Meet Remington
Monday, February 11, 2008 | comments (1)
In Texas, the truck is the most revered of all automobiles. They even get special license plates which identify them as a "Texas Truck." And I think that's how it should be. Because in the hierarchy of trucks, it's surprising, but size usually plays a secondary role to location. And that makes the Texas Truck the Lion King of bedded vehicles, brother. Believe. And so you know what that means? It means my old 1989 Nissan Pickup from the Lone Star, with its diminutive size and its two-wheel drive, would still trump that Ford F-250 from Delaware. And if it stepped out of line, well, there'd be a posse on call ready to ride his Yankee ass out of town. It's just how it is, son. Respect.
And so even though my new truck is a bit bigger than my old one. Even though he's all 4-wheel drive and big wheels and stands up tall with the big boys, even though his growl is an octave lower, even though on all counts this guy is much more truck than my old Nissan ever was ... (and I say that with all my love, Ol' Boy) it's still just a Jersey truck, with pale yellow plates. Out here, neurosis comes standard. It's not an "options package." And so these trucks are just a little more high-maintenance than their brothers to the southwest. They tend to be filled with a little more of the angst and self-loathing. They have "body issues." And that's fine. All it means is you have to feed their egos from time to time. And it's not that hard, really. Just throw them a few 'atta boys,' and smack 'em on the tailgate when they've done good. A little encouragement goes a long way.
But I'm being rude. Formal introductions are in order, here. So Internets, meet Remington. Remington, Internets. You can call him Remy for short. He's a 1999 Toyota Tacoma 4x4. Green. And like a Remington rifle, he's cool and smooth to the touch, but he'll fire smoking hot, when necessary. He stands tall in his wheels and runs great, but like all 9-year-old trucks, he has a few neurological issues. Most people don't realize it, but Tacomas are sort of known for their enthusiastic experimentation with psychedelic drugs. And it tends to lead to some brain misfirings in their latter years. Like when I first picked him up, Remy's horn didn't work. I mean, he'd open his mouth, but nothing would come out. It was kind of funny and sad at the same time. He just sort of forgot how to talk. But now it's fixed. Mike the mechanic rewired him. Which is good, I guess, except that now he won't shut up. He's your typical New York driver and enjoys cursing and flicking off the other trucks if they get too close. Sometimes he'll purposely annoy the sports cars on the road by going slow, then he'll push his weight over the lane line and make it difficult for them to pass. Cracks me up. And look, don't tell him because he's apt to get a big head and all, but I kind of think he's the shit. He sleeps outside because Hoshi has dibs on the garage. But he's fine with that, and really wouldn't have it any other way. Because despite his rough exterior, he's a gentleman at heart, and he knows Hoshi has delicate sensibilities. Also, it's kind of obvious that he crushes on her.
link to this | comments (1) | File: Remington Hoshi
And so even though my new truck is a bit bigger than my old one. Even though he's all 4-wheel drive and big wheels and stands up tall with the big boys, even though his growl is an octave lower, even though on all counts this guy is much more truck than my old Nissan ever was ... (and I say that with all my love, Ol' Boy) it's still just a Jersey truck, with pale yellow plates. Out here, neurosis comes standard. It's not an "options package." And so these trucks are just a little more high-maintenance than their brothers to the southwest. They tend to be filled with a little more of the angst and self-loathing. They have "body issues." And that's fine. All it means is you have to feed their egos from time to time. And it's not that hard, really. Just throw them a few 'atta boys,' and smack 'em on the tailgate when they've done good. A little encouragement goes a long way.
But I'm being rude. Formal introductions are in order, here. So Internets, meet Remington. Remington, Internets. You can call him Remy for short. He's a 1999 Toyota Tacoma 4x4. Green. And like a Remington rifle, he's cool and smooth to the touch, but he'll fire smoking hot, when necessary. He stands tall in his wheels and runs great, but like all 9-year-old trucks, he has a few neurological issues. Most people don't realize it, but Tacomas are sort of known for their enthusiastic experimentation with psychedelic drugs. And it tends to lead to some brain misfirings in their latter years. Like when I first picked him up, Remy's horn didn't work. I mean, he'd open his mouth, but nothing would come out. It was kind of funny and sad at the same time. He just sort of forgot how to talk. But now it's fixed. Mike the mechanic rewired him. Which is good, I guess, except that now he won't shut up. He's your typical New York driver and enjoys cursing and flicking off the other trucks if they get too close. Sometimes he'll purposely annoy the sports cars on the road by going slow, then he'll push his weight over the lane line and make it difficult for them to pass. Cracks me up. And look, don't tell him because he's apt to get a big head and all, but I kind of think he's the shit. He sleeps outside because Hoshi has dibs on the garage. But he's fine with that, and really wouldn't have it any other way. Because despite his rough exterior, he's a gentleman at heart, and he knows Hoshi has delicate sensibilities. Also, it's kind of obvious that he crushes on her.
link to this | comments (1) | File: Remington Hoshi
Comments
Posted by Laundro on Feb 11, 2008 at 10:52:24 AM