A Change of Pace – My Mustang Memories

A car can massage organs which no masseur can reach. It is the one remedy for the disorders of the great sympathetic nervous system.”

~ Jean Cocteau

(Stock Image)

I am a gal who loves cars.

When I was 16 years old, I got my dream car — a white ‘66 Ford Mustang. I called her my “little deuce coupe” (loosely) based on one of my favorite songs at the time — the 1963 song by The Beach Boys, “Little Deuce Coupe.” I had a customized license plate. I think I still have that plate stored away somewhere — in one of the plastic bins that survived the Ida flood

In any case, I purchased (with considerable financial assistance from my dad and my grandfather) a used Mustang when she was about 20 years old for about $2,000. She came (precisely as shown in this video) with a light blue interior, deep front bucket seats, a large leather-wrapped steering wheel, two waist seat belts in the rear seats, and of course, a 289 V-8 engine.

She purred, and she purred sweetly. She was a beauty! That said, I was a new — and timid — driver. I do not recall taking her over 55 MPH. Even on the highway, I drove cautiously in the right lane. Well, my dad thought that was a waste of a good engine, and he told me that my little deuce coupe needed to be run “properly.” So, my dad took her out for a spin about once a week. I bet he had a blast.

I drove my Mustang to only a few places regularly — to and from high school, my volunteer job at a hospital (I was a candy striper), and my boyfriend’s house. After high school graduation (once I was less timid and more comfortable with my robust and fast wheels), since I commuted to college, I drove her 45 minutes each way nearly every day of the week. Unfortunately, winters in the Mid-Atlantic states can be surprisingly challenging, and I learned that ‘66 Mustangs (even with studded snow tires!) do not fare too well in snow and treacherous ice. So, after one year of commuting in my adorable coupe, I traded her in for a used Jeep Wrangler, which suited me perfectly for the next three years of college commuting. 

Back to my Mustang — as I am reminiscing . . . 

In high school, as a senior, I was captain of the cheerleading squad. Hanging from my rearview mirror was a mini cheerleader doll. It seems creepy and strange in hindsight, although I thought it was real cool at the time. While not considered popular in high school (despite being the cheerleading captain), I thought I was pretty snazzy driving an old Mustang. The funniest part about me driving a vintage car was that the car was not made for a petite teenage girl — I was only 4’10” at the time (I have shrunk since then!). Not only did my dad install harness seat belts in the front seats for safety, he also had to rig up the gas and brake pedals with 2” wood blocks so I could reach both effectively. To top it off (yes, it gets more humorous and embarrassing), I drove sitting on top of a Yellow Pages phone book (remember those?), and concealed it with a faux sheepskin cover! To be even more inconspicuous, I covered the passenger seat with a matching cover. Within a few months or so, I replaced the clunky (and uncomfortable) phone book with a thick piece of foam. 

Every now and then, I think back fondly on my teenage years (they were quite positive), and especially my little deuce coupe (again, I used this term loosely and in jest). One of my other preferred songs is “Mustang Sally,” so when I hear the song from time to time, I conjure my Mustang and recall the special times I drove her as a teen. She brought me a lot of joy. 

As I said, I am a car gal, and I still enjoy driving fun cars. I also remain a cautious driver to this day, so I don’t rev up, nor do I take my car up to uber fast speeds. I consistently drive at a fairly slow, yet reasonable pace. These days, I do not listen to The Beach Boys. I have traded that music in for some good country tunes. However, my all-time favorite driving song is “Drift Away” by Dobie Gray.

To reiterate, I am not a speedy driver, but rather, one who prefers to enjoy the leisurely act of driving. 

When people ask me, “What do you do to stay sane and calm during these chaotic times?” I respond with the obvious — which is spending quality time with my family, including my beloved animal companions — but I also add that music and driving fulfills me as well. The music stirs my soul, and driving excursions calm my mind. I am fortunate that I live where I can drive for many miles through preserved open greens, and rolling hills, and mountains with huge boulders that dot the sides of the roads, and plenty of horse and sheep farms. It is sheer delight for me. 

Do you have cherished memories of your first car, including any distinct song, or smell, or sound that may be imprinted along with your remembrance? Please feel free to share in the comments, or simply feel free to share a valued song or special activity that brings you joy, makes you come alive, and offers respite in these uncertain and unprecedented times. 

———

P.S. Last night, after drafting this essay, I had a fantastical time travel dream. I should preface this by explaining that I am a very light sleeper, and I rarely have dreams (or at least, I do not remember having them). Back to this dream . . . which was clearly reflective of what was on my mind, given how it relates to this essay. To elaborate, I was driving in my current SUV, when suddenly I was magically transported back in time — to what seemed to be the mid-1950s. And guess what? I was driving an actual deuce coupe — a 1932 V-8 equipped Ford Model 18. I ended up stopping at a home inhabited by a young black man and his family. The young man looked to be around 15 or 16 years old, and he was surrounded by musical instruments (which — outside of my dream — indicates to me that he may have been a young Dobie Gray). We did not engage in too much conversation. As I was about to leave from this spontaneous visit with the young, budding musician and his family, I thought to explain that I was from “the future,” and I felt compelled to describe what was coming. In my head, I was thinking I could tell them about neat “techy” stuff, but should forewarn them about the detrimental downsides of this pervasive technology; however, I was also concerned about speaking in any way about the future, as (theoretically) it could influence the timeline, or impede what should “naturally” play out for this particular family. That said, without reconciling this inner conflict, I quickly and awkwardly blurted, “Just so you know, you can’t catch a virus. Viruses are not contagious. So one day if you are told there is a viral pandemic, just know, it’s not real. Okay?” I received some confused blank stares in return, and I was out of there in a jiffy. Then I woke up, and I still felt a bit embarrassed. At the very least, my delivery could have been better! Had my chance . . . muffed it.

69 thoughts on “A Change of Pace – My Mustang Memories

  1. As I tend to experience synchronicities to an increasing degree — and somehow conspiratorial material seems to fall into my lap — subsequent to writing my post, I came upon this highly questionable news story (of which many readers may be familiar; although, I was only vaguely aware): https://nypost.com/2021/09/21/brian-laundries-bedroom-inside-the-home-of-americas-most-wanted-man/. It is tangentially related to Ford Mustangs (it features the owner of a Ford Mustang); so while it is a bit of a reach to connect it to my essay, it feels important enough to highlight – and likely more consequential than my story about a car.

    Accordingly, take note of some blatant (to POM readers, that is) spook messaging, such as the numbers embedded within the linked news report (check out the less conspicuous 1448 truth nugget https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=1448), and the photos — one of a monarch butterfly, no less. There’s plenty more to decode (including the curious literary references), and hopefully astute readers can offer takeaways in this comments thread.

    One stand-out I noticed (as did “Annie Logical” — see her brief, yet keen analysis, “Art of Manipulation,” here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y69SAihsWFA) is the name of the Ford Mustang owner, Brian Laundrie. I can’t help but read, Brain Laundry, or even more subtly (especially given the monarch butterfly coding), brain washing (again, see Annie’s artful take). Do you see it?

    For greater context, and referenced by “Annie Logical” (AKA “Logical Annie”) . . . From Persecution and the Art of Writing, by Leo Strauss (1941): http://newschoolhistories.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/strauss_persecutionartwriting-1.pdf.

    “The expression ‘writing between the lines’ indicates the subject of this article. For the influence of persecution on literature is precisely that it compels all writers who hold heterodox views to develop a peculiar technique of writing, the technique which we have in mind when speaking of writing between the lines. This expression is clearly metaphoric.”

    ”Persecution, then, gives rise to a peculiar technique of writing, and therewith to a peculiar type of literature, in which the truth about all crucial things is presented exclusively between the lines. That literature is addressed, not to all readers, but to trustworthy and intelligent readers only. It has all the advantages of public communication without having its greatest disadvantage — capital punishment for the author. But how can a man perform the miracle of speaking in a publication to a minority, while being silent to the majority of his readers? Experience and reasoning show that what seems to be a miracle is perfectly natural. The fact which makes this literature possible can be expressed in the axiom that thoughtless men are careless readers, and only thoughtful men are careful readers. Therefore an author who wishes to address only thoughtful men has but to write in such a way that only a very careful reader can detect the meaning of his book.”

    Like

    1. Truepeoplesearch lists two Brian Laundrie’s in the US, this guy in North Port, FL, and one other (age 57) in Citrus Heights, CA. I don’t feel comfortable with that … TPS hitting exactly on the age and location. That happens, but I also suspect for invented people, that Intel can control the search sites. I also felt, reading the Post article, that I was being nudged, that the appearance of so many ‘4’ couplets, might be the nudge I was feeling. One paragraph down in the story talks about a Bayport home they bought for $330,000 and sold for 385,000 – that is 33 and 11 in the same paragraph. It can happen, I suppose. The whole of the article does not feel right.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Brian Laundries = Brain Laundrie = Brain Washing

        Gabby Petito = Chatty Petite = Small Talk

        Just like that Elizabeth Smart Mormon who “consummated her ‘marriage’ ” w her “abductor”… All 110%/BS.

        I have a gut instinct the Mormons (One of the biggest frauds of all times)…love to dabble and promote PsyOps of this nature.

        PS, ” Gabby” was also seen in a Sandy Hook video years past. Really? Yes, really!

        Like

          1. Was her middle name “Irony”…this whole thing has stunk since Day 1. The video is worthy of the season, creepy AF! Thank you, though. 🙂

            Like

    2. Great post, Stephers (and other POM commenters)!
      My first car was a used 1966 Ford Falcon Futura Sport (http://www.2040-cars.com/_content/cars/images/31/175831/001.jpg) that I purchased as a high school junior way back in 1977. Mine looked very close to the one in the link. I have a lot of great memories of cruising down main street on Friday and Saturday nights listening to Boston and The Steve Miller Band blaring loudly from the cassette player mounted below the dash! Unfortunately, all the fun came to a sudden end one summer’s day when, while driving way too fast, I lost control on a sharp curve out on a country road and rolled the car over three times. Neither my younger brother, a friend, or myself were wearing seat belts; miraculously, none of us were ejected from the car. We were essentially unscathed but for some scratches and bruises. My beloved Falcon was totaled however.

      Like

  2. I just turned over 191k on my 2011/Ford Ranger 2.3 5 speed.

    I bought it enroute to North Carolina for one of my contract gigs. My old truck died in Rock Springs WY Feb 2011…single digits outside.

    Needless to say, I simply wanted something cheap to get me on my way.

    But I literally hit the jackpot…as it has a Mazda 4cylinder and Mazda 5 speed.

    Its been to Outer Banks NC, Anchorage, Fairbanks, Key West and every square inch from San Diego to Seattle. I maintain it myself.

    Buy a Ford and become sold on a Mazda! I love it!

    I’ve had 6-7 people at gas stations and auto parts stores tell me they’ve gotten 300k+ out of theirs…so that’s why I maintain it immaculately. Its a base XL w vinyl flooring, etc…and I’ve been called white trash by fellow contractors for driving it.

    My take? F-em…even better!!

    I have room to crawl underneath to change oil, tranny (not that kind of tranny) fluid, fuel filter, and I’ve even removed drive shaft to replace U Joints and dropped fuel tank to replace fuel filter.

    Remember Robert M. Persig? Something about a crazy fool and Motorcycle Maintenance??

    🙂

    Nice article, thanks!!

    Like

    1. We lived in Bozeman just a little ways from the house thar Persig visited there in his journey, and it was owned by the people in the book until some little while back, they got old and died I suppose. If you like Ed Abbey, he brought in a motorcycle mechanic in one of his essay books to review Zen and the Art … his judgment, which sounded a little boozy, is that Persig did not know his stuff.

      Rock Springs … we were traveling up from Dinosaur Monument and Flaming Gorge and had to go through Wind River Canyon the following day. We had a Ford Exploder at that time. Weather reports said stay put, bad storm, but by that time I had developed enough experience to realize that they had to say stuff like that, as if they said it is not so bad and someone slides off the road and dies, they get sued. What to do? At a grocery store the following morning was the Frito-Lay driver, so I asked him about the roads in the area, the storm and all. “Roads are fine,” he said, and we went from Rock Springs to home the following day. It was a little touch and go in Wind River Canyon [misnamed, as that is the Big Horn River flowing through, Wind River goes the opposite direction), but that was more our nerves than road conditions. We had good tires and four wheel when needed.

      One night in Rock Springs is barely tolerable. Two nights? We risked death to avoid it! Your truck succumbed, I get that.

      Like

      1. Hahaha, yes!! My brand new truck parked outside a literal garbage “motel”… And I got up at 5am in pitch dark and didn’t even know where the hell I was going ..
        I-80 (or was it I-90) East.

        That’s all the Hell I knew. Crossing into and over the Appalachians into coastal NC was beautiful!! I still recall that. There is some hippy/yuppie community out there in the hills…name eludes me…but it was beautiful! 🙂

        Truthfully, I’ve been fired several times as a ” Contractor”..and I think that was one of the times!! AAR Aerospace LOL!!! 🙂

        I was fired so I said F-It…let’s go to Alaska!! And I did it!! :). Haha, Christ Almighty…what a good time!!

        Like

    1. That was more like a movie script than a dream, and remembering all that you do! My dreams fade away after I wake up, but most times when they are vivid it is caused by frustration, some inane task I cannot get done. Then when I wake and realize it was a dream, I am relieved.

      I have never been one to attach to cars, though I am plenty happy now with my Orange Inferno Toyota Tacoma, the Orange Taco. I said at the time we bought it that it was way too young for me to be driving, but our grandson is a good salesman. It slowly became me. However, I think that Mustangs are very sexy, good looking cars, and I can see why people form clubs, restore them, baby them. We have an uncle who is a Mustang guy, and man did he love to floor it. He’s too old now. (By the way, another car that I think qualifies as sexy: Dodge Challenger, just a little less so than the Mustang. A friend of ours, having a wild streak, bought one as soon as they came on the market, and thereafter got three speeding tickets in three days in three states. She traded it in. Cop magnet, she said. Maybe so.)

      I see in Canada now they want to eliminate pickup trucks, and Climate Apocalypse set on a holy terror streak.

      Like

      1. Burnt Orange?

        Very nice truck!

        As an engineer, I appreciate what a simple, yet good quality, vehicle can perform…and the daily reliability associated w it.

        Toyotas are the best in my book. You’re doing excellent!! 🙂

        You should get 300k easily…focus on fluids and you are good to go.

        Like

        1. My ranking of vehicles at the time of purchase was Honda Ridgeline, Toyota Tacoma, and something by Nissan, I forget its name. I was all set to go for the Ridgeline and was busy removing features to get the cost down. Grandson said he had two trucks he wanted us to see, one the Orange Taco, the other a white Taco.

          I like Ridgelines, and was glad that they got rid of the old unibodies and made it a real truck. But it’s the little things … at the very back of the Ridgeline is a deep well that is big enough to hold most of our camping gear. I miss that feature with the Taco, in fact, for our trips to Montana last summer, ended up removing the back seats for more room. This link is to a lookalike to our truck, complete with the scoop on the hood.

          Like

          1. Yes!! Best!! 🙂

            Ridge lines have a $1000 timing “belt” change at 100k or so.

            Stick to timing chains…they last life of vehicle!!

            That’s right! Nice.

            Like

              1. That’s the “bonus” they sell you.

                In reality its just crap.

                Anything mechanical running on a rubber and wire “belt’ is just garbage cheap. Bottom line.

                You now have a chain!! Be happy you lucked out!

                Really 🙂

                Like

  3. Interesting tidbit: Mazda 5 SUV (basically a Mazda 3 sedan in “SUV” format outsells all other Mazda lines combined.

    Home of Mazda? Hiroshima of all places!

    Like

    1. Does anyone else find it strange that North Americans seem unable to make reliable vehicles anymore?
      Certainly it is something political, i.e. economic, that suddenly after the war Germany and Japan began making the most solid and affordable cars…hummm…..it just cannot be that Americans suddenly forgot how to make a good car..there is a very ugly story here….waiting to be researched and told….and i suspect it has never really be told.

      Like

          1. Rastus, if you are truly serious, email me at tae.gen@protonmail.com
            write me a very personal email so i can know you better because to be honest, your posts are always abit “off” , and i do not have a solid sense of who you are.
            Once you arrive, you will not be obligated to deal with me in any way; I can give you a rent free homebase and you can explore the country as you like; it seems you like to take many roadtrips

            Like

            1. Vaccines??//That’s the BS.

              I’m a sincere honest …and yes, caring person.

              Is my downfall.

              I’ll write you at email, thanks.

              I miss the beauty if Japan.

              Literally…I had “reverse culture shock” returning to US.

              Really.

              Walmart people? I want to puke my guts out…that’s how awful it is.

              We’ll be in touch. Goodnight.

              Like

                1. As I write this, I am sleeping on the floor on a foam mattress.

                  I sold my “bed frame” last summer on local Mormon website.

                  Yes! Really!! Hahaha 🙂

                  Like

                2. Listen, please:

                  Nowhere in Japan will one find a store which provides scooters for fat/ grosly (sp?) obese people.

                  They (scooters nor Obese people) do NOT EXIST!

                  People actually WALK and ride bicycles!!

                  80+ years old on bicycles!

                  I’ve seen and witnessed it firsthand.

                  Again, scooters DO NOT EXIST!!

                  Period!!

                  Like

      1. As behemoth corporations like Microsoft and Ford Automobiles expand and grow richer, they tend to want to sell as much product as they can while accruing as little production costs to themselves as possible. Which is why they often send their manufacturing jobs to offshore places where labor is cheaper than in developed Western countries like America and Britain.

        It’s also part of the recurrent, periodic trend of economic resets, in which countries that were once powerhouses of industry, such as the United States, become service/consumer driven economies dependent on the cheap labor of other nations like China, Japan and India to manufacture and sell their products to the West.

        Like

        1. Moving jobs offshore eliminates future “legacy costs.” I wonder how many SS accounts, pension plans, health plans, etc. have been taken off the books since the Covid-19 magic began. Promises, promises. As long as an employee is considered a financial liability, and a machine can be a depreciated (deductible) cost, machines will continue to replace humans in the “labor force.” What part of debt and dependency do people not get? Hypnotic trance keeps eyes from seeing.

          Liked by 1 person

      2. I do find it strange, and suspect in my more thoughtful times that part of the purpose of WWII was merely a realignment, reassignment of duties, with auto manufacturing moved to Japan, and to a lesser degree, to Korea, Germany a niche market for highly specialized engineering, along with Britain.Then came two more wars, and I am much more familiar with Vietnam, where the objective seemed to be a movement of population from the rural areas to the cities, where today they are relegated to making our underpants and shirts. US, regarded as overpaid and spoiled, were phased out. US factories were physically moved to China and Mexico, still owned by the same people, their products now called “imports.”

        Like

        1. yes “realignment” sounds like a word getting to the matter doesn’t it, and of course always the same owners…

          Rastus, your last posts above proof my point that you are “off” but the fact that my door is still open means that i am not turned off to your “off” …and i laughed out loud when i read you want to puke your guts out when seeing walmart people…yes, pretty disgusting…japan, let us say is less disgusting i concur, but, hey, it is the modern world and in the end you have to laugh it… off… after you have had a good vomit.

          Like

        2. The COVID-19 pandemic pretty much follows the lines as WWII, Mark. Both are “merely a realignment, reassignment of duties” to a large degree. The workforce has changed drastically due to this recent hoax, much like how the world economy changed during and after the Second World War.

          Like

  4. Stephers,

    I loved your dream. Wouldn’t it be amazing to read a time-travel novel, or watch a time-travel movie like Back to the Future, where the time traveler was a conspiracy theorist? Well… actually, I that’s already been done, now that I recall Linda Hamilton’s character in the Terminator movies.

    I like the quote about “persecution literature” and it’s a bit of a synchronicity for me. Lately I’ve been going back to Nabokov–specifically, re-reading Lolita. Nabokov knew perfectly well that “thoughtless men are careless readers, and only thoughtful men are careful readers,” and he buried his truth between the lines. Years ago, I read some theories about Humbert Humbert, and the book itself, that I may need to look more deeply into and maybe even write a guest post about. Early in the novel, Humbert talks about making stops at a couple of “psychiatric” facilities in his travels through Europe. A long time ago, I read a scholarly essay suggesting that these facilities were concentration camps, and that Humbert was Jewish. I took that to mean he was detained in those concentration camps. Now I realize he was likely working with the staff… which would make him what many in our club like to call a “crypto-Jew.” If this is truly what Nabokov was up to, no wonder he had to keep that between the lines. If he’d been blatant about it, it would have completely dominated and distorted whatever meaning the reader took away from the novel. Writing between the lines is, I think, the best way to convey meaning, not only because it keeps you out of the electric chair (or concentration camp), but because people have a way of getting so worked up about certain ideas or concepts that they can’t focus on anything else in your story if you reveal it explicitly. It’s like trying to deliver a lecture to a classroom while you’re buck-ass naked, and expecting people to pay attention to your words and ideas instead of your buck-ass nakedness.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. scott, with all due respect…not an empty phrase since i have come to respect you…i suggest you read the leo strauss essay more carefully; from the first sentence, he gives himself away; consider that, He too, is writing between the lines… oh he IS a clever little ashkenazi, but do not be fooled…
      cheers

      Like

      1. Godfly, I’m not familiar with “the Leo Strauss” essay you mention, and didn’t find anything in a quick search. Can you point me to it?

        Like

          1. Oh, I thought you were talking about Nabokov. I know nothing about Leo Strauss. You may be right about him. My point was that the concept of “persecution writing,” as he articulates it in Stephers’ quote, can be used to express deep truths in a positive, non-didactic, artful way. Of course, it can also be used in a deviously manipulative or propagandistic way, which is what I gather Strauss is focused on, and what Stephers perceives in the Laundrie story.

            Like

      2. Godfly,

        On Leo Strauss . . . In no way was I venerating the guy; and philosophers are not in my realm of “expertise,” by any means. I have no doubt he was a limited hangout/gatekeeper. Even here https://cosmolearning.org/images/leo-strauss-1899-1973/, it reads (as you also implied):

        “Ultimately, Strauss believed that philosophers offered both an ‘exoteric’ or salutary teaching and an ‘esoteric’ or true teaching, which was concealed from the general reader. For maintaining this distinction, Strauss is often accused of having written esoterically himself. Moreover he also emphasized that writers often left contradictions and other excuses to encourage the more careful examination of the writing.”

        To clarify – I was simply riffing off of “Annie Logical” and her reference to Leo Strauss, which I found appropriate and helpful. The reference in relation to “reading between the lines” and Strauss did not originate with me. However, I see no problem in highlighting the concept.

        With all that said, I suppose a more meaningful reference would be to Michael Hoffman and his concept of “twilight language” and cryptocracy. In 2017, I read his Secret Societies and Psychological Warfare https://www.amazon.com/Societies-Psychological-Warfare-Michael-Hoffman/dp/0970378416/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=. While I was already analyzing reported incidents in the way he described, it was incredibly affirming to see it all laid out in a book – what I was naturally doing to grasp manufactured events. But, again, Hoffman still fell short, as he considered these rituals that played out to be very real. Even so, I would not throw all of his meticulous efforts out with the bathwater. If I had done that, I would have missed all the truth nuggets along the way. In fact, his book remains one of my top 10 favorites, and I still refer back to it from time to time. Had he acknowledged the hoaxing aspect within the “psychitecture” of these public events, his treatise would be considered a masterpiece, in my opinion.

        I would add the work of Walter Bowart as well: https://archive.org/details/OperationMindControlResearchersEdition/page/n19/mode/2up. Yet, again, we bump up to similar issues concerning his true intentions, and it is up to us (individually) to discern what is true, and what is not.

        Like

        1. my oversight stephers and scott; on a too quick reading of your posts it seemed you were standing behind the guy;
          what a tiring game it is to read seemingly intelligent and on the level people only to suspect in every case that there is something nasty going on….and of course to have to judge for ourselves how much is ignorance and innocence and how much is intentional misdirection; As always i will take the position that one is best to limit their intake, to not go too far out of the way and find these people. I know your answer will be that we must know what is coming , we must educate ourselves and know the intentions of our the people who intend to do us harm; fair enough, but the other method is just to stay focused more or less on what is in front of your nose and say no to everything else. I would once again pose that question which for me gets to the heart of the matter: what would you do with yourself if you did not spend so much time on the computer researching the evil deeds of others? …In a sense, we are what we do.

          Liked by 1 person

          1. Godfly, in a friendly spirit (since I value your gadfly-ness) I’ll respond again to the question you’ve posed again. If we weren’t playing this “tiring game,” the website would cease to exist, and we–those who see through the dehumanizing nonsense of conventional reality–would have no way to find each other. If the website dealt exclusively with topics you find worthwhile, like old books, it would become a whole different crowd here, and most of them would probably be pretentious face-diaper-wearing idiots.

            As I mentioned before, I’ve been sober for 13 years, but I wouldn’t be if people who had been sober for a long time and built wonderful lives for themselves hadn’t kept coming back to rehash the same goddamn topics that AA meetings focus on over and over and over again. Talk about tiring. I stopped going to meetings because I realized my nonconformist attitude was not useful to newcomers. AA is brainwashing for people whose brains desperately need a cleanse, and I couldn’t help being a distraction from this life-saving brainwashing. However, I admire and am grateful for the people who, for some reason, keep going to meetings and telling the same goddamn stories and spouting the same goddamn nuggets of wisdom. I needed to be immersed in the cult of AA for a long time before I was free from the he’ll of alcoholism.

            It’s not a perfect analogy, because this site is not about brainwashing, and the topics are a lot more varied and wide-ranging than they are in AA meetings. But you see my point. This ongoing “tiring game” is manna from heaven for people who have hit rock bottom believing in consensus reality.

            As much as I enjoy your comments, you sometimes sound like a guy at an AA meeting saying, “Jesus Christ, when are you people going to stop talking about alcohol!?”

            Liked by 1 person

            1. I think you and Godfly are both right at the same time.

              Think about thousands upon thousands of manhours invested in talking about that, which we all already know. Think about it globally. It’s crazy to think so many people need to talk so much about the same subject, repeating what is known over and over again. To what end? What is the purpose of this repetitive act? We should’ve all graduated with excellence years ago and hit the streets with anger already, considering what our newly acquired knowledge implies, and go fight the evil instead of debating it. That would give our knowledge a proper purpose, right?

              But it’s easier to simply continue debating the same subject. Being here and finding like-minded people, talking to them and making new friends gives an impression of doing something meaningful in terms of resisting the corrupt system. But is it really meaningful? Or is the physical action against the Tyrants what should’ve followed the disclosures?

              It’s the same within any AA group – once a member realizes his/her issue, action is needed in order to break free from a deadly habit. Talking about alcoholism does nothing to stop people from abusing it. What really makes a difference is ACTING against the problem.

              Liked by 1 person

              1. We are just fiddling while Rome burns at this point. The system will have to implode upon itself for any real change to happen. In the meantime, I’m gonna enjoy the ride and prepare myself in every way possible. I suppose I could focus all of my energies on one or the other, but I prefer to dabble in both.

                Like

              2. MiniMe,
                Many of us are taking actions, individually, as a result of the things we discuss and learn here. I stand up against masks whenever I’m told I have to wear them (as I was tonight). We take the action of NOT getting the jab. Some take more actions than others.
                I’ve also found that awareness, and other people’s awareness of my awareness, often has an effect that’s probably stronger than any defiant words or actions could have.
                What kind of action do you have in mind, MiniMe? Organized action? How would that work? I mean, really, how could it possibly work?

                I believe the main reason AA has been around as long as it has is because all of its individual groups throughout the world are autonomous. It doesn’t have rules. It doesn’t have dogma. Yes, it has cliches. Yes, it has suggestions. But you don’t have to follow all of them, or any of them, and you don’t even have to get or stay sober to be a member of the group. Its guiding principle is that it has the “least organization possible.” The founder, Bill Wilson, was a con man through and through. He understood all the subtle and nefarious ways the organization could be infiltrated and taken over by profit-seekers who would steer it away from its mission of actually helping individual alcoholics. In its early years, the media spoke of AA in glowing terms, but for a long time now it’s been a cultural joke–a punchline–the media hates it… yet it has survived. The fact that that an organization of its size has, for nearly a hundred years, continued to serve the interests of the disadvantaged people it says it’s serving is fucking mind-boggling in our cynical world of Global Capitalism. To me, it shows how people sitting around in autonomous groups, with the least organization possible, focused narrowly on a problem, can inspire all kinds of positive action. But AA doesn’t dictate what those actions must be. If it did–if it tried–it would fail, for reasons that should be obvious to everyone who reads this blog and understands how the world works.

                So how do groups of people like us take meaningful action without being diverted, distracted or sabotaged in our purpose? Any ideas? It may be possible, but I don’t see how.

                Like

                1. Rome is going to burn no matter what we do and so i would agree with scott that no meaningful action outside of our own personal lives is possible.

                  “Hit the streets?!” forget about that…

                  I also agree scott that i can be repetitive but i am, after all the gadfly here and repetition is not always a bad thing. Especially since my point seems so fundamental and important…ha..ha.. to me anyway…

                  But as minime so correctly says, you are all here participating because it makes you feel you have a place, that you are united , that something is actually being done, and that real change is possible; since none of that is true, in one sense your time spent here on POM is, well, fake. Good word. Fake because through the genuine friendship and caring that you feel for the people you talk to here, you are deceived into thinking that something is possible, which is in fact, not possible…

                  i laughed out loud scott about what would happen if this blog was a more intellectual sort of thing, focusing on “old books” as you say…i wouldn’t even participate because it would be worse than “pretentious” it would probably be disgusting; I dislike intellectuals as much as i dislike new age cowards…well i am the gadfly…i hate everyone…even myself but…but…in the end, since Rome IS burning and a new world is coming, our best method, i believe, is to learn to ……..laugh.

                  p.s I was including myself in the “tiring game” for of course i have to do it also…even when i read the old books, i have to try to understand their real intentions…

                  Like

                  1. I have never overthought the importance of this blog. It is just a small outpost where people of like mind can have some solace from the whackadoodle planet. We have no more influence than that of a small town newspaper, probably the reason why we are left alone.

                    Liked by 1 person

              3. I’ve had a Jordan Peterson weekend, well spent. He says at one point that there is no cure for alcoholism, all the professions and groups aside, including AA, except spiritual rebirth and development. that leads me to suspect that the “disease” is far more likely alienation.

                Like

                1. AA agrees with Jordan Peterson on that, and with you. Alcoholism, like all addictions, is a spiritual malady, as Godfly suggested. The founder of AA described the organization as “spiritual kindergarten,” with the understanding that alcoholics would and should move beyond it to further develop their spirituality once they’ve had their “rebirth.” My own experience suggests that the rebirth has more to do with the individual’s desire for it, combined with a belief that it’s possible in the first place, more than with AA’s specific guidelines themselves. But for hopeless drunks, true belief in the possibility of change can only come from interacting and talking and sharing with people who, after being as hopeless as they were, underwent a miraculous transformation. I really don’t know to what extent, if any, that process–the process of freeing oneself from the tyranny of addiction–can be used as an analogy for groups who are resisting and seeking to overcome the tyranny of actual tyrants. It may well just be pie-in-the-sky thinking on my part. But it persists with me.

                  Like

  5. Also… I’ve probably mentioned it here before… but many years ago, I had a dream that I now intuit was a metaphorical psychic prediction of the Covid scam.

    In the dream, a new technology had been invented that allowed filmmakers to use the night sky as a projection screen for their movies. I lived in a city with lots of tall buildings, and people stood on the roofs of these buildings wearing special glasses and special earbuds in order to see and hear the sky movie. I didn’t have the special glasses or the earbuds for some reason, and I also didn’t want them. I could vaguely see faint images of Batman and other costumed characters flickering like mythical gods in the sky, but the whole idea of using the world itself as a means of projecting Hollywood fantasy seemed deeply disturbing to me, and I was nauseated at how unthinkingly excited about it everyone around me–included people I considered very intelligent–seemed to be. Now, years later, I live those exact feelings on a daily basis. Maybe it was a “persecution” dream?

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Finally, I’ll share my first-time car story. It wasn’t a fancy car–it was just a plain ol’ Dodge Charger. But it was mine, and it was silver, and I thought it was awesome. (I’m not a car guy.) I got it when I was seventeen.

    One night, I was driving somewhere with my girlfriend, Angela. It was raining. Angela usually didn’t wear a seatbelt (this was before they were mandatory), but we were having an argument and she put her seatbelt on to communicate that she thought I was a bad driver. Shortly afterward, my car went into a skid in the rain. It spun in a circle three times, and I remember thinking the spinning world in the windshield seemed unreal, like the projection screens behind car windows in old movies. I remember specifically thinking that I felt like I was an actor in an Alfred Hitchcock movie and that the spinning world was part of the artifice. Then a tree came hurtling into view, and as my car’s front end smashed and crumpled against it, I turned to Angela and saw the way the seatbelt prevented her from flying through the windshield.

    I was usually a pretty high-strung guy, but my shock made me feel oddly calm and detached. Angela was a super-cool, laid-back chick, but her shock turned her into a screaming hysterical basket case. She leaped out of the car ranting and raving, ran to the driver side door and opened it, and tried to pull me out, screeching at me that the car was about to explode. The way she pointed at the steam coming out of the radiator, I realized she thought it was smoke. I also remember thinking, in my shock-induced calm, that she must have thought we’d crashed into a Bruce Willis movie. So I got out of the car and grabbed her by the shoulders and explained–loudly, but calmly–that the steam was steam, not smoke, and the car wasn’t going to explode. Apparently, I got through to her, because she stopped screaming. Her face went slack as she looked at the steaming front end, then looked at me, and rolled her eyes with what I interpreted as a self-deprecating smirk. But the moment I let go of her shoulders, her eyes kept rolling and she fainted, dropping straight to the pavement. And I recall standing there blinking down at her in my unnatural state of detached calm and thinking, holy shit, I thought girls only fainted in old movies. Then I felt bad that I’d missed the opportunity to catch her like a proper 1940s Hollywood hero.

    The endless bleed-through of fantasy and reality has been an obsession with me all my life, I guess.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. “Finally, I’ll share my first-time car story. It wasn’t a fancy car–it was just a plain ol’ Dodge Charger. But it was mine, and it was silver, and I thought it was awesome. (I’m not a car guy.) I got it when I was seventeen.”

      I could have written the exact same phrase, except my Dodge Charger was rust-colored. Our synchronicities continue. I once cut a corner too closely and sliced the back fender of that Charger on a guardrail. The next day I promptly went to the auto parts store for a Bondo repair kit. Several hours later, I was perplexed and frustrated that the stuff wasn’t drying, only to be mortified when my brother-in-law pointed to the tube of unused hardener. Yeah, not much of a car guy either.

      I have also spun three times in the middle of the highway. My incident occurred on a rainy night just north of Laredo, TX. My only thought as I was spinning was how this impending accident would adversely affect my insurance rates. Miraculously, the rear end of my vehicle hit a culvert and straightened right out as if nothing had happened. I pulled over in the first rest area to discover only minor damage. It’s genuinely surreal the places our minds go in times like that.

      Like

  7. Cars, trucks, and sex-

    Being raised as one of “Jehovah’s Witnesses”, I participated (with some reticence) in the door-to-door evangelizing, and on one street in Lancaster, Ohio, while grudgingly going from one house to the next, I came across a 1956 Ford for sale. I wanted it, but didn’t get it. Before long, however, I was able to acquire, with my Dad’s help, a 1955 Chevy (almost as good, 265 v-8)). It didn’t look so great, but after a cheap paint job, it looked pretty snazzy in candy apple red, and transported me to high school for most of my sophomore year.

    Junior year. English class presented a new teacher, Jane S. She was damned good-looking, and often hoisted herself up to sit on the front of her wooden desk in front of the class, carefully crossing her legs, nicely framing them within her usual above the knees tight-fitting skirt. Suffice to say that she held our attention.

    One fateful day, before I could exit the room, she said she would like to see me after class. Ok… I sat, we talked. This happened a few times. I can’t remember one thing that was said, but I willingly entered into that spell that she was casting (at a later time, she told me that it was my eyes that drew her in). Before long, the arrangement was made for me to visit her at her apartment. Being a virgin, I didn’t know exactly what all this meant, I just knew that I would do as she asked, and so I went to her….to stay on topic here, I must mention that transportation during this time was provided by a beat-up yellow 1960 Ford farm pickup truck, with a six cylinder and three speed on the column…

    Jane smoked, I had never been around smoking, Witnesses forbade it. Her smoking was as sensual as her conversation, however, and only added to her elegant appeal. I visited her several times, and we sat together on her couch, as she smoked and fawned (her word) over me. In retrospect, she was gentle and patient with me, but finally, on that fateful night, she did lead me to her bed…there was the excitement and intense pleasure of this new experience, naked and under her spell, and there was a “coming”…though not real coitus. I was premature.

    That was the end. Guilt hit me like a ton of bricks (or like a Godly judgment), and I remember how she tried to console me, thinking that if she could show me that my failure to perform did not matter, then all would be well. But she was up against God and parents and the Watchtower organization, and my guilt was profound. In a daze, I got in my yellow pickup and went home.

    I did see her one more time, but only to attempt to “witness” to her. She was into the imagery of the “poets”, being an English Lit major, an EE Cummings type of woman, so I thought maybe I could stimulate her with the imagery of the book of Revelation, and the fact that (as the Witnesses then were saying) 1975 would likely be “the end”, or at least the arrival of “armageddon”….cringe-worthy moments, as I recollect this witnessing to her. She asked me what would happen if 1975 would come and go without incident, and would I then consent to be with her?…I had no answer.

    She started sending me letters. Heavily charged letters, sometimes sexually explicit. One phrase from those letters is emblazoned forever in my brain, “swollen blue-veined breast”….I hid the letters in a box under the bed I shared with my older brother. He found them, and I had to confess all to him, and assure him that I was repentant, and that it was all behind me. He accepted, and said he would not report me.

    Months later, two elders from the congregation visited me (both of them uncles!). Uncle John said,”Matthew, we’ve heard rumors that a former teacher of yours is pregnant, and that you’re the father. Frankly, I don’t believe it, but we need to hear about this from you”. So I had to confess again, and explain why I couldn’t possibly be the author of any pregnancy. And then, a higher official from outside the local congregation came to check on the situation, and I was forced to tell my story again.

    Thoroughly chastened by all of this, I transferred to a different high school for my senior year, to avoid the stigma of my fornication. After that, I did the right thing by beginning “full time” service, which meant spending 100 hours + per month in the door-to-door evangelizing work (which I hated). After a year of this faithful service, I applied for and was accepted for full-time service at the world headquarters of the JWs, in Brooklyn NY, working in the book printing factories (which I hated). But I was now clean, I had been purified. I prayed to “God” every day.

    Oh yes, in that last year before going to NYC, I drove an old blue VW beetle.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Interesting window into the cultish culture of Jehovah’s Witness. To grow up in it and then out of it must be quite a journey.

      My sixth grade elementary school teacher was rumored to sleep with boys when they ascended from elementary school to junior high. After my ascent, she saw me walking home from school, gave me a ride, got my phone number, called me that Saturday and invited me to go to lunch. I asked her where I should tell my mom she was taking me. She said, “Just tell her we’re going to the No-Tell Motel.” My mom had heard the rumors about this teacher, too, so the “lunch” never happened, and the teacher was eventually fired. I’ve always wondered how it would have affected me if she’d gotten me into her lair.

      Like

    2. OM –

      My goodness, Matt. That is heavy-duty – on so many levels. Thank you for sharing. I appreciate you being forthcoming about this coming-of-age experience (hopefully, enough years have passed to be able to make a quip). But, in all seriousness, I would never judge your response to this woman’s spell-casting antics. I can’t say that I don’t judge her behavior, though.

      I was never beguiled by a teacher – but I was physically violated by a professor in college (who just happened to be a priest in his mid-70s). I will spare you the details. It was done out in the open with a class full of witnesses, and I proceeded to file a formal complaint with the Dean that very day (with the support of a female professor). The school did not want the public stigma attached to the incident, so I was told to stand down from pressing any charges. As a token: the professor was required to go for psychological counseling 2 days/week, I was removed from the class, and I was selected as a National Dean’s List recipient (which was really just a marketing scam) – all to keep me quiet and appeased. It took me years to process that incident. I can joke about it now, but I am not sure I ever fully healed from the experience.

      I am sorry you had to go through all of that. That is quite traumatic for a teenage guy.

      Like

      1. I’ve lived such a chaste life! The Catholic priest scandal, being the younger brother of a priest, hit me hard. But my older brother never came within a mile of anything improper. His doctoral thesis was about vetting candidates for the priesthood, and stated clearly that anyone wanting that line of work should be celibate, gay or straight, for one year before entering the seminary.

        All professions where adults have authority over youth have problems with sexual encounters, as those who prefer pubescent teens are drawn to that line of work. These are not pedophiles, quite a different deviation, one I am familiar with. I think of them as suffering arrested development, or at least a fetish that comes about due to overexposure to vulnerable youth, themselves confused [not to mention teens drawn to authority figures not that much older than them]. The Catholic priest scandal involved mostly men drawn to pubescent teens. It is common, as those professions attract adults who succumb to youth in their flower, just weakness, inability to keep eyes focused above the neck. Catholic priests, where homosexuality is common, were singled out, but the problem exists everywhere, much more in public schools, as Matt attests in his incident. I suspect that the Catholic prohibition on birth control led to PTB singling them out for public shaming. But the problem is human, widespread, and not so much deviant as much as lack of self control when natural attraction gets out of hand.

        Like

  8. Wow, what a great and moving selection! Watch out when Stephers changes gears, she really means it. Your dream was incredible, as was Scott’s. So much to process. I have had many lately wherein I speak with calm people and things are normal. Most of my recent dreams have been like that; positive and “old normal”, since who needs nightmares these days?

    4’10” Steph leading the cheer squad. Just explode all the myths at once, shall we? You are supposed to be silly and cute, nothing more, dear! Doesn’t your darling little mind get overheated doing those cyber-posts? Those old Mustangs still turn my head, but with a cheerleader at the wheel, even one who uses wooden blocks to reach the pedals? Stop traffic!

    Did you make treats for your “secret brother” on the football team? My “secret sister” did, though she was also my Best Friend’s Girlfriend, and my friend since 4th grade. She also wore my jersey for the powder-puff flag football game, which we players coached. I called a slant pass to her from the stands using a walkie-talkie, which she took for a long TD. Our girls won both Junior and Senior year.

    Funny how many commentators had “muscle” or sports cars. Well, if you recall the Dead Milkmen, a modest punk band from the 80s, you should remember their ditty, “Bitchin’ Camaro”, which sort of tells my story, except instead of going to the shore, we went to desert parties. I had a nickname for it, the Green Manalishi, as it was dark metallic emerald. I did do donuts in a country-club front yard, but it was not a lawn as outlined in the song. We came to a rest under a pine tree, whose lower branches left deep gouges in the hood’s paint. Only fair. Also did donuts in the graveled county fair parking lot, raising heaping clouds of dust, which ended up breaking the fan belt and making it a long night getting home. Again, well-deserved.

    Mid-senior year, the transmission blew out on the way back from Phoenix after an ROTC interview. (I later declined the offer, which saved my life) I was supposed to give a talk at the football dinner that night, but ended up getting home around 10:00 PM. I remember “Riders on the Storm” playing soon before the vehicle came to a halt in the flats outside of Eloy, a cold late-fall wind blowing.

    Charged riders $1/day for rides to/from school. That thing sucked down premium, which reached $2/gal, when I was making $3/hr at my summer job. Soundtrack was provided by an 8-track at first, then cassette, which allowed for mix tapes. Rush 2112, The Cars first two albums, and Judas Priest featured heavily. Sold it senior year in college in a much-degraded state. Like many of you, I was not a car person.

    Like

    1. For those like me, having little experience with RAP dialect, the lyrics are available by scrolling down at the link, enabling one to follow along happily.

      Liked by 1 person

    2. Francis Collins, outgoing director of the NIH, provides the counter to your song, Stephers, with this beloved song turned into propaganda trash. Must be seen to be believed. *https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftvkgpmgMao&t=38s

      Like

      1. OM,

        I do not even know what to say to this. It is beyond cringey. I have to wonder if this is some type of humiliation ritual. Regardless, it makes a mockery out of Collins, and out of the entire pandemic scenario. How did you even find this?!

        Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s