Or is it hot cars and fast conservative women? Either way, its Tuesday, and you know what that means...I betcha didn't know there was a party going on, and that title is going to get me all kinds of Google traffic that I don't want.
So in honor of the Eleventh Annual Woodward Dream Cruise, the world's largest one-day classic car show (in my home town!) (around two million people and 40,000 classic cars cruising up and down Detroits 22-mile long, four-lane main drag, with the Contours and the Beach Boys on the radio, just like it was 1955 again, or if you prefer, like me, 1967), the Cotillion headed out to the garage to get their hands dirty, and onto a few T-Birds, if you know what I mean (and yeah, I'm more of a Sandy than a Pink Lady, but hey! there's always hope).
So lets pop in some Motown, put the top down, straighten our Chanel sunglasses and prepare to hit the pavement....
So we've got some places to see, and I brought all the maps with me, so jump right in, ain't no sin...take a ride in my machine. *
First up, its Tammy of A Mom and Her Blog, who's got her chargers fired up over Cindy Sheehan (and who doesn't really?), but still thinks poor little Cindy should get a meeting with the President. No, not that President, the ever popular former President who should be dragged out into the street and beaten with rusty ratchets, Saddam Hussein.
Never you mind the exit signs; we've got lots of time. We can't quit til we get to the other side.
And then, we have Ith, from Absinthe and Cookies, who might have a few flecks in her paint job, but really, they make her glow and sparkle, far from the dull matte black finishes of a few male bloggers we know...no names, though, of course. 
I'm not good at vacationing with a group. People just annoy me too much. I need my space! Now I just say "no", but it took many miserable, frustrating trips to get me there. There is a select group of people I will deign to travel with. They know who they are.
Not that I blame her. Of course, at least her little quirk is reasonable, not like, say, my habit of having to organize the soup cupboard by color. Did you hear that from me? No. You didn't.
City traffic movin way too slow. Drop the pedal and go...go...go!
And then, its the tough stylings of a real motor mama, An American Housewife, with Carol in the drivers seat, in a beeline for the heart of the ACLU (and those weiners deserve it, believe me. This time, shes setting her sights on the fact that what purports to be this nations "foremost protector of civil liberties" is censoring the content of websites that promote abstience, in the name of reproductive freedom and government entanglement because it happens to take government money and mention the word "God" at the same time. Well, I feel my rights are protected! Thank God someone's watching out for us. Oh no! This website isn't governmentally funded, is it?
I love you for your Pink Cadillac, crushed velvet seats, ridin' in the back, cruisin' down the streets, wavin' to the girls, feelin' outta sight, spending all my money on a Saturday night...*
The 1959 Series 62 Pink Cadillac is the ultimate symbol of sleek feminity, and probably the Cotillion women, as its cool, girly exterior, confident in its unabashed female sexuality, and comfortable in its well-tailored appearance (even maybe a little flamboyant?), belies a heart that burns with pure fire, a 390 cubic inch V-8.
Baby, there is nothing like the feeling of a blind date that goes just right, at least according to Annika of Annika's Journal, especially when that special someone happens to be a German-made Swiss firearm that fits perfectly into the contours of the female hand.
You finally get your chance to hold him, and it's all fireworks and loud noises and yes, Yes, Yes! and so freakin fun you can't believe it. And you can tell by the sparks flying that he's into it too. Even though you were nervous and he looked so powerful at first, he treats you surprisingly gently and does exactly what you want him to. But then it's all over so soon. Way too soon.
If only real blind dates were that good. After all, its the rare man who can handle these women: tougher to navigate than the twisting roads of the Monte Carlo road rally, and more powerful 
than the Lamboroghini Diablo racing edition's V12, 6 litre, GTR engine (which, incidentally, delivers a whopping 590 hp--as compared to the GT editions mere 575). And who says girls don't know a little about boy's toys?
And if that doesn't rev your engine, perhaps we can tempt you back into a more classically built model, like my 1973 Pontiac GTO; one with more 
refined, educated edges...one that has style, grace and more knowledge about Middle Eastern foreign and domestic policy than Jimmy Carter (though I imagine that's not hard at all), and direct your attention over to Jane at Armies of Liberation, who states that if this particular call to action on the part of radical Islam labels her an infidel, she's darned proud of it, since it indicts just about everything about to bring Iraq into the modern age as haram, and exhibits an irrational fear of non-Muslims...and also democracy.
I think Natan Sharansky might have something to say about that.
With the radio playin' our song, we keep rollin' on. Who knows how far a car can get before you think about slowin' on down.
Alright guys and dolls, still two miles to go before we hit home, or at least that Big Boy on the corner for some strawberry pie and coffee. And to steal that 
giant statue of what appears to be Al Gore as a child (okay, none of you can tell me that you didn't at least attempt that for your senior class prank, only to find out that you weren't going to fit a giant fiberglass five-year-old ino the bed of your boyfriends pickup). Ah, the wonders of youth, before you fell in love for the first time with that 6.4-liter engine, adapted from Ford’s MOD family, that delivered a rush of raw power typically associated with a 1960s V-8 monster – with 605 horsepower and 501 foot-pounds of torque – without the aid of supercharging or turbocharging. You guessed it, chickies, my heart leaps for the sleek lines of the 2006 Ford Shelby Cobra GT.
Pamela of Atlas Shrugs is showcasing her own power this week, as she provides a tour de force on the Gaza Pullout, a she rips apart an intensely anti-Israel biased piece from the International Herald Tribune, not with ire, but with the cold hard facts. The cold hard fact that thousands of Jewish settlers are being forced out of their homes for an insatiable terrorist enemy, who has been held at bay only by the very people being punished, and why more than a few Christians need to get involved.
Remember when the Palis took the Church of the Nativity? Stormed, took hostage, and urinated/defecated on it...In the past, the terror-supporting Muslim Waqf organization, backed by a local Muslim rabble have been the main attackers of this most holy of places for Christianity. The Waqf has been trying for years to build a mosque right on top of the Place where billions believe Jesus was born, and only Israel has been preventing this religious piracy and defending Christianity's interests.
And now, as the sun slowly comes up over downtown Royal Oak, and we pass the bright lights of that Motown staple, Duggan's Irish Pub, and take a ride down Main Street, past the art houses and loft apartments, we reach the limits of the city of Detroit, and its time to wind up this wonderful cruise with a 
last mile before hitting I-96 back to Ann Arbor, so we'll turn up the volume on the Supremes CD, take the seatbelts off so we can sit on top of the backseat and enjoy the cool breeze that only shows up in the middle of Michigan summer nights.
Taking us home is my favorite-named blogger, Oddybobo, of Bobo Blogger, who's got her own account of a wonderful roadtrip, taken as a child in a 76 Mustang, that just thinking about sends her stress out the window and into that breeze that whips by on beach-front roads. As she says:
We would drive from Western, PA. The whole way we would see who could sing the most songs on the radio. I am not musically inclined, but had a knack for words of songs back then. I usually won the contest and could recite the most songs. When a particularly fun song would come on, the whole family would bounce and sing. One such song? "Gimme Three Steps" by Lynyrd Skynyrd. You would see our 76 Malibu bouncing down the road with two giddy girls hanging out the windows screaming the lyric to "Gimme Three Steps" and it was great.
And before I forget, there's Janette of Common Sense Runs Wild, who wasn't able to join us today, since something nasty has her holed up and away from here computer, but I'm sure next time around, she'll be right there in the backseat. For today, you get get a backseat to her blog, and not in the dirty sort of way, sickos--go and check out the open trackbacks for even more mean, mean machines. Though I can't promise they are in such good condition as the lovely ladies featured here.
And so our drive ends, you crazy cats. Well sort of. This part of it does. Keep on keeping on at the American Princess main site, and then over at the pads of my swinging sisters, Cassandra of Villainous Company, Soldiers' Angel - Holly Aho, and Fausta of The Bad Hair Blog who's got my entry
That was a hella fun ride! Thanks babe!
Posted by: annika at August 22, 2005 09:16 PM