Honey, Hide The Vacuum, There's An Auto Writer Outside
Image by denkrahm. Some rights reserved.
Sexual metaphors are only one of the things that make me think car reviewers are weird characters. When they are not yelling "POWER" at the top of their lungs or slipping Joycean masturbation metaphors into their reviews, car reviewers reinforce the notion of cars as ton and a half fashion accessories or as camouflage for defective personalities.
Ezra Dyer, a car writer for the NY Times, is typical. In his recent review of a Lexus ES 350 sedan, Dyer tells us that the Lexus is a very nice car, but that anyone who wants only "a cocoon of tranquility" and "many years of trouble-free transportation" just doesn't share his "fundamental automotive worldview."
I don't know what a "fundamental automotive worldview" might be, but the fact that this fellow has one at all (and that "trouble-free transportation" isn't part of it) is a definite danger sign. Whatever a "fundamental automotive worldview" might be, here's how he describes those who don't share his:
The [Lexus] ES 350 demographic just wants something comfortable and quiet that won’t break down and looks respectable in the driveway.
I admit I find it comical, though common, that people think that what's in their driveway can make them respectable. I keep imagining conversations like this one:
"But will you respect me in the morning?"
"Of course I will, as long as you have a Lexus ES 350 with leather interior, rain-sensing wipers, high-intensity headlamps, Bluetooth, heated and ventilated front seats, power rear sunshade, rear side air bags, and rear-seat panorama glass roof parked in the driveway."
The scary part of Mr. Dyer's psychosis isn't that he reinforces this cultural tripe. His psychosis is deeper. Here's what he tells us he expects from a car:
I want to see a bit of reckless exuberance in my $43,000 sedan . . .
Reckless exuberance? From a car?
But it's even worse than that. Dyer gives us this explanation:
. . . I’m reminded of James Joyce’s short story “The Dead.” In it, a man’s wife reveals that as a teenager, she had a boyfriend named Michael Furey who died of pneumonia after trying to visit her during a terrible storm. The husband dejectedly realizes that compared with this crazy dead guy, he hasn’t brought much to the table in the way of passion. He’s just going through the motions.
I wonder if an ES 350 owner wouldn’t eventually have a similar epiphany. Maybe he or she would be driving along one day and suddenly remember a ride from the past, some rascal of a sports car that was fast and exciting but blew its final head gasket long before its time.
So, Dyer wants fast, exciting, youthful, and exuberant passion. And he it from a car. From a car.
I can't even imagine what he wants from his vacuum cleaner.
Makes me wonder whether car writers somehow got Motor Trend and Playboy confused at a critical period in their development.
Maybe, we should add their names to some sort of public list so we can keep our neighborhoods safe.
