Drive One

The way the economy seems to be turning around and the way my phone has ringing off the hook lately, I've been thinking about buying myself a new car. If nothing else but to quiet my daughters who claim my current Lexus is an "old man's car."

All of which got me thinking to some of the beauties I've owned in the past.

A long, long time ago, before manufacturers recalled faulty products and people wore seat belts, my father bought me a Ford Pinto (like the one spotted on my street the other day.) My mother wasn't too thrilled with his choice, particularly after there had been reports of Pintos blowing up upon rear end collisions.

But my dad grew up in the rough and tumble South Bronx and was big believer in the power of adversity.

"Poppycock (or whatever people said at the time)", he barked. "The boy needs to build character, besides what's a minor fuel explosion?" Often followed by the story of eating ketchup sandwiches and going to school in hand me down shoes and a burlap sweater.

Speaking of explosions, here's a commercial for the aforementioned Ford Pinto. Make sure you stick around for the rather Nostradamus-like end tag.