Men Are From Mars

In the vein of "Men Are From Mars", I suggest Old Men are from the Outer Moons of Jupiter, and Crazy Old Men are from the Dark Side of Pluto.  (Before we go any further, my readers should be advisesd this post paints with a wide brush and makes sweeping generalities.  Some women and many men my take exception.  Proceed with caution.)

It must be a genetic trait that makes pre-verbal little boys able to mimic the sound of cars and trucks with no prior instruction.  They seem born with this amazing capability.  As they grow to teenage years, boys become totally fascinated with anything that moves on wheels.  By the time they've reached 30, they spot and identify any vehicle at a three block distance, naming:  make, model and year.  Most of them can also automatically tell you the engine size, horsepower, torque and velocity-to-second ration.  They can not imagine life without cars.

Most women, on the other hand, view cars as a necessary conveyance to get one from point A to point B.  They like the colours red, blue and silver.  They appreciate a radio that actually works, air conditioning and seat heaters.  End of story.

There you have it: 

the blue brain that loves cars for car's sake and

the pink brain that goes for fashion colours and amenities.

Old men move further out into space when it comes to cars.  (Consider the Lunar Rover.)  Men will drive anything, anywhere, and enjoy it for the sheer thrill of it all.  Mr. Outer Moon of Jupiter, an unlit cigar clamped between his gritted teeth is seen peeling down Easy Street in My Town, on his electric scooter at the blazing speed of a brisk walk.  Cars lined up behind him in steaming agonies of frustration are held hostage.  He owns the road.  It seems anything with a motor and wheels will suffice as stand-in to feed the car and driving fixation.  This is a common occurance and an often recognized scenario.

I humbly put it out there, that one NEVER sees women on scooters on ANY road.  They stick to the sidewalks, making their way from point A to point B, in a lady-like fashion as always.

When considering Crazy Old Men, I must truthfully say that I have only once witnessed this phenomena.  Once was enough. 

Leaving Starbucks and making my way towards a busy intersection, I came upon Mr. Dark Side of Pluto on his scooter.  He was (choose one):

-delerious with the joy of driving

-drunk with the power of mobilization

-asleep at the switch

-all of the above.

His scooter meandered across the road from side to side.  He sped up and slowed down for mysterious reasons known only to him.  Things looked dangerously unpredictable.  When he pulled over to the far right, I thought he was letting me pass...but no.  He veered left at speed, then sharply right, then left, then....   I was getting ready to watch him do spinning circles of wheelies, right there in the middle of the road.

Traffic ground to a halt in all directions.  And so did Mr. Pluto.

After a beat or two, I crept passed him on the right.  He was sitting quietly, mining boogers from his left nostril.  Right there in the middle of the road.   The motor of his scooter purred quietly at rest, no doubt bringing fond memories of Mr. Pluto's first convertable many, many years ago.

When it comes to cars, men are from outer space.  Women come from the mall.

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