Oh, look at the muscle!

The muscle car, that is. Larry ain't no muscleman, that's for sure. The car's a Plymouth Belvedere, 1956 vintage, just like me. It represents what I'm coming to think of as "classic America", big and gaudy with '50s chrome. Here's the same smooth, shiny lines of the Happy Days diner and the Harley.

When we were in Port Townsend we visited such a diner, where I had a fabulous clam chowder and creamy milk shake. The chrome-and-formica counter, the curvy jukebox and the old-fashioned Coke fridge were all present and correct. It was almost as romantic, for me, as seeing the old gold towns. Or visiting Billy the Kid's grave.

But I digress. Here's this big ol' car with massive metal chassis and body, big leather bench seats, and the proud driver alongside. He cares not a fig for the terrible mileage (15 miles to the US gallon), he'd get another in a moment.

Me, I am caught between nostalgia and horror, and right now I'm not sure which will win in the end.

Top Ten

Wot? No fag ends? That was Number One in most UK pubs.

Oh, and for the American audience, "fag end" = "cigarette butt".

Tahoe igloo

So here's a test of the G1 phone, updating my blog by email over a wireless network. This was science fiction not many years ago, and I wonder what the next few years will hold.

My sense of childlike wonder trembles.