August 7, 2005

"Grandma, he's here to pimp our ride!"

A wicked little article from n+1 about the deterioration of MTV's reality show, Pimp My Ride, from paean to American car culture into a marketing mechanism for Sony. Extra excellent is discussion of the recently extinct days of the car as a freedom-giving device and symbol of youthful individuality.

Through the 1980s, many teens and young adults could have had handed down to them, or bought secondhand, a heavy hunk of Detroit Iron like the two-ton Chevy Impala. Only the driver and one passenger were forced into shoulder straps, and you could fit three or four people across a seat. The bench-backs came up no higher than your shoulders, about as far as a movie seat or a comfortable chair. You could throw your arm over the bench-back, you could chat with your pals, you could listen to the radio, and you could enjoy the ride . . .

The MTV crowd has tried to recover the pleasure of mass by crowning the 7,000-pound Cadillac Escalade king of the road. Yet to ride in one of these modern monstrosities is about as much fun as airline travel, albeit in business class. You ride in comfort, but strangely alone.

They forgot to mention the high cost of pimpin' around the block, beater or no. I think human blood is actually cheaper than gas these days, which hit $1.08 in Vancouver this weekend. It's as tough to get nostalgic about guzzlers as it is to contemplate cruising in a Smart Car, but yeah, I smoked pot for the first time in the back seat of a Chevy Impala. Semiotically linked to both the squad car and the taxi, it was the perfect stealth machine for an infinity of teenaged delinquencies.

posted by Charlotte at 11:07 AM | permalink | email it |