day. An '08 Saturn Astra in red with all the options.
Two guys are sitting at a blackjack table with a dealer passing out cards. Sometimes people win or lose, but everyone knows the rules.
Then, all the sudden, the dealer changes "Blackjack" from 21 to 17 and arbitrarily changes the value of the chips -- in order to make things more "fair."
The "dealer" is Obama. The players are the shareholders that "bet with" the "Old" GM.
Some advice for Obama: Don't bet your job against the taxpayers' anger.
Was it poorly made or something? This design is beautiful. The only one that's ever "stood out" to someone who doesn't give over-the-road trucks a second glance.
1.) Thanks for the "Catbox" inspiration. 2.) Thanks for the "Star." (Uh, don't ask where it went.) 3.) Thanks for the reason to get up early on Saturday, read your brilliant Jalopnik postings which then inspired me to go play with my Triumph Stag all day. 4.) Thanks for the "Junkyard-ethos-kinship." It's hard to describe, but I know it's there.
Good Luck Friend! Whatever you're writing, I'm buying.
The "100 dollar," 1971 Triumph Spitfire, purchased from a neighbor at the age of 16.
I was certain that an English convertible sportscar would be just the thing to get an awkward pimply kid noticed by the ladies.
With a Haynes manual carefully perched on the valve cover and my ass sitting on the front tire, I spent glorious hours trying to wake the machine from a ten-year slumber.
It worked, it was the best summer ever, and thus began my lifelong love of cars......and ladies.
Just knowing that a jagged metal 5-bladed cooling fan is spinning at 6000 RPMs, six inches away, at direct crotch level is enough to make a trip to the corner market an absolutely exhilarating experience.
The photos invoke pathos. Sort of a car-guy ennui.
Someone, somewhere, spent countless hours on this project. Trips to the junkyard; trips to Home Depot; all of those late hours in a garage solo, while a lonely wife watched sitcom reruns on the other side of the door.
And for what?
To end up on Craigslist -- in this economy -- waiting to be judged and ascribed a value by those who did not, and never will, share his vision.
Olds Toronado/Austin Princess guy? I love you man.