Chrome in the Park

The sun rose on Sunday and the day became a fine, summer-like event. Saturday wasn't bad, with temps in the 60s F., but on Sunday they shot right past 80°. (Today we were back down 20 degrees.) Just going outside yesterday was a pleasure. The wind kicked up sometimes, but it was a warm wind, visiting like an old friend you haven't seen in years.

The thing to do was go somewhere and walk around. We picked Moraine Hills State Park in McHenry County, Illinois, a section of land that's a relic of the last Ice Age, as the name suggests. A nature walk, as nature starts to awaken from winter.

In the parking lot of the visitors center, I spotted another relic of a bygone time. A manmade relic, in this case.

I didn't know what year this stylish machine had rolled off the lines. I'm not enough of an auto expert to have known that, standing there next to it. But I have a library on my desk, and using that and the photo I took, I tried to pinpoint it just now. Could it be that it isn't just an 50s-vintage Olds Super 88, but a '58?

Look at all that chrome. It looks just like this. Then again, Wiki is one thing, and I couldn't quite confirm it at a web site devoted exclusively to the '58 Olds. Still, how often do you see that much chrome in one place? A whole chapter in the imaginary coffee-table book my brother Jay dreamed up -- The Grandeur That Was Chrome -- could be devoted to the '58 Olds.

The car was in such good shape I that I suspected that Doc Brown had fitted it with a flux capacitor and driven here from the late '50s. That or a serious enthusiast owns the thing, and takes it out for drives on summer-like days. The owner wasn't around, or I could have asked him about the car. I'm sure he would have told me, maybe in loving detail.

Across the parking I saw another relic of the past. I had to take a picture of it, too. One of these days, maybe in my lifetime, the only public phones in this country are going to be displays at the Smithsonian and the Henry Ford Museum.

Castro Set to Go the Way of Whitewall Tires

An oddity from Reuters the other day: "Cuban revolutionary leader Fidel Castro took his warning of impending nuclear war to Cuba's Foreign Ministry on Friday, where he explained the reasons for his dire prediction in his fifth public appearance in 10 days."

What do I think of when I read that? Senility. Also the other day, but not the same day, I saw the third-season episode of Mad Men called "Love Among the Ruins," in which Betty Draper's elderly father Gene is clearly losing his mind. At the sound of sirens late one night in early '60s Ossining, NY, he starts pouring Don's liquor down the drain, fearing a Prohibition-era raid by the cops.

A few weeks ago I saw a different relic of the past much closer at hand: an all-orange Camaro. Terrifically, insanely orange -- about the same shade as a traffic cone, except shiny bright. I'm not an expert on that car, but I'd guess it was a mid-70s vintage. The best detail: matching orange-wall tires. It then occurred to me that you don't see many whitewall tires any more, even the little stripes that tires used to have. What happened with that? Wasn't that supposed to be a big-deal luxury for reasons no one could explain? Maybe that's why they faded away.

Anyway, the amazingly orange car was in the next lane over, waiting for the same red light that I was. Orange or not, I also think of the Dead Milkmen when I think of Camaros. That association probably doesn't please Chevrolet very much, but so it goes. In the mid-80s WRVU used to play "Bitchin' Camaro" occasionally. One time the deejay prefaced it by saying that the song had inspired a lot of angry complaints for its gratuitous, and cavalier, mention of AIDS. Then again, if you don't manage to upset people, your song isn't very punk.

Bumper Fish

Today was a fine fall day -- warm enough to leave all coats and jackets on their pegs, mostly clear but with enough clouds to make the sky interesting, and just enough wind to send leaves scattering from their trees occasionally. I was even able to drink artisanal root beer (see Monday) on the deck.

Though not Halloween related, I saw another thing for the first time in my neighborhood recently: a bumper sporting a fish with the words N'Chips inside. This made me laugh. I don't see very many bumper fish in my part of the world, either the originals with ΙΧΘΥΣ or JESUS, or the Darwinfish with legs, or TRUTH eating Darwin, though I've seen all of these at one time or another. Maybe bumper fish aren't something Midwesterners care for all that much.

It turns out, of course, that there's a whole cottage industry devoted to variations, mostly parody or secular, of the bumper fish. My own favorite of these is emblematic of Flying Spaghetti Monsterism.

I see that the FSM web site has expanded considerably since I last visited a few years ago. All the movement needs now is a mendacious bastard along the lines of L. Ron and it could be a real cult (with real, dues-paying cultists) in short order. Here's my own little contribution: it's clear that among the many early prophets of the Flying Spaghetti Monster was the Flying Purple People Eater, who appeared in the late 1950s.

Just the Car I Need

Turns out today is the 60th anniversary of the introduction of the Land Rover at the Amsterdam Motor Show, a fact that would have escaped me completely except for an ad on public radio -- that is, a sponsorship announcement, since everyone knows there are no ads on public radio (except when there are). In any case, the announcer mentioned the anniversary and also informed us listeners that Land Rovers are currently transporting x pounds (or was it tons?) of humanitarian relief around the world every year.

Is that a selling point? Maybe we're just supposed to admire the machine for its good works. Next time I have some humanitarian aid to delivery, I'll certainly consider getting me a Land Rover. Maybe the next time Wisconsin tries to wrest the Upper Peninsula away from Michigan by force -- there's bound to be a nearby humanitarian crisis then.

Funny how there was no mention of Land Rover's long and illustrious career as a military vehicle. Including this version. Made for desert fighting and better than anything the Rat Patrol had.

I can't quit without a tangent from that reference. Turns out that the actor who played the only regular German in The Rat Patrol -- a stand-in for Rommel, perhaps, as an honorable German officer -- later made his living acting in an American soap opera.