We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Politicians, journalists, financial analysts and other purveyors of banality have been looking at cars as if a convertible were a business. Fire the MBAs and hire a poet. The fate of Detroit isn’t a matter of financial crisis, foreign competition, corporate greed, union intransigence, energy costs or measuring the shoe size of the footprints in the carbon. It’s a tragic romance—unleashed passions, titanic clashes, lost love and wild horses.
Read it (link above). Apparently making money from making cars was never an easy thing to do.
O'Rourke's reminiscence is a masterful piece of writing -- a paean of praise to the vanishing romance between man and machine. Made me tear up, it did, since I feel very sentimental when I see a deep-breathing car like the one shown above.
For contrast, check out the green excrescence on drudge today [a saddle shoe without a saddle]. This is what Obama's team is planning for you. Oh, the horror! Uglee! And it won't even run well. Sigh...