There have been three Volvo station wagons in my life: the first was my parents’ car when my brother and I were little, the first car I remember ever being in; the second was my car in high school, a 1983 4-speed that I loved with all of my entire heart during our time together; and, beginning tomorrow, the 1991 model pictured below. I realize this is a little bit lame and speaks volumes about my yippie childhood, but the 240 station wagon pushes my nostalgia buttons in a way that perhaps no other consumer product does. And so, I give to you my favorite track off the album Graceland, which was one of three or four tapes in rotation in the first Volvo in my life, and which I played on CD in the Volvo: high school edition, while reminiscing with my friends who also grew up driving in these boxy beauties listening to Graceland on tape. Tomorrow, I will plug my little blue iPod into this latest incarnation, and Paul Simon and Ladysmith Black Mambazo will sing me down the Vermont highways to home.
Why don’t we get together We can call ourselves an institute
Does this ever happen to you, when you’re one of the last people awake at a house party and you’re sort of outside, sitting on the porch or sprawled on the lawn with two or three other people, lighting cigarettes and not really smoking them and just kind of staring up at the stars and talking endlessly about nothing? You know that feeling - tired, not even drunk anymore, just kind of delirious, half expecting the sun to rise any second, staying awake just because you can, because awake is still a possibility, and aren’t those birds starting to chirp?