Remember when I spotted two Teslas parked on the same short block in my neighborhood?
That was back in May. Since then, I seem to have developed an uncharacteristic interest in cars. No, not how they rate or drive or sustain life. I do not care about the innards of cars. My interest is utterly frivolous and superficial: I care about how the cars look.
As I ply my streets, I look at the cars to identify their make by their hood emblems, and then evaluate the physical appearance. Is that car pretty? Beautiful? Nothing special? Klutzy?
I had tea with a good friend, told her what I’d been doing and learned that, like me, she felt the most gorgeous car ever was a Porsche. Like me, she’s never owned a car and never wanted one but we agreed if we had to buy a car, the only one we’d buy was a Porsche.
For me, it’s the nose. Even though they’ve altered the design, the Porsche nose is still there, is still special. But if I were to buy a Porsche (I never will), it’d be
(And yes, I do know what Herr Porsche did during World War II and, yes, he was judged a war criminal and I do know where he was when he designed his marvelous automobile, and yes I hold it against him. The car, however…)
But I’m now talking about Teslas. Since that two-on-a-block day, Teslas have been creeping into my neighborhood. More of ’em parked, and too many of ’em in the streets, slipping past me, turning corners in front of me.
And too many of them have New York license plates.
So hark! Tesla drivers. I don’t like you, don’t respect you. You seem not to understand the message you’re sending me as you glide your Tesla past my eyes. Message: there’s something wrong with your psychology, with your intelligence. You are linking yourselves to a bizarre, (borderline) psychotic with massive delusions of omnipotence. An awful person. He is not a smart man, he did not design the car you’re driving and most of his ventures are collapsing and wouldn’t exist at all without massive financial support from our idiocracy.
I warn you, if you drive past me in your Tesla, I will glare fiercely at you. And my glare is not to be shrugged off. It beams powerful rays at you which will do something not good to you, I’m not sure what. Yet. So get the fuck off my streets or suffer the Glare of Naomi.
Oh, and don’t think you’ll be safe driving around northern Jersey; you’ll meet the glare of my sister, Deb — a glare far more menacing than mine.
Beware.