QOTD: Care to Let It All Out?
The Twitterverse — which is a horrible place, by the way — finds itself rocked this week, torn asunder and factionalized by the mass signing of a remarkably anodyne letter supporting free speech and open discussion. Twenty-six-year-old NYC bloggers are up in arms; here at Casa Steph, the popcorn bucket’s working overtime.
But while these warriors clash in the online streets over the core tenet of liberal democracy, a great number of opinions, beliefs, and offbeat thoughts remain behind lock and key in our own minds. The subjects these thoughts cover are vast in scope, and one of them is surely cars. Yes, cars. And trucks, and those who build them.
Let’s exercise a little free speech today.
Knowing that each and every one of you will be on your best behavior and keep to the subject at hand, never straying for a moment into digressionary topics (and certainly never leveling personal attacks against other readers for their opinions), let’s get started. We will be kind and thoughtful, understanding that just because someone holds an opinion different than ours, doesn’t mean they’re not allowed to express it.
Disagreement needn’t lead to a hurled rock. We’re adults; let Twitter be the children’s playground.
I’ll get the ball rolling, and forgive me if this sounds like I’m kneeling in a confessional. Perhaps the opinions we air today should be ones we’re a little embarrassed about, or at least not particularly proud of.
Try as I might, I’m not moved by ultra-pricey exotics. Not in the least. Call it the product of a grab bag of factors, some of which I should be ashamed of, but that’s the reality. I couldn’t care less that a new Lambo or McLaren or Bugatti or Koenigsegg is somehow faster than the pinnacle of gold-plated motoring its predecessor was. Good for it. I’d sooner watch John Davis don a teal windbreaker and talk about the Eagle Premier.
Yes, designers and engineers toil day and night to ensure such vehicles reach new heights of performance and precision, with exacting tolerances and obsessive attention paid to every last detail, but it’s a pursuit of perfection that elicits a yawn from yours truly. Not because I think private wealth should be outlawed and that we should all be on government waiting lists for a new Trabant (a view that’s increasingly popular among auto writers of a certain age), but because they’re rolling Fabergé eggs. Sometimes, the distance between yourself and a product obscures its appeal.
I can’t even view such a vehicle with the childlike wonder typically reserved for other achievements in transportation, like, say, a Saturn V rocket.
So be it.
Alright, let’s hear something about cars or the auto industry that you’ve kept under your hat, something that might elicit cries of “sacrilege!” from friends and family. Shoot.
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