I don't miss it at all. No insurance premiums, no gas tank to fill, no flat tires, no dead batteries, no oil changes (which I never really kept track of anyways - sorry Grandpa), no filling the windshield washer fluid, no window scraping in the winter, having to replace headlights and wiper blades... the list goes on and on. We have been in a standard size vehicle two times since we've lived in New York and it was surprising how claustrophobic I felt both times. Not necessarily in a bad way, but in a way where I immediately took notice that I hadn't been in a car or thought about being in one in quite some time. Sitting in a car used to feel completely normal, but now it feels like being in a glorified upholstered Rubbermaid storage container.
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I bought a new vehicle once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away: a Chevy S-10 pickup back in 1993. It featured the Tahoe trim package which basically meant the tires looked more bitchin' than the standard S-10 and it had a sweet-ass Delco AM/FM cassette player. It had a manual transmission which is something that I had never laid hands on prior to signing my life away to GMAC on that fateful autumn day. An automatic transmission would have added $700 or so onto the final price of the vehicle, not to mention there was only one black S-10 on the lot which is what I wanted. In spite of the manual transmission, that wasn't going to stop me from learning how to drive it. It was a bit unnerving watching my salesman Rick Cherry ("Like the fruit," he'd say when telling people his name) walk towards me with freshly typed up loan papers to autograph in exchange for a new vehicle that I didn't know how to make go. Just like most of the others in the handful of big risks I've taken that could have resulted in complete and utter catastrophe (make note of the word "most"), everything worked out fine. After a few weeks of letting up on the clutch too fast, slamming the brakes and killing it on hills and at stop signs, that is.
For several years that truck was my life. Not so much in the way that other dudes look at their cars as babe magnets or status symbols - to me my truck was a glorified private stereo system on wheels that I liked to keep shiny. As a teenager I'd always fantasize about having my own vehicle with a tape deck in it so I could aimlessly drive around and crank my tunes by myself. Kind of like the solitude that a bathroom offers but with driving and loud music instead of pooping and reading the latest issue of Rolling Stone. When I bought my truck I loaded up my 24 cassette tape suitcase with all of my favorites and DROVE. For once in my life I had a reliable vehicle, and being that I was 20 at the time and hadn't been outside of the St. Paul area all that much, I explored. I've always taken a fancy to wandering around in unfamiliar territory so did a lot of driving around outside of the St. Paul city limits to places like *gasp* Edina and sometimes even *ohmygawd* Minnetonka, simply because I could. Although these places were only 15-20 miles away they seemed like different worlds to me. This was back before the internet came around and fucked everything up for independent record stores and guitar shops, so more often than not I'd look up music shops in the Yellow Pages and go cruisin'. As convenient as the internet is sometimes I miss the old days of having to hunt and gather my music rather than just typing it into a magic box and downloading it within seconds.
I don't know if it's the holidays making me nostalgic or the fact that we don't live in MN anymore is truly sinking in, but lately I catch my brain randomly remembering Twin Cities roads and highways and which routes I'd take to get places. It's only been three months but it seems like we moved out here a couple of years ago. A few nights ago just before falling asleep I found myself trying to accurately recall as many details as I possibly could of the Lyndale exit ramp off of 94 and what everything looked like getting from there to our place on Grand Avenue. Although I pretty much remember all of it, there are some things that I'm sure have evaporated from my noggin. I'm sure there's many snippets within the Twin Cities scenery that I subconsciously absorbed, but not until next time I'm in MN and see them will think "Oh yeah, I remember that!" I also play video in my head of the route from 80th Street in Cottage Grove to my parent's house a lot. I'm still batting at 97-98% on that one because I grew up in the Grove for 18-19 years, but now on top of that my brain has additional new cud to chew: What will it look like next time I'm there? When will I be there next? Whose car will I be in? and a bunch of other junk that didn't really occur to me until we recently became so geographically displaced from our roots. We used to get out to Rancho Relaxo about once a month on average, so this three month stretch is a new record. I'm not sure how to feel about that, but it is what it is. Thankfully Google Maps has street view (plus there's Google Earth) so I can always visit places that way, but that's sort of like cheating.
Good ol' Cabbage Grove. |
I just read Paul Shaffer and Craig Ferguson's books, both of which interestingly enough go into detail about moving far away from Mom and Dad and their families and ultimately ending up in New York City... that subject matter certainly hit me on a much different level now than if I would have read those books back in Minneapolis. Instead of reading it and thinking Man, that would really suck I read it and think Yeah, it really sucks (we miss you, family and friends!) Life in Minneapolis didn't involve two hours on the train every weekday for me to sit and read, so I probably never would have read those in the first place had we not lived here. Right place/right time, I guess. If we were still in MN I would have given them a half assed read at best and never finished 'em. Not because they weren't good - they were incredibly excellent books. My attention span just doesn't allow me to finish books unless I'm in a situation where I'm forced to, such as sitting on the train trying not to stare at the asses and crotches in my face of people who got on at Times Square and have to stand and hold the bar above my seat (I believe they're lovingly referred to as strap hangers even though there aren't straps in the subways anymore). Times Square is the stop on my way home from work where everyone and their mama boards the train; I'm incredibly grateful that I get on three stops before it when seats are still available.
I've been wondering when I'll be behind the wheel of a motor vehicle next - we just scored tickets to a Jeff Beck gig in June which will require 6 hours of driving upstate, so it looks like that might be it at this point. Maybe instead of renting a car I'll bust out Grand Theft Auto and brush up on my carjacking proficiency. That and maybe one of the Need For Speed games to familiarize myself with getting past the road spikes they'll put up as we approach the Newark Turnpike at 110mph.
