Eat My Rust
Sometimes Hollywood car bling is so overwhelming that those of us longing for automotive independence have no choice but to tone it down. Way down. Way down to the dregs of the LA car hierarchy. Down here, beneath the Volvo station wagons, the silver Priuses and the government issued Chevy Malibus, you'll find the few, the proud, the brave– the intentional rust buckets.
Here's the process*:
1) Take an older, borderline collectable, car (VWs are popular, so are grandma hand-me-downs).
2) Sand off the paint & primer from a prominent area (preferably the hood).
3) Add salt water.
And eventually, the Baby Jesus will give you this:
Isn't she a beauty? Sure, she's bloated, butt ugly and has the turning radius of an 18 wheeler, but something about her spunk & independence makes her hot in an older Elizabeth Taylor kind of way.
Speaking of drag queens, here's one that's, well,…"transitional":
Don't go hatin' its funky, dalmatian-ish disposition. This baby is well on its way to super cool status.
This next one makes me slightly nervous, mainly because it's just one rainy season away from becoming a Cadillac Convertible. However, if sacrificing your own personal comfort in the name of automotive independence isn't bad ass, I dunno what is:
You go, Rusty. Forget the Ivy, I'll see you at Denny's.
*–BTW, don't even think of following my "instructions." This is not based on fact or expert opinion, but on my 4th grade ploy to get my parents to buy me a new bike. More on the yellow, banana-seated Schwinn later…