Current mood:
nostalgic I just wanted to let you all know (yes, the whole two of you that read my highly irregular blogs) that I love my car. I have always loved my car and I will always love my car. For those of you who have not had the pleasure, Hoyt is a '95 blue Dodge Neon "Sport" that I have been in an on-again, off-again relationship with for oh...about 6 or 7 years. When we were on, we enjoyed each other's company speeding along unexplored bits of highway, music blaring, windows rolled down (Hoyt rarely had air conditioning), and daring those who got in our way to go the speed limit; when we were off, I took refuge with a revolving door of vehicular substitutes while Hoyt would crawl into a shop somewhere to fight a losing battle with his inner demons. Looking at where we are now, I wonder if maybe it was I who drove him to his present state, or if maybe it was somehow fated from the day we first met as star-crossed road enthusiasts on a wrecked car auction web-site…
Yes, Hoyt and I met online. It's embarrassing to think about, really, how naïve I was about the idea of being able to pick out the perfect motorized soul mate from a simple photo and a collection of statistics. But I did just that. Sure, he had no front end, and some excess baggage in the form of 90,000 miles, but he was blue and this young driver wanted a car with experience. I was so excited the fine autumn day my senior year of high school when my father brought him home from the auction. I and my two good friends, Kendra and Rose, had just learned to harness our chi in the living room, when the name for the car came to me (or was it Rose? I don't remember it was so long ago) like lightning had just struck my (or Rose's) brain…but it didn't hurt so much as all that. You see, I had just had a dream recently where Rose and I were naming something and we decided to call it Hoyt, with a decisive billboard-type gesture. I have since traced this dream back to an episode of "Friends" wherein Joey describes Monica's future husband and says his name will be something like "Hoyt" with the exact same sort of gesture one of us used in the dream. He then quickly assures her that Hoyt is, in fact, a real name and goes on to describe her pool and…but I digress…Anyway, we all went down to see the newly-dubbed Hoyt for the first time. And there he was, in all his front-end-lacking, heretofore undriveable, bad boy glory. It was love at first sight. Kendra and Rose sat in the back seat while I took the driver's seat and pretended that my car actually ran and it…was…awesome.
The golden days of community college quickly faded as I made the move over to a four year university to get my degree. Hoyt did not make the transition as well as I might have hoped. He began to show his age at an increasingly alarming rate. My youthful wiles could not coax his speakers into withstanding blaring obnoxious 80's music at any respectable level before they began to sputter and cut out from the sheer effort. He began to whine and squeal if I made him go for a drive during the cold winters. He would sometimes decide to turn off the dash lights or the radio for no particular reason. He just couldn't keep up with me anymore and I began to hate him for it. All of the little things that I used to think were so endearing and cute started to grate on me with these new added obstacles. His completely inaccurate gas gauge, once seen as charmingly quirky, I now just found pathetic and smacking of senility. His lack of air conditioning, once simply an excuse to drive with the windows rolled down, I now saw as an abomination and completely unacceptable. But what I really couldn't accept was that years of hard, fast living and just plain old age were taking their toll on my dear Hoyt.
It wasn't until Hoyt's brakes began to give way this fall that I now finally see the truth: we are driving together on borrowed time. So now I see each day that we have together as a blessing and something to cherish. I play the radio a little more softly now, and appreciate that it's there at all. Last Christmas, when I was driving home at 4 in the morning, Hoyt's radio gave out completely and to keep myself awake I sang Christmas carols all the way home instead. I was angry about it then, but now I just think of it as Hoyt's way of getting me into the holiday spirit. Instead of scolding him for slippery brakes, I congratulate him when I turn the car back on again and the brakes are sticking like champions. I guess it's all a matter of perspective.
It won't be much longer now and Hoyt and I will part company for good. It will be a sad day, but also one that both of us will be ready for. I will always remember all of the good times we had, for certain, but I hope that he remembers as he drives off into that wild blue yonder, that there was once a girl who loved to drive him fast down back roads and highways with the windows rolled down and his speakers turned up to 11. So, in closing, I love my car. And to quote the philosopher of soul himself, Barry White, Hoyt is "my first, my last, my everything"…you know, as far as cars go and if you wanna get all sentimental and crap about it.
Yes, Hoyt and I met online. It's embarrassing to think about, really, how naïve I was about the idea of being able to pick out the perfect motorized soul mate from a simple photo and a collection of statistics. But I did just that. Sure, he had no front end, and some excess baggage in the form of 90,000 miles, but he was blue and this young driver wanted a car with experience. I was so excited the fine autumn day my senior year of high school when my father brought him home from the auction. I and my two good friends, Kendra and Rose, had just learned to harness our chi in the living room, when the name for the car came to me (or was it Rose? I don't remember it was so long ago) like lightning had just struck my (or Rose's) brain…but it didn't hurt so much as all that. You see, I had just had a dream recently where Rose and I were naming something and we decided to call it Hoyt, with a decisive billboard-type gesture. I have since traced this dream back to an episode of "Friends" wherein Joey describes Monica's future husband and says his name will be something like "Hoyt" with the exact same sort of gesture one of us used in the dream. He then quickly assures her that Hoyt is, in fact, a real name and goes on to describe her pool and…but I digress…Anyway, we all went down to see the newly-dubbed Hoyt for the first time. And there he was, in all his front-end-lacking, heretofore undriveable, bad boy glory. It was love at first sight. Kendra and Rose sat in the back seat while I took the driver's seat and pretended that my car actually ran and it…was…awesome.
The golden days of community college quickly faded as I made the move over to a four year university to get my degree. Hoyt did not make the transition as well as I might have hoped. He began to show his age at an increasingly alarming rate. My youthful wiles could not coax his speakers into withstanding blaring obnoxious 80's music at any respectable level before they began to sputter and cut out from the sheer effort. He began to whine and squeal if I made him go for a drive during the cold winters. He would sometimes decide to turn off the dash lights or the radio for no particular reason. He just couldn't keep up with me anymore and I began to hate him for it. All of the little things that I used to think were so endearing and cute started to grate on me with these new added obstacles. His completely inaccurate gas gauge, once seen as charmingly quirky, I now just found pathetic and smacking of senility. His lack of air conditioning, once simply an excuse to drive with the windows rolled down, I now saw as an abomination and completely unacceptable. But what I really couldn't accept was that years of hard, fast living and just plain old age were taking their toll on my dear Hoyt.
It wasn't until Hoyt's brakes began to give way this fall that I now finally see the truth: we are driving together on borrowed time. So now I see each day that we have together as a blessing and something to cherish. I play the radio a little more softly now, and appreciate that it's there at all. Last Christmas, when I was driving home at 4 in the morning, Hoyt's radio gave out completely and to keep myself awake I sang Christmas carols all the way home instead. I was angry about it then, but now I just think of it as Hoyt's way of getting me into the holiday spirit. Instead of scolding him for slippery brakes, I congratulate him when I turn the car back on again and the brakes are sticking like champions. I guess it's all a matter of perspective.
It won't be much longer now and Hoyt and I will part company for good. It will be a sad day, but also one that both of us will be ready for. I will always remember all of the good times we had, for certain, but I hope that he remembers as he drives off into that wild blue yonder, that there was once a girl who loved to drive him fast down back roads and highways with the windows rolled down and his speakers turned up to 11. So, in closing, I love my car. And to quote the philosopher of soul himself, Barry White, Hoyt is "my first, my last, my everything"…you know, as far as cars go and if you wanna get all sentimental and crap about it.
 | The Ultimate Collection By Barry White |
Geez, now I feel old. That was ages ago. What I remember the most about Hoyt is how clean he always was! It was incredible. Just the other day I was driving behind a blue neon and wondered if it could be...
ReplyDeleteOh I know! There aren't too many blue neon's in New York, but whenever I catch a glimpse of one I get a little faklempt...
ReplyDelete