There's Nothing More Pathetic Than a Midlife Crisis

By Al Vinikour  

Red Maserati? Check. Younger woman? Check. You must be a thoracic surgeon in the midst of his midlife crisis!

Just like robins mark the first signs of spring, so too are there tell-tale signs that designate the presence of a man mounting a mid-life crisis. Among the clues are: a bad toupee, dressing in the modern version of disco clothes, the presence of a buxom blonde barely out of high school, and attending rock concerts and dancing with all the grace of Elaine Benes on Seinfeld. But the single, most visible indication of a mid-life crisis is what kind of vehicle he drives.

There’s no set age for a mid-life crisis but it generally covers the span of late-40s/early-50s. Chances are the kids are grown and gone, the job has assumed all the glamour of working in a coal mine and, sadly, the marriage has become as stale as a three-week-old open box of Ritz Crackers. What’s left to stop a man from eating a Smith & Wesson sandwich? A slick car, that’s what!

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Just What Does a Bumper Do, Anyway?

By Al Vinikour 

When men were men and sheep ran scared, this was all you needed to fix your bumper.

Being the hopeless romantic I am, I took my wife to the new iHOP last night at what used to be a truck stop diner. As I left, my appetite sated from a Seniors Sampler, I happened to notice a Freightliner leaving the facility. The sun was setting in the west (or wherever it goes) and the rays were shining on the truck’s chrome bumper. I was awed by the size of the thing. It looked like it could stop a… a truck! Then I noticed the bumpers on the passenger cars parked around the lot. Other than beginning and ending points to measure overall length, what good are they?

When I wore a younger man’s clothes — and could fit into them — bumpers meant something. They were big, heavy, chromed and could actually protect the vehicle and its occupants in a crash. In many, if not most cases, depending on the speed of the impact, it was difficult to tell where the two vehicles had collided. Generally you’d have to use some Bon Ami to rub out a scratch. As if this wasn’t support enough, some of those bumpers even had bumper guards on them. Put a pair of those babies on each end and a Mk. 48 torpedo couldn’t find its way to the car’s body.

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Brake Light Tap Dancing

By Al Vinikour

I wonder what message the driver of this car is sending...

Have you ever been driving down the road and all of a sudden you seem to be getting a message in Morse code from the tail light lens of the vehicle you’re following? Personally, I can’t read Morse code, so whatever message is being conveyed is lost on me. It could be a cry for help (in which case they’re screwed) or it could be someone telling me to turn to an oldies station because they’re playing a Jimmy Dorsey record. However, the only message I’m getting is that the person in front of me is a two-legged hemorrhoid.

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Who Needs All That Horsepower? I DO!

By Al Vinikour

If you’re anything like me, you’re sick of somebody else always trying to tell you enough is enough. Who died and put them in charge? It seems to begin at childhood when you’re sitting at the dinner table and decide you want more potatoes. Your mother tells you, “You’ve had enough.” Years later you’re sitting in front of the television watching your favorite situation comedy and your father comes in and says, “You’ve had enough television for one day, Junior. Go to your room and read a book.” You get the picture; when is it your turn to call the shots?

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My Car Is So Safe I Couldn’t Possibly Die!

By Al Vinikour 

When I was a kid my family owned junkyards in Indiana. Before toll roads and interstate highways the major thoroughfare through northern Indiana was U.S. 30, the famed “Lincoln Highway.” It was a four-lane road that spanned the country. Consequently, it too-often was a “highway of death.” Several times weekly my Dad would be called out for emergency road wrecker service to assist in what mostly were fatal crashes. By the age of 10 I’d seen more highway death than most people see in a lifetime of combat. Yet, the thing I recall the most was the hole in the windshield where the driver and/or passenger was launched into the next life. Sometimes they stayed in the car… but often their head was found in the immediate vicinity of the crash. Needless to say this clearly means that seat belts weren’t used (nor available, either).

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