Calling Julie Andrews

Calling Julie Andrews

There’s a right and a wrong way to break in a new car. Getting into an accident on the way out of the dealer’s lot is, for instance, the wrong way. Thankfully, I opted for the better “no accidents on the way home” plan instead.

Whichever plan you choose, there are a few more subtle must-dos that need to be addressed when you get a new car. For instance, it’s imperative that the first piece of music played on the car stereo be something chosen for just such an occasion. When I picked up my F-250 back in 2001, I took a Jerry Jeff Walker cassette (“Live at Gruene Hall”) with me — it was cued up to “The Pickup Truck Song.” That was a no-brainer.

This evening, for the debut of my new CR-V, I struggled. I’ve been on a Buffett tear lately. How about the Grateful Dead, Cornell ’77? Maybe something aggressive like the Clash, London Calling.

In the end, I went with the “heavyweight champion of the world,” as he’s been called. No, not Muhammad Ali.

John Coltrane. “My Favorite Things.”

Also part of the breaking-in process is choosing an appropriate name. As with the music selection before I went to the dealer, I’m at a loss. So here’s a challenge to anyone reading this: submit your suggestions for a name for the new wheels. The prize? Um, well, not a damned thing, save for acknowledgement on the pages herein — that’s as close to immortality as you’re likely to get on this planet. Give it a shot. Drop me a line.

Muchas gracias.

One thought on “Calling Julie Andrews

  1. I don’t think you can name a car until he/she has had some sort of event, not necessarily an accident, just something that speaks to the fate or characteristics of the car.

    Or even just a really good road trip.

    Which is insane-sounding I know. But an example:

    Two Soobs ago, my Loyale was named “The Trout.” This came about after a pretty hardcore dolly varden fishing oriented summer and fall. And the Soob was silver, and we had the joke of course about darting in and out of traffic all camouflaged.

    And yes, I know that dolly varden are not trout, but that’s what they call them in a certain boozy little town out on the coast and I can’t break the habit. And “the salmonid” is an entirely less cool name for a car.

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