cars-mahak

[Guest guest]

My guns topic went away, and maybe this will, too. But Over the years, I have gotten to know folks better by seeing what kind of car they drive (this is NOT a ford v. chevy topic).

 

We could even do a two phase thing here, and discuss the vehicle of the physical body.

 

So here goes, strictly for fun.

 

I am 56, white (portogee), not too disgusting looking except for the old age creepin in, kinda broke down from a lifetime of toxic exposure due to employment by US Navy.

 

My car is a 1980 Olds Cutlass Supreme Braughm, runs great, good body, brushed painted tile red house paint. My truck is an 86 jeep commanche, 285,000 miles.

 

join in this experiment. If you dont drive this is way cool, too. I will soon be there, we will all soon be there, so walkers, you may brag here for being way ahead of this game.

 

Haribol, mahaksadasa

 

PS My cutlass is the best thing I ever had, even the kids want my car, classic lowrider, right up there with the 54 Chevy Bel-air (no posts) and the 64 buick riviera.

[Kulapavana]

I just bought a 1975 Cutlass 4 door sedan (350 Rocket engine - 119K miles) for my son, as hist first car. The car is awesome, had only one owner before us and it is in mint condition - even the original AC works! I drive a company van but my "car" now is 1993 Jeep Cherokee.

[Airicky]

I have a 1991 Chevy Camaro RS - last of the that body style so quickly becoming a classic.

 

Also, have a 1971 Chevy 4 x 4 pick up with lift and big tires for bumping around off road.

 

Although not techically a car but it is 4 x 4 and has four tires is my Polaris Sportsman ATV. Way fun to hit the trails with and chant in the wind!

[theist]

I have always hated cars. Driving was only fun for me if I was on a freeway and had it to myself. Cars are nasty. I have only owned three and then just for short periods. Never even got a license. They are the curse of modern man.

 

REPENT! you car people...REPENT I say.

[gHari]

I remember the Buick Riviera around 59-60ish. In grade seven I would walk by one every week. It was the coolest car in the world - maybe still is. When I got rich I went out to get a Riviera (see how attachment creeps up on us), but in 73 they really sucked for some reason. I ended up with a T-Bird which was like a living room with wheels.

 

My cars more or less fit my pockets: been rich - and been poor.

 

Rich: 73 T-Bird, 74 Eldorado, 81 Wabbit Diesel (65 MPG!), 88 CRX (Zoom!), 92 Miata, 00 Siebring convertible (rental, part of San Francisco consulting contract), 00 Mazda (big engine firecracker bomb called the poor man's BMW, bought during Atlanta and Dallas contracts - they wouldn't give me a Miata because I had no US credit history).

 

Poor: 59 Impala, 62 Bel Air, 70 Maverick, 78 Honda (what a stick!), 74 Pinto (boooooo - real poverty), 82 Chevette, 86 Volvo Diesel, 88 Prelude, 90 Accord, 88 Cadillac, 03 Bicycle and VANS sneaks, and now til I croak: 92 Accord (I bought it for my son in 95 and he gave it back last year when he got himself a beamer - it's got cool mags courtesy of the kid - with 220K miles but very reliable - best part is the personalized licence GAURA). Actually, GAURA began on the Miata back in 91. Even in Georgia I had GAURA on the Georgia Mazda.

 

Favorite cars: fun to drive - Miata (vowed I'd never own a whole car ever again). Slick - Eldorado - had golden letters KRISHNA on back which Srila Bhagavan Maharaja thought was cool (that is, I saw him grin) - he rode in it chanting japa and chatting from Pittsburg airport to New Vrindavan back in 79, so the car had some great karma on it, as well as a few hundred thousand miles by super-salesman me. Performance - I used to think my CRX was hot until I took a ride in my boss' Viper in California. It was like taking off in a jet - I could only laugh uncontrollably like an idiot, pressed, crushed into my seat. The Protege actually had even more bang than the CRX. Only the 911 had better torque at 50 mph than these two nitro-machines.

 

Krsna weaned me off cars during my Mexico and Colombia contracts when I didn't drive at all - just cabs and limos, and body guards with SUVs. So after the Caddy died, riding 20 miles on a bicycle into town to buy groceries while listening to the Bhagavad-gita on MP3 was no real hardship for a summer when the contracts had all dried up after 9/11 for those damn Canadians.

 

Now the car's too old to be fun driving - can't afford for it to fall apart while cranking it up, whipping it around, pulling all those Jag moves. I used to love the G's in the CRX and Mazda Protege firecracker. But it's got great sound - non-stop Vrindavan Mellows singing my favorite song: Hare Krsna Hare Krsna Krsna Krsna Hare Hare Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare. The golden oldies. And somehow that's good enough for me now.

 

The body? Well, I'm a typical nice guy Canadian with Irish-Scottish genes. The 59 year old biological body seems in good shape. It looks like a thirty year old spear-chucker; still strong (well, 60% of my prime - I can lift weights at my security guard job three nights a week). I guess it's being a vegetarian non-boozing athlete that kept it young. The face - well there was some golfing back when no one really believed we had screwed up the ozone layer, so the crow's feet when I smile are quite hideous. But if I don't smile I still look presentable - almost handsome when I chant. Or so I tell myself.

 

 

[Guest guest]

I take the bus all the time. What kind of fallen soul am i?

[Guest guest]

Complete answer, and I gotta follow.

 

As stated, even bus riders and walkers get maximum respect here. I live in an area where vehicles are necessary. Ive never (unitl now) lived less than twenty miles from my workplace, which makes driving necessary, but one work friend, who was very kind and humble, and an excellent discussion mate for all matters, including krsna (he remembered Srila Prabhupada in Thomkins Square Park in 66, it turns out, did not even know how to drive. He was fifty when I associated with him (83-87), was an expert corrosion control specialist in the nuclear reactor field, and was very sophisticated in all areas. But he didnt drive. He walked three miles to work and never was even late, even when most called in missing when the weather was bad, this guy was there.

 

Why? Born and raised in NYC. Never had the need. Everything needed was walking diustance, and by the time he went to nam to get all shot up (while we were getting all shot up here at kent state (5-4-70), driving wasnt necessary at Khe sahn either. The Citadel at Hue was not a drive thru, it was all walkin (except for the USAF, who drank champaigne in the evening if they didnt end up in a rat cage in Hanoi). He just never had a desire to drive. So, if he were to answer, maybe he could write about birkenstocks or Nikes (or my favorite after all these years juaraches from tijuana).

 

Now Ill write my car history. 54 chev, way cool, then I went from low-ridin to rad hipster. When I became a devotee (of sorts) I was drivin a 66 international scout, british steering wheel (mail wagon 2WD). When I met Sriman Visnujnana das brahmacari hitchhikin on the san diego freeway, he laqughed heartily when he got in my car. I painted it all colors, day-glo, with Amerikkka-fix it or ---- it!" with flames burning the letters. This was a great car, and I was saluted by US Marines as I drove thru their sentry post at trestles, a famous surf spot then north of San Diego. Even though I had that subversive writing on my ride, they had to salute, because I had a USN top security clearance sticker on the window. Gotta love this country, eh theist and random?

 

But I lost my job, lost my sticker, lost my scout, and dropped out. Had a 52 chrysler, stick shift but you didnt need to use the clutch pedal if you didnt want to. Chrysler was beginning the automatic tortionaire drive (automatic) and this was a bridge to gap this problem.

 

When I moved to New Nabadvipa, cars were unnecessary, as I lived where I surfed, Rocky Point (next to the KYC quonsett hut, for those who know the significance of this dynamic chanting center). I moved to the isle of big, and gotta ford truck, burned it to the ground, moved back to SCal, USN job, security clearance, and a subaru brat, 1979, which was totaled on the day which shoulda been my last (my second NDE). Moved to great Northwest, to be proximate for the great reggaefests in Duncan BC in the eighties. I now have many cars, some dead, some dyin, some still tickin, all twenty years old or more. Of the seven vehicles on my property, all are worth approximately $2,000 bucks. (I dont count the family Nissan Altima 1998, which is being paid by an insurance policy I bought luckily a year fore I became permanently disabled.

 

So, these are my rides. Functional, always stating a message (all my cars have "impeach Bush" messages on them), and they all really want to stay in the 20th century. May they rest in peace.

 

I have an unfinished novel on my website, Kipu'ka, where a death scene of the ride of the hero is explained. Even though these are non-living entities, we do not reject any more than we reject our feet. They serve a purpose.

 

So, any psychologists out there who can describe these contributors to this topic?

 

Hare Krsna, ys, mahaksadasa

[gHari]

Mad Max, I didn't hear that you were "permanently disabled". I hope that is just a medical insurance phrase and that you're not really messed up.

 

As your psychologist I must comment on the seven cars on the lawn. First, it is nice that you have such a large lawn. Second: the word 'obsession' comes to mind. I'm laughing myself silly right now. But I guess if you don't drive a different car each day of the week, then there is some hope for you. Truly Mad Max - your self-anointed nickname now seems even more fitting.

 

Was Sriman Visnujana das your first encounter of the third kind, with extra-terrestrials?

 

Now that I think of it, as long as the cars don't have FOR SALE signs on them, then seven isn't all that bad.

 

And from a psychologist's perspective, where we like to think that people's dogs and cars reflect who they really are, I must say that I would expect an old surfer rasta scuba swabbie to fit into some pretty rare vintage wheels. Obviously a healthy sense of affection and loyalty accounts for there being seven metal medals hanging around your neck, that is, your yard. Neck? If it were neck, thems would be albatrosses.

 

I give you a clean bill of health, Commander. Carry on.

 

 

[Guest guest]

The Navy had to get me outta their face. I had a medical condition which caused minor situational claustrophobia, and they rewrote the job description that made it impossible for me to do it with my insignificant physicial recommendation limitation.

 

As a sideneot, It may interest the US taxpayer that the Navy spent $750,000 and seven years to terminate my employment. They could not have me spouting off how they ignore coastal management act and enviromental impact statements in refitting thei submarine fleet. They stop at nothing, contradictory statements by high governmental agents that prove perjury.

 

So, though I coulda graduated to US Court of Appeals on a wide array of bonafide evidence of malfeasance, I took the insured retirement, now I work at a healthfood store instead of fixing the trident missiles that are so corroded that the subs that fire them will be the first casualty.

 

But my disability is listed as mental illness, job related and caused, so this should come as no surprise to those tryin to figure me out. Hare krsna, ys, mahaksadasa

 

1980 honda accord (dead, blown engine, but good body and good parts)

 

1976 datsun 710 (dead, blown engine, but my daughter tulasi's artwork adorns the interior, and the car is still loved that I promise myself to get a new engine someday)

 

1970 ford truck stepside (dead, but will run again someday, good everything except no spark arrived with the fuel in the engine)

 

1980 cutlass, my ride

 

1986 jeep comanche, runs, my propane and gas for generators retrieval vehicle, used occasionally to seel firewood in the winter, $25 for 1/5 cord seasoned maple, when avcailable and if we be starvin)

 

1974 Nova, the best car is reserved for tulasi, she owns it, fixes it, reupholsters and repaints it, puts great soundsystem in it so she can share with me the glories of skinny puppy and new order

 

1998 nissan altima, the commuter for all trips over 20 miles, only car used to tranverse the bridges, the misses' car that I use seldomly.

 

I wish I stiill had the 78 Crysler new yorker. That one was dead for years, but was a great babysitter for my grandson and daughter. makes a great (but noisy) trampoline.

 

I have seven acres, so these wrecks are not an urban blight.

[gHari]

<img src=http://novaresource.org/gallery3/74steveb1.jpg>

 

 

Apparently she has a bit of a heavy foot:

 

 

<center><img src=http://novaresource.org/gallery3/74craigs1.jpg></center>

[Guest guest]

A tribute to dead and dying cars, from the novel "kipu'ka" c 1995, by mahaksadasa

 

A tropical squall hit Wailuku on January 19, 1976, and while Anoina was struggling to see through her windshield, her wreck cast it's last bellow of pollutants into the atmosphere near the junction of the road to Lahaina and the County Dump Road. She was in a bad spot as the Iao Valley was swollen and rivers were pouring out of the cliffs of the West Maui Mountains. "A dead car on a blind corner in a squall! What next? Darkness of night?", were thoughts racing through her mind. Not at all, a hitchhiker with a limp, running toward her, to lend a hand to a damsel in distress. As the Chrysler rolled accross the road, Anoina steering as the kind stranger struggled to push, she only thought about Krsna's kind sense of humor, making her car die right at the dump, saving her the expense of a tow truck. As she placed her signature on the title of the eternally dead car, the sun burst through the clouds. The good Samaratan flagged a surfer-hotel worker in a Volkswagon Bus, who stopped, and was asked to wait to see if the Young Lady needed a lift, too. So beckoned from accross the street by the limping stranger, Anoina grabbed her suitcase, left the key in the ignition, cleaned up papers from the glovebox, grabbed a small plastic bag from under the seat, and then stopped, bowing gently with hands folded to the Maui Cruiser that had rendered her such good service. She then ran accross the street and got into the van with the drenched helper/stranger and the kind surfer who offered the ride to Lahaina.