Dear Friends,
I was invited to compose theme music for an up-and-coming (and also upcoming) child neurology podcast by Ali Christy and Sam MacKenzie. The podcast, soon to be available wherever podcasts are available, is called Immature Brains: Something Something. (I don't remember what goes after the colon.) But the Hard Taco song for June is simply called, "Immature Brains," and it is available here. And whenever, whyever, and wherever podcasts are available.
I'm not a car guy. I admit that I like to picture Henry Ford walking the factory floor at his Highland Park plant, shouting, "Avengers, Assemble!" to his most vindictive employees. And to his less vengeful employees, simply yelling, "Assemble!"
But that's about the only time I think about cars. Perhaps I'm not a car guy because I wasn't raised to be a car guy. Allegedly, my dad spent his childhood learning to spot the differences between the tail fins of the 1956 Chevrolet Velvetaire Sassafras Edition and the 1956 Chevrolet Velvetaire Couch-liner Edition. But once he got married and had kids, he forsook dreams of trim levels for more practical concerns.
As proof, I shall now list all of cars that my family owned during my childhood: Very Rusty Jeep, Very Rusty Jeep with Plow, Tiny Subaru, Plymouth Acclaim, Dodge Spirit (also known as Plymouth Acclaim), Oldsmobile Cutlass Sierra, Plymouth Reliant Stick Shift Station Wagon, Oldsmobile Delta 88, Plymouth Grand Caravan.
The car you drive tells a story about you, and our story is simply this: The Tiny Subarus of 1981 were so overwhelmingly powerful and sexy the Londons briefly suspended their commitment to buy American.
I'm not a car guy, but I'm pretty perceptive about who people judge each other. So here's my take on what today's cars say about their owners.
Toyota Corolla: I once listened to a podcast about Roman aqueducts and won't shut up about it.
Hyundai Accent: I like to cosplay as a timid squirrel clearing its throat.
Kia Soul: I bring "adequate toaster" energy to all my relationships.
Mazda CX-5: This Zoom-Zoom meeting could have been an email.
Nissan Sentra: My animal spirit is a bland one-page spreadsheet in which every cell has the word "meh."
Toyota RAV4: I'm afraid Bluetooth pairing keeps failing because I am unloveable and destined to be alone.
Subaru Outback: I own both a small tent and a medium tent and have never used either.
Honda Accord: I make my car listen to NPR all night while I'm asleep in bed.
Ford Escape: I don't know about you, but I'm feeling 22 MPG.
Ford F-150: My band is playing a two-night engagement at Firekeeper's Casino, June 7-8.
Buick Encore: Under my skin, I am throw pillows and oat milk.
Audi Q5: I flash my brights to assert dominance over elementary school crossing guards.
Volvo XC90 - To prove how much I love my children, I keep them in 12-point harnesses and pack their orifices with Styrofoam peanuts.
Bentley Continental GT - My water bottle is made of 400-year-old walnut that was knighted by Queen Victoria.
Tesla Cybertruck - (I'm drawing a blank. This must be the most neutral of all vehicles, because I have no opinions whatsoever about the drivers.)
With warmest regards,
Zach
