Americans' strange obsession with their cars

I am not a Car Guy.

And by that I mean I am not interested in cars the way that many guys (and women) are really, really interested in cars. There are car magazines and car shows and car clubs where people talk about cars. Incessantly.

God bless them. Many of us have a borderline-unhealthy interest in something or other. For me it's hockey. And increasingly these days, classical music of the type written by now-dead people many centuries ago.

My interest in cars, though, only goes this far:

(1) Is there a car in the driveway I can take every day to get to work and run errands and ferry kids around as needed?

(2) Yes? OK, then is that car in serviceable condition? That is, does it reliably get you from one place to another in the way that any mechanical form of transport should be expected to?

(3) Yes? Fine. Does it need any repairs?

(4) No? Good, because my car maintenance skills extend only to checking/replenishing fluids and maintaining recommended tire pressures. Oh, and I can also replace air filters and burnt-out light bulbs. Beyond that, I'm lost.

If all of those conditions are met, I no longer think about my car. Or any car, for that matter.

A lot of people have a vision of what they call their "dream car." It's the vehicle they would die to have if money were no object.

I do not have a dream car. I never have. Well, actually, I guess you could say my "dream car" is one that runs and has a freshly vacuumed interior.

That's my vehicular fantasy right there.

I almost don't care what color my car is. I don't care what make or model it is. I do not define myself in any way by the car I drive.

That's not to criticize those who do. There's nothing particularly noble about my approach to cars. I'm just telling you, my interest in cars is intensely practical and nothing more.

Which I realize puts me in a distinct minority in the larger context of American society. Americans love their cars.

We all used to love American-made cars, specifically. Then the foreign automakers started putting factories in the U.S. and we figured, "Well, hey, there's a Honda plant in Marysville, Ohio. How bad could it be to buy a Honda?"

It's actually good to buy a Honda, by the way. That's what I drive, and the darn things last forever. They just keep going and going. My friend Bob Jones, who used to sell Hondas, turned me on to them. Kudos to Bob for that guidance.

There, I've just typed/said more about cars in the space of two minutes than I probably have in the last six months combined. I'm now going to stop thinking about cars again, beginning....

Now.