ViperInBlack
Enthusiast
- Joined
- Oct 5, 2004
- Posts
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\"My Friends All Drive Porsches, I (just made) Amends...\"
I mentioned my neighbor, Gary (pseudonym, his real name is Ralph), who has the "last year they made the air cooled Pour-shhh." It's collectibility, he tells me, is based upon the decreasing numbers of air-cooled engines. That number is now tragically below the number of Whoppers ordered without pickles.
Frankly, I do not understand his logic in any of his collecting. He owns two ground-up restored Corvettes, a vintage Mercedes roadster, the Pour-shhh, and various other cars. He drives a 12 year old Chrysler van. It is cool; it blows blue smoke...sunset blue, and it has a cassette player (not currently functional).
He is the quintessential car collector. He built his home with a five car garage, and one space contains his top three colector cars. It also has an old-timey gas pump and early 20th century automobilia. The garage floor is finished and unscathed. The walls are lined with rolling tool boxes, and all drawers are filled with pristine tools.
He has no mechanical ability, and the tools are props, likely for a forthcoming movie about performing warranty work on Terminators.
He also collects high end tube electronics. He has no musical interests and no musical collection except for mint LPs that are unopened. He has four McIntosh tuners and three Fisher tube receivers among his collection.
Most of his time is spent on the telephone ordering more stuff for the shelves.
He also has a dedicated home theater with DirecTIVO, custom cabinetry and wall treatment to obviate standing waves. He does not own DVDs and does not watch television. He has a DLP projector and an SACD compatible DVD player.
I believe he catches up with the news while on the telephone with other collectors. He told me "that wall in Germany needs to come down."
His collections are designed to insinuate him into clubs and groups of the similarly obsessed (or possessed). Upon securing membership to these organizations, he camps out at their shows and gatherings with his comrads. In these settings, I am told, they discuss the collectibility of their collectibles and the desirability of being a collector, kowledgeable in the ways of collecting those collectibles. I have not a clue.
He drives each of his vintage autos around this area of town, on Sunday afternoon. The circuit spans ~3 miles. He then dutifully drives each in succession, along the same route, basking in the shock, awe and deep felt respect of onlookers. This is what he believes is occurring, and it is the duct tape of his psyche.
Life has been good to him...and his collections have been his raison d'etre.
He has truly been the belle of the ball.
This changed on Sunday, October 3, 2004, at ~2:17 pm EST. It was a cool and sunny day, relative humidity a bit high at 67% and there was a slight breeze (W/SW at 11 mph). There was nothing that foretold of the horror that was forthcoming. There was no way for him to prepare.
This is when the true limits of mortality became all too clear to him. It was not substernal chest pain radiating to his jaw and left arm, and it was not the discovery of a mishappen and multicolored mole on his back. It could not have been foreseen by colonoscopy nor prostate exam, chest xray or lymph node biopsy. It is sadly, one of those events for which we think we are protected, or at least, prepared.
At the aforementioned time, his world, as he knew it, came to an end.
My Viper had arrived.
People can be quite cruel or at least unthinking. Neighbors did not realize that their yelling "wow, what is that?!" or shouting "God, now that is amazing" or begging that "you can have my first born if I can drive it...just once."
They were unaware of uncaring of the impact this was having upon car collector guy.
The transporter blocked the street as, the drivers, Cletis and Jethro, unloaded the Viper. Those who may have otherwise ignored the arrival were held hostage by these two well-intentioned vehicle transport men. These two kind, yet decorticate, men moved at the same rate as fingernails grow.
When it was finally off the transporter, and Cletis had given back the mismatched wooded planks to Jethro, I was handed the key to the Viper. The gathering crowd gasped.
Car-collector-guy was ashen and making strange peeping noises. His wife tried to give him water, but it merely dribbled down his Vette Vues t-shirt...the one that reads "`Vette Riders do it in Bowling Green." Unfortunately, that is meaningless to the rest of us.
His Corvettes, Porsche and Mercedes have an ignition switch. My Viper has a big red button.
His Porsche sounds like a Singer Sewing Machine copulating with a Hoover Vacuum. I pushed the big red button of my Viper and the resultant sound communicated: "Beelzebub-is-pissed-and-looking-for-you...now pray"
My neighbor let out a small whimper. His wife went and got him a hat with crossed flags on it, but he had turned a smokey color, and it appeared that his lunch was about to revisit him.
One would think that the difficulty entering, starting and moving a Viper (a series of acts for which there is talk of an Olympic team) would be somewhat humbling, but... you cannot be humbled when a crowd gasps and little kids squeal. Jethro and Cletis were beyond overjoyed and took another dip of *****.
Nowadays, weighbors drop by regularly and ask me "how ya' like yer new toy?"
Collectibility guy has the shades drawn, and I believe I saw a Century 21 sign in front of his home...posted at garage level.
I mentioned my neighbor, Gary (pseudonym, his real name is Ralph), who has the "last year they made the air cooled Pour-shhh." It's collectibility, he tells me, is based upon the decreasing numbers of air-cooled engines. That number is now tragically below the number of Whoppers ordered without pickles.
Frankly, I do not understand his logic in any of his collecting. He owns two ground-up restored Corvettes, a vintage Mercedes roadster, the Pour-shhh, and various other cars. He drives a 12 year old Chrysler van. It is cool; it blows blue smoke...sunset blue, and it has a cassette player (not currently functional).
He is the quintessential car collector. He built his home with a five car garage, and one space contains his top three colector cars. It also has an old-timey gas pump and early 20th century automobilia. The garage floor is finished and unscathed. The walls are lined with rolling tool boxes, and all drawers are filled with pristine tools.
He has no mechanical ability, and the tools are props, likely for a forthcoming movie about performing warranty work on Terminators.
He also collects high end tube electronics. He has no musical interests and no musical collection except for mint LPs that are unopened. He has four McIntosh tuners and three Fisher tube receivers among his collection.
Most of his time is spent on the telephone ordering more stuff for the shelves.
He also has a dedicated home theater with DirecTIVO, custom cabinetry and wall treatment to obviate standing waves. He does not own DVDs and does not watch television. He has a DLP projector and an SACD compatible DVD player.
I believe he catches up with the news while on the telephone with other collectors. He told me "that wall in Germany needs to come down."
His collections are designed to insinuate him into clubs and groups of the similarly obsessed (or possessed). Upon securing membership to these organizations, he camps out at their shows and gatherings with his comrads. In these settings, I am told, they discuss the collectibility of their collectibles and the desirability of being a collector, kowledgeable in the ways of collecting those collectibles. I have not a clue.
He drives each of his vintage autos around this area of town, on Sunday afternoon. The circuit spans ~3 miles. He then dutifully drives each in succession, along the same route, basking in the shock, awe and deep felt respect of onlookers. This is what he believes is occurring, and it is the duct tape of his psyche.
Life has been good to him...and his collections have been his raison d'etre.
He has truly been the belle of the ball.
This changed on Sunday, October 3, 2004, at ~2:17 pm EST. It was a cool and sunny day, relative humidity a bit high at 67% and there was a slight breeze (W/SW at 11 mph). There was nothing that foretold of the horror that was forthcoming. There was no way for him to prepare.
This is when the true limits of mortality became all too clear to him. It was not substernal chest pain radiating to his jaw and left arm, and it was not the discovery of a mishappen and multicolored mole on his back. It could not have been foreseen by colonoscopy nor prostate exam, chest xray or lymph node biopsy. It is sadly, one of those events for which we think we are protected, or at least, prepared.
At the aforementioned time, his world, as he knew it, came to an end.
My Viper had arrived.
People can be quite cruel or at least unthinking. Neighbors did not realize that their yelling "wow, what is that?!" or shouting "God, now that is amazing" or begging that "you can have my first born if I can drive it...just once."
They were unaware of uncaring of the impact this was having upon car collector guy.
The transporter blocked the street as, the drivers, Cletis and Jethro, unloaded the Viper. Those who may have otherwise ignored the arrival were held hostage by these two well-intentioned vehicle transport men. These two kind, yet decorticate, men moved at the same rate as fingernails grow.
When it was finally off the transporter, and Cletis had given back the mismatched wooded planks to Jethro, I was handed the key to the Viper. The gathering crowd gasped.
Car-collector-guy was ashen and making strange peeping noises. His wife tried to give him water, but it merely dribbled down his Vette Vues t-shirt...the one that reads "`Vette Riders do it in Bowling Green." Unfortunately, that is meaningless to the rest of us.
His Corvettes, Porsche and Mercedes have an ignition switch. My Viper has a big red button.
His Porsche sounds like a Singer Sewing Machine copulating with a Hoover Vacuum. I pushed the big red button of my Viper and the resultant sound communicated: "Beelzebub-is-pissed-and-looking-for-you...now pray"
My neighbor let out a small whimper. His wife went and got him a hat with crossed flags on it, but he had turned a smokey color, and it appeared that his lunch was about to revisit him.
One would think that the difficulty entering, starting and moving a Viper (a series of acts for which there is talk of an Olympic team) would be somewhat humbling, but... you cannot be humbled when a crowd gasps and little kids squeal. Jethro and Cletis were beyond overjoyed and took another dip of *****.
Nowadays, weighbors drop by regularly and ask me "how ya' like yer new toy?"
Collectibility guy has the shades drawn, and I believe I saw a Century 21 sign in front of his home...posted at garage level.
