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May 30, 2003

Johnny’s Dream Car

I have good days and bad days. The good days are filled with hope and compassion and the certainty that we shall overcome. The bad days are filled with outrage at the latest injustice and inequity. Yesterday was a bad day. I went to bed troubled and discouraged. As I fitfully slept, I had a dream about a car, the car I’ve always wanted, at least subconsciously. I would like to describe the car of my dream, and then dear reader, I would like to take you for a ride. This was what I dreamed:

My car was rusty and worn but otherwise clean. On the rear bumper was a sticker with the single somewhat obscure word ‘rEvolution.’ What made my car unique was its sound system. For the tech enthusiasts among you I will describe in some detail its workings. There was a bank of 12 deep-discharge 24 volt batteries located in the trunk. They were fed by a 300 amp alternator on the engine. The monaural water-cooled power amplifier behind the driver’s seat generated 3,000 watts of continuous power to feed sixteen loudspeakers facing forward, eight facing the rear, as well as eight on each side. Rather than placing the loudspeakers inside the car, they were located outside, on the top of the roof, on the doors, in the grill and on top of the trunk in an esthetic arrangement. The loudspeakers were sufficiently earsplitting that they could easily penetrate through safety glass at a distance of one hundred and fifty yards, with a sound level of 150 decibels. An override switch on the dash would allow focused bursts of up to 200 decibels through any of the banks of speakers. Inside my car was an elaborate insulation system that muffled the speaker’s roar to a modest 60 decibels. A hands-free microphone was mounted in the headliner such that it would to drop down when triggered by my voice actuated command. As I drove my dream car through town, I felt a supreme sense of clarity, righteousness, and yes, power.

In my dream I decided to take a little trip to see some friends in a town about thirty miles away. I looked both ways as I majestically pulled onto the freeway. My speakers were powered up, but silent, waiting to serve my needs. As I accelerated up to 55 miles per hour a large black Cadillac Escalade cut right in front of me, nearly causing a collision, as it tried to make the exit. I called out and my voice’s rising pitch alerted the microphone and, as it dropped down, I unleashed a string of expletives aimed right at the tail of the monster before me. The Escalade swerved wildly, but my voice, now a shriek of invectives seemed to unnerve the driver and he went careening into the ditch.

I drove on. It was turning out to be a beautiful day. And then, after about fifteen miles, I saw a quarry. There it was, a brand new Hummer with two American flags on poles rising above the side windows. The rear window had a bumper sticker reading “America – Strongest in the World” on one side and, on the other, a flag with the words, “Proud to Be An American.” I slowly pulled up behind the behemoth and when I was about forty yards behind I began screaming, “The flag is not a condom; it won’t protect you from the evil your country does!” The driver, obviously a man with some military training in pain control, managed to roll down his window, and with arm trembling from the onslaught, raised his middle finger. I shrieked back with 150 decibels of authority, “Half a peace sign is better than none,” followed by a few well chosen words that can’t be repeated here. I concluded with a helpful suggestion, “Keep trying, you’ll get it eventually.”

I could see the veins on his low brow pulsing wildly against his now livid, blood engorged face as he writhed in pain and anger. I knew this one was not going to give up easily. When I saw him reach across to his glove box and pull out a large revolver, I decided to end the game and hit the override switch, bringing the system up to its full 200 decibel volume. I shared with him my views on the NRA and gun control for a moment, before launching into a lengthy diatribe on global warming and the effects of automobile pollution. His face was now contorted even more spectacularly than before and he lost all control of his war-wagon. Fury mixed with excruciating pain overcame him as his Hummer flipped over the guardrail and rolled end over end several times before coming to a stop in a farmer’s field. As I motored by, I glanced back and saw the look of enlightened recognition on the driver’s face that always comes with these interventions.

I saw my exit coming up and as I left the freeway, I thought, “Boy, it’s great to be alive!”

I awoke from the dream with a smile on my face, and, as I stretched, I picked up the phone and called to make an appointment with my car audio technician.

Johnny Peaceseed