My friends and I drove around the East Bay, mostly Berkeley and North Oakland and El Cerrito, just “driving around.” That's what we did. We “drove around.” Somehow we had a collective attitude against “going to parties” or hanging out where the people who thought they were cool hung out. We just hung out together, bullshitting over the polishing compound, and driving around.
I still prefer a low and dirty urban street rod to any of those fancy polished and lifted jobs you see at car shows. I hate low riders but I does admire me a slightly banged up old Stang with a growling small block and torsion bars that hugs itself low to the ground. But I never built mine. Just drove around in what amounted to a prettified family car, what the local street race punks said was all show no go. The difference from show to go was probably under a thousand dollars but I didn't have it.
So we just drove around, finding and losing and finding each other on the vast network of urban streets, occasionally when out solo seeing a familiar car in a parking lot and leaving some token stuck to the windshield. Finding each other was all good guessing and a sharp lookout. The CB craze passed us by, for reasons of economics. Man, what we would have done if we had cell phones.
Theft was a major concern, especially for our Stangs, so we developed a method. We bought a length of chain and threaded it through the engine hood's substructure so that when the hood was closed it hung down in two places behind the grille. Then whenever we parked somewhere, we'd pop the hood, pull the coil wire, close the hood and lock the chain ends together with a keyed padlock. This not only gave us a sense of security but added a nice mean touch to the front end, chains just visible behind the car's black grille that would rattle menacingly when we took hard corners. But security was the thing, a cheap and effective anti-theft system, and our belief was, if someone stole the car anyway in spite of the locked hood and missing coil wire, then they could have it.
And that pretty much sums up my attitude about my personal data on Facebook.
6 comments:
Well, that's one way to look at it.
Although when it comes to your person rather than your possessions, generally speaking, the harder someone tries, the more scared you should be.
I just don't want to have to think about every time I make a comment, omg, is my boss going to see this someday ... what about future bosses? What about my ex? And every photo of every silly thing. It's private now, but what about tomorrow? Too much freaking hassle.
Nice looking car. We did that "American Graffiti" thing also. Never went to the east bay, though. All nice and safe in Palo Alto. If you ever drove past me on El Camino . . . (wait. You wouldn't pass me--I would be passing YOU!) . . . I might have said something to my friend about what F.O.R.D. stood for. You, in turn, might have pointed out to your friend the parts that were falling off my car.
We never thought much about security. Mag wheels got stolen, four speeds got stolen, tape decks, oh, and tachs, all got stolen once in awhile. I think the locking lug nuts were invented around that time.
I don't have an opinion, really, about security on Facebook.
This doesn't really line up with my thoughts on data security as much as my attempt to be clever makes it seem.
I hated locking lug nuts but I used 'em. I guess that makes them sort of like condoms.
I hated locking lug nuts but I used 'em. I guess that makes them sort of like condoms.
I think you're thinking more like a chastity belt.
The Honda I have has steel wheels wiht hubcaps, but you would have to take the wheels almost off to steal the hubcaps. Luckily, they are all scuffed up so no one would want them.
Also, to clarify, I had a Chevy back then. I sure worked on it a lot. Oh, wait, I had a 1949 Ford first, and that was definitely one of the best cars I ever had.
Good old American muscle cars. I grew up around them. My brothers both had Corvettes. The one who was a race car driver also has the 71 Z28, a 68 'vette convertible, and at various points along the way had a Chevelle, a Laguna (remember those?), and oddly, an El Camino.
The car I drove in high school, a 1970 Cutlass Supreme, was technically my mother's car, but my brother the mechanic goosed the engine and it was kind of a hot rod.
I was so mad at my dad when I went off to college and he sold it out from under me.
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