Essentially...

I don't like ostriches.

heroes

Why do my heroes die at 50?


Joe Strummer 1952 to 2002


Steve McQueen 1930 to 1980

End of an era

Gone.

At times, I'm a minimalist. Or at least, I want to be. I look at all the shit I've accumulated and shout, "What the fuck do I need all this for?!" So I sell it. Or take it to the dump. Or give it away. But somehow I always end up with more shit.

Now, if I collected button-eyed, styro-bean stuffed animals, that wouldn't be so much of a problem. But when my packratness centers around vehicles--both two- and four-wheeled--it gets a bit out of control. I think I hit the max recently with five cars, three motorcycles, and a scooter. I know...I know...

So in an effort to thin the herd as it were, I sold my '68 Bug. I bought that Bug in the early '80s for $75. It was supposed to be a father-son project that would reach completion just in time for my 16th birthday. Alas, skateboarding and youthful fucking off slowed the project to a crawl.

I had other cars. Other things to do. But my pop and I finally got her on the road in '89. Tickets, breakdowns, ghetto roadside repairs, break-ins and accidents over the next 10 years filled this little Bugger with some history.

But it's been parked since '99. Just rotting away in the back corner of the yard. I'd look at it from time to time wishing I had the time to get it back on the road. Turn it into a stocker. Maybe a VW rat rod complete with 4" chop and suede paint.

But last night, my old Bugger was loaded on a trailer and carried off to the North Bay. It's not all sad, mind you. A father and son showed up to take it. Another chapter for the little Bug. Another ten years with a new purpose.

But I'd be lying if I didn't admit to that lump in my throat as I saw the little Bugger being carried away on that trailer. Goodbye.