thoughts on 101

on the drive home from sunnyvale last night, i happened to glance at my odometer and found that my car had just passed 30k miles. that got me to thinking, somehow, about how my previous car, the saturn, was also my boyhood dog and reluctant dumb friend. i've spoken on this before but i can't find the link so there you go. in summary: the saturn was not "imbued" with the spirit of my departed friend, it was not "reminiscent" of him, it was him, probably in the same way those nutty catholics think that wine is blood and the same way Palmer Eldritch kept on showing up.

so last night i got to wondering about my current car. i've known since i got it that it isn't my erstwhile friend, but i hadn't considered the question of identity for a good long while.

i wondered for a while if it even has an identity: i think i found out who my saturn was simply because we spent so much time together, and because for a good long time, he was my only companion. this is not so with the g35, and so, while perhaps it does have an identity, we have not spent enough time together -- quality time -- for me to find it.

these thoughts spun off two different lines of thought that captured my attention. the one noted that it had been a while since i'd had these sorts of thoughts, and that perhaps i should resume generation of the world view which elicits them, since while it was no more productive than my current view, the self-delusional spiritualistic belief system was certainly more entertaining and mentally stimulating. of course, the mental stimulation had no purpose or useful end, but then, what does?

the other line of thought was right in line with the first, and involved exploring the question more thoroughly: who was my car?

i couldn't come up with an answer. i could come up with personality traits, but no firm concept of identity. i considered that she might actually be me -- she likes to run while listening to infected mushroom, for example -- but i really couldn't sell myself on the idea.

one day on the long-ish ride back from sunnyvale, i may find out who she is. for now, though, she remains a mystery, and perhaps that's how she wants it.

as i finish off this article, i'm listening to my saint saens "best of" cd. for me, this fantastic music is associated with another car, my first, i suppose, though not "mine" in the same way of the saturn -- my inherited caddy, the car i drove to my first "real" job, the only job i ever hated but never left. i have clear and fond memories of driving down empty roads at 3 in the morning to open, blaring old camille from the luxury speakers of the old caddy, arriving at work to find that i'd driven there in the dark with my headlights off, but it didn't matter since nobody else was up at that hour. and then, passing my shift by replaying the music in my mind (since, heaven knows, my coworkers had nothing to say).

ah, good times.