You know, I think the best part of this is that, aside from the newer cars outside, there's no way you'd know this wasn't from the early '70s...the Nova, the Dead on tape, the whole Richard Manuel look that Murilee's got going and his hippie buddy's Chuck Taylors...all very not 1991. I dig it.
Oh, by the way Murilee when are we going to get a complete list of all the cool beaters you've had over the years? Your automotive history seems to be pure gold and you've been teasing us for ages.
If FromaBuick6 has to watch one more Chevy commercial, he's going to punch Howie Long in the face was starred
If FromaBuick6 has to watch one more Chevy commercial, he's going to punch Howie Long in the face was unstarred
@LTDScott: And it's funny to think that a car of the same age today would be a 1994 model. I think there was a big difference between reliability of 1976 and 1991 cars, but not so much between 1994 and 2009 cars.
discontinuuity is tentatively testing the waters of Murlopnik Weekend before plunging again into the fridgid waters that are Jalopnik proper was starred
discontinuuity is tentatively testing the waters of Murlopnik Weekend before plunging again into the fridgid waters that are Jalopnik proper was unstarred
California is the edge of an American desert, in both literal and figurative terms, that is poised breathlessly above the largest ocean on the planet. The Pacific looms, cold and welcoming, after the miles of parched redness to the east. It sits placid, Pacific; inviting the final plunge, which sooner or later will quench the desert's dusty longing. It is Hope: the promise of release, the end of many journeys, the seeding of driest emptiness, with myriad primordial fecundity.
This is why it beckons.
Beyond the mountains, Nevada sits. A way station on the path to the promised land, it collects cast-off bits of flotsam; animate and inanimate, which failed of their destination, or finding it, were cast back into the desert, like a wave picks up a log and hurls it back into the sand along the beach.
Finding a vehicle, in both literal and figurative terms, the journey back from California to Nevada, reflects one's original trek. Like recursive dreams that fold back into distorted remembrance of the day, we open the door, push back the seat, and fold ourselves into the past. The Chevy. The Nova.
"No va, senor..." But, surprisingly, it starts, it moves. And compels us to ride. Into the past. Into the desert.
There, its mysterious inner mechanical workings, born of another hope and dream, in a more temperate and greener childhood, in both literal and figurative terms, slowly play out. Time, time, time. With enough inertia, it keeps rolling. The car. The desert. The dreams...
Spoken in a far clearer and deeper voice then William S. Burroughs, who plunged through and out the primordial wastes and detritus of the American frontier. Absolutely COTD!
@geschmidtt: It's pretty easy to speak in a clearer voice than that old literary hustler, Burroughs; in my opinion, the only works of his worth reading are the crypto-memoirs Junky and Queer.
@Murilee Martin: I rather liked Naked Lunch. But Burroughs was indeed a hustler. The whole of the Beat Generation was over-hyped generally. Although, I think they just viewed the literary success as comedy, pulling The Man's leg. Inside humor and scat.
@Murilee Martin: Ol' WSB was a distant relation, and we never met, probably I'm all the better for it. I don't think he was much of a car guy.
His work was very uneven, but even in some of the worse stuff there are nuggets to be found. I don't think he was really a long-form artist, aside from his life and persona. Some things, like his shotgun paintings are just awful, but you have to admire his enthusiasm to experiment and shock.
Much of his work sits better taken as comedy and in small doses. That way, when you get to his really pithy stuff, it rings clearer.
I agree that you can find good stuff in WSB's more self-indulgent works (e.g., Naked Lunch, The Last Words Of Dutch Schultz, The Ticket That Exploded), but for the most part he was doing a schtick that got tedious in a hurry.
If you get close to your monitor, squint, and look extra hard, you can see me standing on my chair, whooping and hollering and clapping my hands over my head. Bravo, you, sir, are an auteur. The vacuity of existence, the doleur and ennui of a world where the day is drained of coleur, the mise en kaleidoscope that exposes la deranger de l'existence universale et mondain. L'etranger c'est moi, c'est ci tout!
Now, who do I have to screw to get on the guest list for your retrospective screening?
Amazing that GM never did figure out how to keep those plastic rub strips glued onto the side of the car. You absolutely could not kill those Novas. I know, we tried.
@Murilee Martin: Of course, but can't we just tone some of them down a bit? I remember we had 5 POSTS on a single day about the Toyota Prius, then another 5 about the Camaro. It would be like the old nightly news, 15 minutes of the days events.
12/06/09
Man, I miss seeing cars and trucks with wing windows. Heck, I miss cars and trucks. Everything is an SUV or a Caddy with a bed these days.
Save the wing windows.
12/06/09
You know, I think the best part of this is that, aside from the newer cars outside, there's no way you'd know this wasn't from the early '70s...the Nova, the Dead on tape, the whole Richard Manuel look that Murilee's got going and his hippie buddy's Chuck Taylors...all very not 1991. I dig it.
Oh, by the way Murilee when are we going to get a complete list of all the cool beaters you've had over the years? Your automotive history seems to be pure gold and you've been teasing us for ages.
12/06/09
Also, it's nice to hear real car door noises on film.
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Also at 2:16, what is that light blue metallic car? At first I thought it was a 60 Merc, but then maybe 64 Bonneville?
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This is why it beckons.
Beyond the mountains, Nevada sits. A way station on the path to the promised land, it collects cast-off bits of flotsam; animate and inanimate, which failed of their destination, or finding it, were cast back into the desert, like a wave picks up a log and hurls it back into the sand along the beach.
Finding a vehicle, in both literal and figurative terms, the journey back from California to Nevada, reflects one's original trek. Like recursive dreams that fold back into distorted remembrance of the day, we open the door, push back the seat, and fold ourselves into the past. The Chevy. The Nova.
"No va, senor..." But, surprisingly, it starts, it moves. And compels us to ride. Into the past. Into the desert.
There, its mysterious inner mechanical workings, born of another hope and dream, in a more temperate and greener childhood, in both literal and figurative terms, slowly play out. Time, time, time. With enough inertia, it keeps rolling. The car. The desert. The dreams...
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His work was very uneven, but even in some of the worse stuff there are nuggets to be found. I don't think he was really a long-form artist, aside from his life and persona. Some things, like his shotgun paintings are just awful, but you have to admire his enthusiasm to experiment and shock.
Much of his work sits better taken as comedy and in small doses. That way, when you get to his really pithy stuff, it rings clearer.
12/07/09
I agree that you can find good stuff in WSB's more self-indulgent works (e.g., Naked Lunch, The Last Words Of Dutch Schultz, The Ticket That Exploded), but for the most part he was doing a schtick that got tedious in a hurry.
12/06/09
Well, it was a Nova.
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I have to admit, the few times I've been to Reno, it's never struck me as having aged well...like most of those who live there.
12/06/09
Now, who do I have to screw to get on the guest list for your retrospective screening?
Amazing that GM never did figure out how to keep those plastic rub strips glued onto the side of the car. You absolutely could not kill those Novas. I know, we tried.
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Overall I got a feeling of MST3000, directed by Wim Wenders.
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QOTD: What car-related item would you bury in a time capsule?
12/06/09