Never thought you could afford an Aston Martin, Lamborghini or Ferrari. Guess what? You may be able to afford two: one for each foot. Give me a minute of time to explain. Thanks in advance!
Personally, I wasn’t happy when they named it the Dart. We had a history. The good part was I passed my driver’s test in my brother’s ’65 Dart. The bad news is when I inherited that lemon during my senior year in college, first I got into an accident that crushed the trunk, then I decided to make a little $$ by offering a rides home and back for Thanksgiving break. The Dart would have none of it. Somewhere on Route 17 in the middle of the Catskills the Dart decided “no mas!” At least for a few hours while it took a long break on the shoulder and mocked me as I sprayed something into the carburetor that was supposed to cure what ailed it. My passengers were not amused and by the time we limped onto Long Island many hours later, they rather brusquely informed me they would find another ride back to school. The Dart appeared to have felt flush with victory at the news its mopey passengers wouldn’t be making the 300 mile return trip, and performed flawlessly on the way back.
Since long before Ponce de Leon made the boneheaded conclusion he could find youth in Florida, man, and woman, have sought the secret to turning back the biological clock to at least Cellulite Saving Time. While Pitiful Ponce thought the answer spit forth from a fountain and countless others believe all it takes is a surgical nip and tuck, I believe I have found the answer…and it’s been hiding in plain sight since its invention in 1962.
My discovery came as I endured the annual ritual this morning of de-winterizing our cars, which entails vacuuming, scrubbing the salt from the carpets and of course, Armor All-ing almost every interior surface of the vehicles.
It doesn’t take much. Just a little spritz and the colors of the leather and plastic surfaces suddenly become vivid as if viewed through Timothy Leary’s LSD enhanced eyes. The old Jeep Patriot discovered its long-dormant self-esteem and the rough and tumble Wrangler took on an even more brazen than usual smirk, begging to preen in front of a reflective storefront, or someone driving a Chevy.
A turn of the key brought with it the sound the engine made only miles from having left the showroom all those years ago. As I put each in gear to return them to the garage, I swear they actually skipped.
So what is this Armor All I speak of? This all-purpose elixir of inanimate youth? It turns out an unknown polymer chemist named Joe Palcher conjured up the potion that would one day become the pump bottle of youth. He found that whatever he tossed together in a bottle would create what he called a “miracle formula” for protecting rubber, plastic and vinyl from harmful ultraviolet rays. His friends convinced him to market it and named the stuff “Tri-don” which, spelled backwards, with adjusted hyphenation, spells “No-Dirt.”
A decade later a marketing man bought the rights to “Tri-don” and renamed it “Armor All Protectant” and eventually had it patented. I won’t go into the subsequent history of the company’s business developments because all I’m really interested in is wondering what else this stuff does?
Could you wipe your skin with it and make it shine and tighten wrinkles? Or would you end up looking like a Naugahyde bucket seat sat on by a sick child? Could you mix it with Jack Daniels and seal your digestive tract from impurities? Could you apply it your boss’s stale ideas and make them fresh…for the first time?
Such possibilities! All I know is my cars are humming with youthful vigor, spontaneously switching my satellite radio to the “Testosterone Revving” channel and winking their headlights at sexy Italian sports cars during traffic light stops.
I know I’ll have to eventually re-apply the Armor All but then again, Ponce de Leon always figured he’d have to take a second sip at the fountain.
The development of autonomous vehicles…cars and trucks that make a driver a passenger…is all the rage. I’m all for it, especially if it has the effect of moving some horrible drivers from behind the wheel to a warm place in the trunk.
This has me thinking, though, of other things I wish would accomplish everyday tasks without my personal involvement.
The first that comes to mind is the autonomous shirt. I would like nothing better than to walk into my closet, give my shirt of choice a slight nod, then have it jump off the hanger and onto my chest then buttoning itself. If my tie did the same thing, I would be happy forever, except for the fact that I would be wearing a tie.
I never really enjoyed operating a steak knife. Oh, it’s not a difficult task but I’d get a big kick out of watching it cut my sirloin sans my hands. That would leave both hands available to operate the fork, which performs the very important function of placing the meat in my mouth. You may point out there are electric knives which do the hard work of slicing and dicing but you have to hold the thing. My autonomous steak knife would, well, just know to get to work.
Autonomous coins could come in handy especially if you have to flip one. Personally, I’m a flipping failure, so it would be nice to have a coin flip itself and save me the embarrassment.
How about the autonomous politician? Ha. Never gonna happen. I’d really like to see an autonomous horse. You hop in the saddle and instead of pulling the reins in the direction you’d like to ride, the equine just wanders the range until it finds something to graze on, a water source or a mare that wants to make a pony.
I’ll move on to my final autonomous fantasy. That would be a kid. I remember an episode many years ago when one of my friend’s kids was bored and asked him what he should next. Ever the loving dad he replied, “anything that takes you away from me.” Yeah..like that.