Aug. 13: Let's go crazy
I am on my sixth car now. It is red2013 Hyundai Elantra GT. I hit a
deer with it last month and, even asI type this, my insurance company is
surveying the damage and tryingto determine if it would be cheaper to
fix it or simply buy me a newcar.
When I first took ownership of thatcar, the first song I listed to was Prince & the Revolution’sLet’s Go Crazy. It’s been the same with every car I ever owned. Ibought my first car when I was 20 – a 1981 Mazda GLC. I paid $1,350for it. I bought it from a guy named Trevor who lived about 10 blocksaway from my family. That car had a tapedeck and I slid my cassetteof the Purple Rain soundtrack into it so I could hear Let’s gocrazy.
It seemed apropos. In North America,having your own set of wheels is tantamount to freedom. I’ve had acar for more than half my life now and when you take it away from me,I pretty much feel like you cut my legs off. Sure I can walk to thegrocery store or to work, but I sure can’t walk to the movietheatre or that amazing sushi restaurant in Ottawa. I can’t walk tothe places that are – you know – boss.
So when you have a car, you want to gocrazy.
I remember the day I got my driver’slicence. Asked my dad if I could take the family car for a spin andhe said sure. Mom admonished me not to take it on Deerfoot Trail,which is Calgary’s fastest thoroughfare (the speed limit is100kmph.) But of course I took it on Deerfoot Trail. Me and my friendLarry hooted and hollered as we sped up north – both of usbelieving that our friendship had entered a new era of untetheredfreedom. No longer would we need to ask mommy or daddy to drive usplaces. Not now that Shteevie had a car.
And then I got to learn how being theonly driver in your circle of friends can be a bad thing.
“Hey Shteevie, there’s a party atKate’s place this weekend and she says she misses you. Think you’dlike to come?”
Translation: I know you and Kate don’tlike each other but I’d sure appreciate it if you’d go to herparty so you can drive my drunk and stoned ass home at three in themorning.
So there I am. Seventeen-years-old. I’mparked on the street outside Kate’s house because I can’t standthe smell of marijuana or the stupid hippie I-hate-God music comingout of the stereo. One girl was talking about how she tripped on LSDand actually saw and tasted music. “Music is pink,” she said. “Atleast Joni Mitchell’s is. And it tastes like lemonade.”
It’s November so it’s cold and Ihave the heater on. At 2 a.m., my friend said he’d be out in fiveminutes. It’s now 3:15. I’m tired and I have to pee. Suddenly,the door opens and out comes my friend, his girlfriend, and aboutfour other people I don’t know. All of them pile into my car. Oneof them, a big fat guy who looks like a young Tommy Chong,immediately starts rolling a joint in the backseat. I look at myfriend for an explanation. “They live near my house,” he says. “Itold them you wouldn’t mind.”
One girl in the backseat rolls down thewindow, leans her head out and barfs. Most of it hits the road. Someof it hits the car. I’m angry – furious even – but I’m tooexhausted to fight. I demand that the fat boy throw his joint out thewindow and he looks at me like I just asked if I could have sex withhis cat. “I’m anti-drug,” I say. “Can’t you give it a restjust once?” my friend asks. “No,” I say. Out goes the joint andeveryone is so mad at me that they don’t talk to me during theride. Fine by me.
I drop my friend off first and then Ibegin driving the others home. Most of them live in the area but thebarfing girl lives in Midnapore. Midnapore is to “they live near my house” like a Big Mac is to “part of a healthy well-balanceddiet.”
It’s just me and the girl, who needsto stop and barf two more times. She looks about 14. She is wearingacid wash jeans and a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt and she casually tells methat she had sex with two guys that night. She apologizes for barfingon my car and offers to help clean it. “Think you can find a carwash open this time of night?” “No,” she says.
Drop her off and the dad is up andwaiting. “Why is she so late?” he demands of me. “And has shebeen drinking?”
“I just met her 30 minutes ago,” Isay. “I wasn’t at the party. I’m just the chauffeur.”
The man’s face softens a little. Heis mad at his daughter and he wants there to be a villain but he issensible enough to know that if this was a western, I’d be wearinga white hat, not a black one. “Okay,” he says, and shoos hisdaughter inside. I will never see either one of them ever again.
-
Let’s go crazy is a great song. It’san anthem. It’s about joy, even in the face of destruction. Ofcourse the joy that Prince was singing about back in 1984 was purehedonism. He’s a Jehovah’s Witness now and he still plays Let’sgo crazy in concerts. The joy he sings about now can be found in thelord.
-
I do not know if I will outlive myHyundai or if my Hyundai will outlive me. What I do know is that if Ihappen to turn 80 and I have to get me an old man car, Let’s gocrazy will be the first song I play in that car too. The youngsalesman who sells me the car will probably blink and ask who thatis. I will tell him it is Prince and that he was a famous musicianwhen I was a boy.
Then Prince will begin playing thatfamous guitar solo and the salesman will say “wow” and then Iwill drive to Denny’s and order myself the seniors’ grand slamspecial.
When I first took ownership of thatcar, the first song I listed to was Prince & the Revolution’sLet’s Go Crazy. It’s been the same with every car I ever owned. Ibought my first car when I was 20 – a 1981 Mazda GLC. I paid $1,350for it. I bought it from a guy named Trevor who lived about 10 blocksaway from my family. That car had a tapedeck and I slid my cassetteof the Purple Rain soundtrack into it so I could hear Let’s gocrazy.
It seemed apropos. In North America,having your own set of wheels is tantamount to freedom. I’ve had acar for more than half my life now and when you take it away from me,I pretty much feel like you cut my legs off. Sure I can walk to thegrocery store or to work, but I sure can’t walk to the movietheatre or that amazing sushi restaurant in Ottawa. I can’t walk tothe places that are – you know – boss.
So when you have a car, you want to gocrazy.
I remember the day I got my driver’slicence. Asked my dad if I could take the family car for a spin andhe said sure. Mom admonished me not to take it on Deerfoot Trail,which is Calgary’s fastest thoroughfare (the speed limit is100kmph.) But of course I took it on Deerfoot Trail. Me and my friendLarry hooted and hollered as we sped up north – both of usbelieving that our friendship had entered a new era of untetheredfreedom. No longer would we need to ask mommy or daddy to drive usplaces. Not now that Shteevie had a car.
And then I got to learn how being theonly driver in your circle of friends can be a bad thing.
“Hey Shteevie, there’s a party atKate’s place this weekend and she says she misses you. Think you’dlike to come?”
Translation: I know you and Kate don’tlike each other but I’d sure appreciate it if you’d go to herparty so you can drive my drunk and stoned ass home at three in themorning.
So there I am. Seventeen-years-old. I’mparked on the street outside Kate’s house because I can’t standthe smell of marijuana or the stupid hippie I-hate-God music comingout of the stereo. One girl was talking about how she tripped on LSDand actually saw and tasted music. “Music is pink,” she said. “Atleast Joni Mitchell’s is. And it tastes like lemonade.”
It’s November so it’s cold and Ihave the heater on. At 2 a.m., my friend said he’d be out in fiveminutes. It’s now 3:15. I’m tired and I have to pee. Suddenly,the door opens and out comes my friend, his girlfriend, and aboutfour other people I don’t know. All of them pile into my car. Oneof them, a big fat guy who looks like a young Tommy Chong,immediately starts rolling a joint in the backseat. I look at myfriend for an explanation. “They live near my house,” he says. “Itold them you wouldn’t mind.”
One girl in the backseat rolls down thewindow, leans her head out and barfs. Most of it hits the road. Someof it hits the car. I’m angry – furious even – but I’m tooexhausted to fight. I demand that the fat boy throw his joint out thewindow and he looks at me like I just asked if I could have sex withhis cat. “I’m anti-drug,” I say. “Can’t you give it a restjust once?” my friend asks. “No,” I say. Out goes the joint andeveryone is so mad at me that they don’t talk to me during theride. Fine by me.
I drop my friend off first and then Ibegin driving the others home. Most of them live in the area but thebarfing girl lives in Midnapore. Midnapore is to “they live near my house” like a Big Mac is to “part of a healthy well-balanceddiet.”
It’s just me and the girl, who needsto stop and barf two more times. She looks about 14. She is wearingacid wash jeans and a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt and she casually tells methat she had sex with two guys that night. She apologizes for barfingon my car and offers to help clean it. “Think you can find a carwash open this time of night?” “No,” she says.
Drop her off and the dad is up andwaiting. “Why is she so late?” he demands of me. “And has shebeen drinking?”
“I just met her 30 minutes ago,” Isay. “I wasn’t at the party. I’m just the chauffeur.”
The man’s face softens a little. Heis mad at his daughter and he wants there to be a villain but he issensible enough to know that if this was a western, I’d be wearinga white hat, not a black one. “Okay,” he says, and shoos hisdaughter inside. I will never see either one of them ever again.
-
Let’s go crazy is a great song. It’san anthem. It’s about joy, even in the face of destruction. Ofcourse the joy that Prince was singing about back in 1984 was purehedonism. He’s a Jehovah’s Witness now and he still plays Let’sgo crazy in concerts. The joy he sings about now can be found in thelord.
-
I do not know if I will outlive myHyundai or if my Hyundai will outlive me. What I do know is that if Ihappen to turn 80 and I have to get me an old man car, Let’s gocrazy will be the first song I play in that car too. The youngsalesman who sells me the car will probably blink and ask who thatis. I will tell him it is Prince and that he was a famous musicianwhen I was a boy.
Then Prince will begin playing thatfamous guitar solo and the salesman will say “wow” and then Iwill drive to Denny’s and order myself the seniors’ grand slamspecial.
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