This song popped into my head the other day, as my hipster virtue-signaling boss berated me for adding too much to my carbon footprint. I suggested it would help if we stopped constantly driving from campus to campus for pointless meetings, as this had already cost me over $60 in gas for the month. He was not amused.
I do very much love virtue, but not so much the signaling, which negates the very point of virtue.
So after a ten hour day, followed by another two hours of professional development, whatever that might mean, I played Rush's Moving Pictures on the ride home. It was already dark. It would be dark the next morning as I drove back again to exactly the same busywork.
Life should be more than this. Work should be more than this. Driving should be more than this.
This song by Rush tempts me to become nostalgic, dwelling upon a better time when music was music, and cars were cars. I must resist that instinct, as no time or place is in any way better or worse than any other time or place.
I find that I love the music of Rush because I first came across it when I was learning to think for myself. If I'd been born twenty years later, however, it would probably have been another story.
I find that I love the growl of an old piston engine because I first came across it when I bought a new car with the only girl who accepted me without conditions. If she had treated me like crap, however, I would probably have stuck to the subway.
Your mileage will surely vary, but I think it's all about our freedom to be ourselves. Stoic wisdom is, for me, a total liberty.
Do you think me a loser for listening to Rush? I have no need to be better than you.
Do you think me a sinner for taking a brisk Sunday drive on a winding country road? Stop making me commute on a filthy highway for hours and hours, and then we'll talk.
Respect what a man listens to. Respect how a man chooses to get around. Above all else, stop telling another man what to do. Do it yourself, and see if you might change him by your example.
This song is about the right to determine ourselves, not about cars.
—1/2017
Rush, "Red Barchetta" from Moving Pictures (1981)
That no one knows about
He says it used to be a farm
Before the Motor Law
And on Sundays I elude the Eyes
And hop the Turbine Freight
To far outside the Wire
Where my white-haired uncle waits
Jump to the ground
As the Turbo slows to cross the borderline
Run like the wind
As excitement shivers up and down my spine
Down in his barn
My uncle preserved for me an old machine
For fifty odd years
To keep it as new has been his dearest dream
As the Turbo slows to cross the borderline
Run like the wind
As excitement shivers up and down my spine
Down in his barn
My uncle preserved for me an old machine
For fifty odd years
To keep it as new has been his dearest dream
I strip away the old debris
That hides a shining car
A brilliant red Barchetta
From a better vanished time
I fire up the willing engine
Responding with a roar
Tires spitting gravel
I commit my weekly crime
That hides a shining car
A brilliant red Barchetta
From a better vanished time
I fire up the willing engine
Responding with a roar
Tires spitting gravel
I commit my weekly crime
Wind
In my hair
Shifting and drifting
Mechanical music
Adrenaline surge . . .
In my hair
Shifting and drifting
Mechanical music
Adrenaline surge . . .
Well-weathered leather
Hot metal and oil
The scented country air
Sunlight on chrome
The blur of the landscape
Every nerve aware
Hot metal and oil
The scented country air
Sunlight on chrome
The blur of the landscape
Every nerve aware
Suddenly ahead of me
Across the mountainside
A gleaming alloy air car
Shoots towards me, two lanes wide
I spin around with shrieking tires
To run the deadly race
Go screaming through the valley
As another joins the chase
Across the mountainside
A gleaming alloy air car
Shoots towards me, two lanes wide
I spin around with shrieking tires
To run the deadly race
Go screaming through the valley
As another joins the chase
Drive like the wind
Straining the limits of machine and man
Laughing out loud with fear and hope
I've got a desperate plan
At the one-lane bridge
I leave the giants stranded at the riverside
Race back to the farm
To dream with my uncle at the fireside
Straining the limits of machine and man
Laughing out loud with fear and hope
I've got a desperate plan
At the one-lane bridge
I leave the giants stranded at the riverside
Race back to the farm
To dream with my uncle at the fireside
