We've so many natural & man-made things that eventually slide into commonplace rote, becoming taken-for-granted and recede into a state of invisibility, we never notice 'em. But occasionally the taken for granted morphs into something unusual that grabs you by the shoulder, spins you around and says "Damn you, hey! Stop ignoring my presence and LOOK AT ME!!
And then rewards you with a riveting view that simply compels certain others to take notice in breathtaking awe? Yep, that happened to me last evening (Saturday the 4th) as I peeped out the window looking out onto the west driveway and was treated to a gorgeous sundown panorama--
It's as if the unseen terrain below the visible horizon was burning with a fierce-raging intensity, lighting up the sky. The swirling mix of hot & cool colors grabs you by the brain stem & squeezes hard, the suggested imagery is creepy foreboding ("DANGER! IT'S COMING! RUN FOR IT!") yet hauntingly beautiful ("No, I want to stay & admire. Everything's fine.")
Figures that residing as the maddening tempest which dwells within my very own teapot, I find a bit of inspiration that finds me wanting to strap on my crimson suspenders, pull my BIG BLACK LEATHER HOBNAIL BOOTS onto my feet and wantonly desiring to stomp on America's red-state moron majority. Simply because I can be a fucking difficult-to-deal-with bastard when I wanna be...
A feeling akin to a need of lapsing into an insulated state of mindless primitive rage as Robot from Lost in Space would do whenever the scheming Dr. Smith would cross his wires, resulting in an uncontrollable "CRUSH! KILL! DESTROY!" mode. At least until Will Robinson would switch Robot off, restore Robot's gentle affability before powering him back up.
Angry Bender of Futurama: "KILL ALL HUMANS!" Or a wound-up Curly Howard after spotting a rat: "Moe! Larry! CHEESE!"
Yeah, something like that.
Then somebody decides to dose one of my drinks with the a touch of Christmas catnip...goddammit. Maybe, I dunno except right now I'm feeling more inclined to drink & smoke cigarettes with even red-state subhoomans, to swap sentimental stories of past yuletide cheer.
Also means now I can't find my sharp gleaming sword of vengeful retribution, instead I'm all fuzzy-warm in an undergarment of good tidings. Eh, it'll pass, same as all mood swings always do, the cranky faucet of spite will probably resume with the usual gush of sociopolitical bile after the first of the coming year. Fine with me for as I had earlier mentioned, the coming four years under the Bush regime is gonna feel like a very long time.
mmmm, wait. Not of my acerbic composition but here's a few words of encouragement for blue progressive-liberals:
CHIN UP.
We're smarter than those motherfuckers.
We can learn more quickly than those motherfuckers.
We can be more ruthless than those motherfuckers.
We can be some six-million-dollar motherfuckers ourselves.
Chin up.
We're more American than those motherfuckers.
We're more responsible than those motherfuckers.
We're more compassionate than those motherfuckers.
Hell, our atheists are more Christian than their Bible-thumpin' motherfuckers.
There's an election in two years,
there's nothing we can't do.
Chin up. Because it's on, motherfuckers.
It is on...
"Old School Pimp Rides - Expanded"
The Rapid Ascension to Prominence, The Fast Tumble to Obscurity
-Or-
0-to-60 towards Oblivion
70's-style hooptys are far too interesting to drop down the memory hole and move on to other topics and besides, we evil oldsters gotta show the fuzzy faced young sprouts that a pimp ride wasn't always about 20-inch chrome rims mounted on a look-alike Lexus or a fat-assed Hummer H2 or a Pimp My Ride television show. Classic pimpmobiles deserve a closer look...
...so I took some time for rooting around in my Ebay-swiped, umm, sourced car photo archives and dredged up a few visual treasures, enough to continue from where I had left off with last week's essay page. Starting with this orange '74 Cadillac Coupe De Ville--
Now this was high visibility pimpin'! And these Superfly rides weren't meant for blazing performance speed, in fact they rarely left their home turf. Rather, these cars were intended to serve strictly as costume jewelry while cruising city streets, it was a social statement of flamboyant extravagance. In white social circles, having an expensive upscale car is usually dripping in standoffish snobbery as in I'm rich therefore I am better than you and always will be. Whereas such vehicles in the black community carried a message of: "I made it in the 'hood and if you play your cards right? Someday you can have what I enjoy."
So who owned these sorts of automobiles, anyways? Well, given that many years ago (1975) I had worked at a body shop with a number of customers with Superfly cars, they rarely told of how they made their money. But the local detectives knew, they would occasionally drop by and go through these sorts of cars looking for evidence. It was the cops who talked, the owners of these pimpmobiles were always suspected of running vice rings. You know, gambling, prostitution, drug sales, car thefts and trafficking in stolen parts.
Of course there were the rivals who competed for crime territory, if one of these Superfly cars were parked somewhere unattended, it was hit. Scratched, shot up with bullet holes, that's how they found themselves at the body shop for repairs. Nor did the black owners quibble over the price of an estimate like the pinch-penny white boys & girls would do, when the needed repairs were completed? They'd reach in their pocket, pull out a green bankroll and paid cash. Then find the labor who actually worked on their car (me), pay us a $100 tip. It was always a pleasure doing work for the well-heeled playa.
The epitome of sumptuous 1970's fly-rides, a '75 Stutz Blackhawk--
This is the car that movie stars and entertainers bought and drove, legends as Elvis and Sammy Davis Jr. And with a price tag in excess of $65,000 & probably double in price when adjusted for today's inflation? It's no wonder that you rarely spotted a playa wheeling around in a Stutz when a customized Caddy would give the same amount of curbside recognition. Which was just as well, a Stutz was nothing more than a Pontiac Grand Prix with an outer suit of new hand-fitted panels and finished in a much more extraordinary detailed manner than what Pontiac mass-production was capable of.
For that matter, why were Cadillacs always the preferred auto for a Superfly makeover? Because at one time, back before many of you kids were born, this was the pinnacle of the American dream. Coveted by nearly everyone in the business and professional classes, to own a new Caddy announced to everyone that you had made it. That and back in those days, the Cadillac offered cutting edge styling, convenience whizbangs such as power windows & seats which today are taken as a token given in even the cheapest Saturn.
In addition, the Cadillac was always the longest, heaviest automobile in the GM lineup. Back in those days, people equated bigger with better quality ("New for '59! Larger! Heavier for superior road-hugging handling! Styled by crazy aliens from another dimension!"), they actually wanted to see and feel the reasons of why they paid more money to chose a Cadillac over a Buick or an Oldsmobile.
Then during the 1960's with the accompaniment of growing middle-class blue collar prosperity? Factory workers could now afford the sticker price of a new Cadillac, the business & professional classes were shocked to see that 'their' symbol of success wasn't so unattainable-exclusive as they had imagined. "The proles owning & driving Cadillacs?! Blasphemy!" the petty bourgeoisie spat with contempt. Then proceeded to shift their status adorations on imported cars such as the Mercedes Benz, sedans that were used as proletariat taxi cabs in other parts of the world.
Meanwhile, as Cadillac sold more of their vehicles to a flush with money blue-collar worker class meant speeding up the production lines. Introducing assembly goofs which marred Cadillac's reputation for quality and serving to further tarnish the name. Failure of Cadillac management to identify a changing upscale market, introducing flops as the import-fighting Cimarron which even inattentive automobile blockheads recognized as a disguised Chevy Cavalier didn't help matters. Finally relegated to being a puttering white middle-class Republican old man's car for many years, only now is Cadillac beginning to field products that even import buyers might consider buying.
Yet back in the free-wheeling 70's, a black owned Superfly Cadillac was the supreme way of telling tighty-whitey "I can have what you have so bite me, cracker asshole." It was like driving around in an extended middle finger to white conservative America, almost as nice as dating their virginal daughters...*giggle*
The last brace of photos, where old pimpmobiles go to die--
This dilapidated & weary Eldorado displays many of the styling cues common to all 70's pimpmobiles, the drum headlamps, the heavy chrome grilles, the trunk straps, the faux spare tire mounts (this car has three), the extra lights, chrome panels and filigree.
It was never explained where the styling inspiration came from though I think it was derived from the Roaring 20's revival fad that America was experiencing during the latter half of the 1960's/early 1970's. Probably kicked off with the film hit Bonnie & Clyde and carried forward with The Godfather or even The Great Gatsby, people were infatuated with the look of the 1920's, taken with a romanticized version of Prohibition era gangsters.
It stands to reason that the old school pimpmobile was an attempt to emulate the look of the luxury car of the 1920's, of when Cadillacs, Lincolns, Packards and Rolls Royces sported large headlights, massive chrome grilles, wide whitewalls and lots of decoration. Telling of a time when such cars were associated with style, class and money.
And like all fads that come & go in America, the reign of the Superfly pimpmobile was short. Only lasting a few years, after the remains of the shattered Disco ball was swept from the dance floor and dumped into Pop Culture's rubbish bin? So went the way of these sorts of cars. Now out of style even to the point of their owners being embarrassed to be seen driving around in yet too expensive to remove the custom alterations, to restore these pimpmobiles to their original look? Worthless on the used car market, they were parked and left to waste in forgotten garages, 'stolen' and destroyed while their owners collected insurance compensation for their loss.
Still, we also already know of past fads that were once left for dead have a way of returning from the grave. Who knows? Perhaps some day we'll see a return of the classic pimp ride, again Superfly will ride his outrageously obnoxious chariot. Meanwhile if not already, one of these icon cars needs to be on display in a museum, just so beautiful mutants of the future can see where we once were along the measuring scale of car culture.
"The Color Wheel Universe"
I *did* say that somehow I'm infected with a bit of holiday whimsy...maybe the injection delivery needle came in the form of Ebay, of when I was cruising for vintage Christmas display items for use in a photo composition I'm constructing. Next thing I knew, I'm seeing images of familiar things that I had long forgotten, mentally whispering "I remember this, I recall that" to myself. Essentially, I was reliving my own childhood memories of Christmases past.
Imagery such as these aluminum Christmas trees, a product of our once-modern Googie fad of the 1950's and early 60's, a time of looking forward with an Atomic Era eye of twinkling optimism in America--
Many new homes in fledgling suburbia sported a reflective aluminum tree framed in a large living room picture window. And to color the tree while lending a titillating measure of changing animation? A color wheel was used, the object seen in the lower right of the above photo. Usually a wheel constructed of rigid plastic panels or tinted mylar sheets held in a metal frame, each colored panel would slowly motor around and align with a self contained spotlight, the filtered light was aimed at the tree. Taking advantage of the reflective properties of the mirrored tree, it would seemingly glow on its own.
Especially when it was dark and we'd switch on the color wheel. Then run outside to stand shivering in the street, to view the tree from a distant perspective as it stood behind the ample picture window.
And instantly you forgot about bomb shelters or the atomic bomb itself, viewing the aluminum tree during Christmas was one of those literal Cold War *magic* moments. Tommy Turtle's Duck n' Cover advice would be much more fun while having a tree that irradiated different colors, this was indeed an Atomic George Jetson thing to have.
There were also people who liked the novel look of the aluminum tree along with the simplicity of set-up (no strings of lights to hang) yet still clung to the idea of the traditional Christmas tree. With loyalties torn between Pop fad and the time worn conventional, sometimes these folks would erect and display both kinds of trees in their homes.
But did you Baby Boomers remember all of the different manufacturers & types of color wheels? I sure didn't, probably most widely seen & used was the Penetray--
The Penteray 'bowling ball'--
And there were Imperials--
The Spartus, two styles--
ColorTones--
Rainbo Lites--
Peerless--
Sata Lites--
The Noma--
There were revolving drum style models as the Carmac Magic Lantern, the Noma--
This Evergleam model depended upon using the rising heat from it's light bulb for drum rotation--
Another EverGleam which also doubled as a Christmas tree stand--
And just before color wheels faded away from America's collective consciousness, the panel shapes themselves evolved into asymmetrical shapes or filled with gel cells. All done to introduce new lighting effects--
Bet you'd forgotten that the color wheel universe had once offered a large selection to choose from, eh? And if you squint at a few of the shipping boxes, these products were manufactured right here in the good ol' US of A. Other places where you'd see these gizmos in use would be at indoor custom car show displays, 1960's psychedelic Go-Go joints.
Then there was the miser who was too cheap to buy a motorized color wheel, instead electing to settle with a lower priced floodlight stand. Their trees never shifted colors, would instead remain static red, blue, green or whatever colored light bulb they had used.
Next week? Let's have a look at old-timey christmas tree light strings, the kind that used to have ordinary household fuses trembling in fear.
You DO remember household fuses, don't you? It was an ancient time before circuit breakers came to the rescue and saved your father from having to make a wintry evening run to the hardware store ;^)
Sneed