I Cannot Drive 55...

Greetings and salutations,

As faithful readers of my diatribes will recall, Papa and I recently embarked upon a celebrated journey through the wonderful world of cinematic masterpieces. In an effort to further broaden my horizons, Papa has begun to espouse the virtues of music as well. We have covered music ranging from the Baroque period through the contemporary scene. Much closer to the latter aspect of this musical terrain resides Sammy Hagar. Certainly, this man is viewed as an antagonist by many for his role in one of the greatest guitar bands of all time. Legions of Van Halen enthusiasts still fondly recall the days of David Lee Roth, Jump, and California Girls. In fact, while I only have a rudimentary understanding of the history of this band, I wonder why Sammy was included in Van Halen's Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame induction as opposed to Mr. Roth.

Well, that was a pleasant detour. I should meander back to the point of today's blog. Without question Mr. Hagar's biggest solo hit (in fact, this is rumored to be the song that enabled him to enter the musical bastion that is known as Van Halen) is entitled I Can't Drive 55. A fantastic social commentary on the seemingly lethargic speed limit at the time, it reminded me of one of my favorite pastimes. Mama and Papa were kind enough to purchase a fantastic set of wheels for me. I simply love this modern piece of Detroit muscle. Well, technically speaking I guess it is a modern piece of Iowa City muscle, since I am the finely tuned mechanical specimen that moves it through the house.

Mama likes to dress me up in my driver's hat and allow me to scoot around the kitchen. This reminds me of a beautiful Sunday drive. To be honest, I play the part well. It has become one of my favorite past times. I lay on the horn every now and again; occasionally Alice gives me a funny look as I cruise past. I look over at her, nod with my subtle charm, and apologize that I roll in a one-seater. I only wish that the folks traversing the road in front of my own home would be so casual. Instead of a leisurely Sunday drive it appears that some of those folks are qualifying for the next NASCAR race.

In any event, for me Mr. Hagar's song reminds me of two things I cannot do: 1) I cannot use contractions; I find it improper. Thus, I "cannot drive 55." And second, I literally cannot drive 55 miles per hour. By the time I hit five miles per hour I hit the refrigerator. Perhaps Papa will supervise me on the sidewalk; that may be my only realistic opportunity to achieve full speed. Until, that is, I can convince Mama to buy me that Dodge Viper Power Wheels car at the store. A few more thousand of my patented smiles I just might get there!

P.S. My colleagues were conversing about my digital memoirs the other day. One remarked, "So, who reads your stuff?" I found this question perplexing, as I do not actually know the answer. Thus, if it does not prove to be too vexing, I was hoping that you would consider leaving a comment in response to my most recent blog entry. The link is listed below; you could merely leave your name or maybe an insightful comment. Either way, it would be pleasant to know who is growing up along with me.

Carter

Someone in heaven is always looking after me...