Posts Tagged ‘Chevy’

Some say he’s only 6 years old…and that he sleeps in SpongeBob pajamas….All we know is that if he isn’t The Stig, I don’t know who is.

Heard of The Stig? You should have. He’s part of the great TV show Top Gear. Yeah, I’ve written about Top Gear on my blog before (it’s one of the best shows on television, I said—so go watch it!) and—look out now—I’m gonna do it again.

Along with the three co-presenters Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond, and James May, there is The Stig, their “tame racing driver” who wears all white, including a white helmet, and nobody knows who’s under the visor. True fans of Top Gear prefer to think of The Stig as a superhuman entity that test drives supercars in every episode, does not speak, has no knowledge of the London public transit system, and won’t give an award back once he’s received it (waiting on the video to be posted for that one—it’s a good ‘un). And sure, a little while ago The Stig was revealed on the show to be race-car driver Michael Schumacher, but I call shenanigans. I know better. (more…)


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Penelope Pitstop

Penelope Pitstop

This morning, my mother fired the latest volley in her ongoing “you need a new car” campaign. I don’t remember what she said; I wasn’t really listening. That’s mainly because I’ve heard it all before; her campaign has been going on for quite some time.

Let me back up a bit. In June 2000, I did the unthinkable. I bought a new car. It wasn’t economical; it wasn’t used; it wasn’t a practical, modest sedan. I bought my first—and so far only—new car: a brand new, fresh-from-the-factory, made-just-for-me Jeep Wrangler. Silver grey and black, automatic (I never did learn to drive manual), CD player (quite a big deal nine years ago), both hard AND soft top (I thought the soft top wouldn’t hold up to our frigid winter temps—I was wrong and if I had the chance to do it again, I’d skip the hard top).

When I fired it up for the first time, I saw that it had 2 miles on the odometer. TWO. I could have spontaneously combusted, I was so ecstatic.

Why? Let me back up a bit more. My uncle (my mother’s brother) was a car guy. He first sold Pontiacs after he came home from World War II, and then, in the mid-1950s, he opened his own dealership: Oldsmobiles. Hey, they were cool then.


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