On being a Car Guy

I am not 44 years old. Though I had been for a good 20 years. 

I recently decided to retire that line which had served its purpose of pointing out the ageism in the ad business. And because one unsuspecting Creative Service Manager had that look on her face, upon our first meeting, that said, "Damn, you look terrible for 44. Is that what this business does to you?"

But now that I've outted myself as a late middle ager -- I'm sorry but I can still bench press more than many men 1/3 my age -- it's time to come clean about being a 1976 high school graduate. And part of that is my love for the movie Dazed and Confused.

Those who have seen the movie and came of age in the 1970's know what a classic it is. Particularly for its pinpoint accurate characters. And though the film is set in the backwoods of Texas, it bears the tell tale aromas, sights and memories of Suffern, NY.

As an aside, Dazed and Confused is 100 times better than the broader and sweeter Fast Times at Ridgemont High. It has an indescribable grit and edge that make the former a film and the latter a movie.

One could also argue that the cars in Dazed and Confused play a major role in the film. Indeed the destruction of Forrest Whitaker's car is an important substory in the film. A reflection of the adoration young boys had for the muscle machines of the era.

I was not struck by that affliction. Though many of my friends with their supercharged Chargers, Mustangs, Camaros and Firebirds were. I was lucky enough to scrounge $400 so I could buy my first car, a 1966 Plymouth Valiant. It had all the sex appeal of Abe Vigoda.

What it lacked it aerodynamic curves and raw horsepower, it easily made up for in utility and longevity. The beat up old blue Valiant I drive had north of 200K miles on it. And had I known how to rebuild a carburetor or recalibrate the timing belt, like my high school classmates, chances are I could still be tooling around in that little tank.

Truth is, I didn't share the auto-eroticism of my peers at that age. Ironic since I went on to become a "car guy" in the ad business. How many car brands have I worked on you might ask, if you've made it this far? Well, I'll tell you:

* Daihatsu -- makers of fine 3 cylinder economy cars

* Plymouth -- Worked with Pat Riley and Ricardo Montleban (rich Corinthian leather)

* Nissan -- Regional Tent Sales and countless other schlock

* Nissan National -- Big time work with Lee Clow and Rob Siltanen

* Lexus -- CEO: "Left Turn signal, very unprofessional. No Good."

* Jaguar -- Only thing worse than the wiring was their Marketing Department 

* Acura -- More Marketing Madness

* Infiniti -- Four eyes, no vision (credit intently not given)

* Toyota -- I wrote "The Toyotathon of Toyotathons"

* Ford -- Yeah, well we have a Salebration

* Chevrolet -- Helped Publicis win the account, for four months

* Honda 

* Audi

* Volkswagon

* Mercedes

* BMW

* Mazda

At this point in my less-than illustrious career (Ms. Muse enthusiastically suggests I knock off the self-deprecating zingers) I have a hard time thinking of a car brand I haven't worked on. 

Correction: I've never worked on Porsche, though I have experienced the full Porsche driving experience at their race center in nearby Carson.

It should be noted, especially if any of my high school classmates are reading this, that when it came time to choose my weapon (the iconic 911), I opted for the manual stick shift. Even a non-car guy like myself knows that to properly get the feel of a true sports car you have to work the clutch and find the gears for yourself.

Upon exiting the 400+ horsepower German rocket and after ripping through hairpin turns at ungodly speeds, I also had to find the bathroom and return my breakfast to the sea.

Porsche Training Instructor: "You feeling OK?"

Me (putting on a good front): "Alright, alright, alright."

Nevertheless, I love cars.