Pride in Your Ride

8 March 2026

Yesterday, I took a break from translating into French this section on the Warrior Class in the America of the 1930s and 1940s, as viewed by U.S. Army Lt. Colonel Arthur Boucher Carmichael, recast as Artur Boucher, Free French agent (spy):

Artur considered George S. Patton a cut above many other generals.  Patton was a soldier who represented a warrior class best known to the ancient Scots; Artur believed that this stalwart American general would serve as an excellent introduction to the leaders of the U.S. Army which was presently engaged in leading the Allies to many victories in this war.  Patton, however, was not typical of most of the generals of the U.S. Army.  It was this uniqueness which most prompted Artur to admire Patton, the general who would become known as “Old Blood and Guts.”  Patton was a man of daring and a master of attack, the type of warrior whom Artur believed would most impress this French aristocrat.

Patton was also master of the sword, and My Colonel goes, at length, into detail, about the exploits of Old Blood and Guts before he became Old Blood and Guts — in the 1912 Summer Olympics in Stockholm.  And then there was the Patton saber, developed by George and Monsieur Clery, the greatest swordsman in Europe.

Of course, Guillaume de Vallon is quite familiar with Monsieur Clery; his father, Count Augustin de Vallon knew the man.

Yes, Artur concludes, France could be a very small world, especially for aristocrats.

France no longer has aristocrats, and it’s a much smaller world because of it.

But I digress.

Or do I?’

There was a time, not too long ago, when pride came in many forms.  One form was the car, the automobile, the gas-powered engine that drove many a memory and fantasy of many a boy, man, girl, and woman.

I recall an in-law from my girlhood in New Jersey; he loved the Pontiac Bonneville.  He almost became synonymous with the make of that car.  There were Chevy guys, Pontiac guys, Buick guys, Dodge guys . . . You get the picture.

Who can identify with the eggy EV????

I guess we’ve seen just who does commune with the Chinesium solar cell and battery pack.  Speaking only for myself, I just want to blot those images from my mind!

Some images cannot be erased from the memory board.  They’re there for a reason, even if we do not know it at the time that we’re intaking the visual information.  That Higher Purpose is at work, and we’re well-advised to submit to it.

My break from translating American military history into the French language took me to an online music site that, for this one day, allowed me (and my VPN) entrée. I was not a Malicious Bot!

I watched and listened to the video of Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love”.  It was, I believe, the first truly definitive music video, in which the visual elements dominated the auditory ones.  Eyeing Mr. Palmer competed with listening to him.  And I thought to self:

“This is when music was fun.”

The babes were ecstatically gorgeous, the kind of sublime window dressing that’s banned today from advertising because, well, advertising is all but a dead medium/business.

How horrible.

Of course, one must first have a piece of merchandise to pitch, for the ad pitch to fit in a way that’s delightfully unforgettable.  We in the USA await those commodities, coming home after decades of being abandoned by companies and industries that deservedly are biting the dust.

The auto industry here in the States toyed with biting the dust.  I mean, when I read that Ford lost millions, or billions (who knows the real $$$) on their EV adventure, I shed not a tear.  Getting hooked on Guvmint Subsidies is not what made America great in the auto-making world.

After completing my foray into the love addiction without a 12-step program, I cued up a song by Mr. Palmer that was released, and became an instant hit — in 1979.  I first heard this song in an aerobics class in 1985, so I was only 6 years late to that music party, which is impressive for me!

I’d just moved to California from D.C. in 1979, and didn’t own a car (which proved to be calamitous for me), so there was little way for me to hear What Was On the Radio.

Yes, the Car Radio was the primary conveyor of rhythmic sound back in the day when wheels were the pride and joy of many adults behind the steering wheel.  Except for me, cause I do not wax eloquent, nostalgic or puffed-up with pride over a Pinto or what I call The Ex-Car. (The hatchback of the Pinto, however, was great for setting up painting en plein air & on-the-go. It’s the primary reason why I purchased the junker!)

This rockin’-driving song by the sartorially smooth Mr. Palmer is “Bad Case of Loving You (Doctor Doctor)”.  Robert seems to have done well with emotional-medical states that are incurable, may he rest in peace. 

Cause a pretty face don't make no pretty heart.

There was one unintentionally hilarious comment in the humongously long screen-loads of comments. The words of this wistful guy encapsulated the time capsule of the late 1970s very well.  That Jimmy Carter malaise is currently being — finally — cleaned up — for good — by our valiant Citizen-President and our Department of War warriors.

This avid listener was in his ugly AMC Matador, listening to Doctor Doctor on a Maxell cassette tape — Song #3.  He played that song until the tape and the transmission wore out.

My guess is the transmission wore out first!

Let’s make a car and a sound delivery system to rival those long-ago beauties — here in the USA!