The sad status of Corvettes

First off, here is a picture of the bunnies from last night. Good lord. In fact, here's another one:

I can't even stand it. OK, now that that business is done with, I'll get down to what I wanted to say in this post, which is this:

Corvettes have become an old man's car. And it's sad, really.

My first memory of the Corvette doesn't actually involve real-life cars at all. I remember the first time my dad set up his electric racecar track, and he went through all the cars he had: the Firebird, the taxi, the limo, the Porsche and the one he simply called, "The 'Vette."

I could tell that the 'Vette was his favorite: the little fire-colored car that rounded corners so smoothly, even in miniature racecar form. It shortly became my favorite, as well - and really, it was years before I realized that 'Vette actually stood for Corvette, and the magical connection was made.

So, maybe it's because of my dad, and maybe it's just general American love of the car, but Corvettes rank high on my list of Cars I Would Kill to Own. So, you can imagine my sadness at the low status the car has been relegated to today.

The situation that exemplifies the current state is this, which happened to me on the drive home from work today: I was heading northwest on Rand Road, and I knew I needed to change lanes. I looked at my prospects for merging and saw, at the front of the line of cars, a Corvette. A RED Corvette, no less. And do you know what the first thing that crossed my mind was?

I bet he's an old fart and I can pass him in a second.

And do you know what? I was right. In my tiny, efficient, Japanese-made Honda, I passed him like he was going nothing. Now, that has a great deal to do with my own driving tendencies, but don't you think my presumption was counterintuitive, even if it was correct? When you see a Corvette, should the first thing to pop into your mind be: "Oh, he'll be a push-over." Or should it be: "Oh man, I'm not even going to try it."

The sad fact is, the only people who are actually able to afford the Corvette (and many other muscle cars) are the people who are too old and crotchety to actually enjoy driving them. It's like the person who orders the filet mignon and only eats two bites. You just want to shake them. Hard.

When you see a mid-life crisis driving a Corvette, you want to say, "Excuse me, I can see you're not using this beautiful, shiny, low-to-the-ground rocket; would you mind if I just took this car from you? If I don't, I might have to punch you."

Corvettes shouldn't become relegated to the level of the Cadillac and Buick - children should still be proud to love their dad's electric race track 'Vette. When I saw the miniature Corvette against some of the other picks - the unsteady van, for instance, or the backwards-driving limo, even the Firebird - I knew which one I would pick every time.

And I still do, and always will - even when I'm too old to drive them by my own standards, probably. If you see me then, driving a Corvette down the road like it's a golf cart, please hold an intervention. I demand better from my old age.