Sprung: Lord Won’t You Buy Me a MERCEDES-BENZ

Alas, it would seem that Spring has finally. . . well . . . sprung.  Old man Winter has loosened his grip and the warmth of the Sun is breathing life back into the vines.  Those, including myself, who have laid so blissfully dormant throughout these cold weather months are beginning to greet the world with a sleepy yawn.  We have thrown back the sash and the windows now glow with a pleasant yellow hue.  Squinting my eyes to adjust my glad gaze, I am reminded how much I enjoy the turning of the season.  The icy solace is shattered by a cacophony of noise.  Birds return to their nests and sing in the new season while the bipedal feel compelled to spend the majority of their day outside their homes listening to their song.  Laundry returns to the line while firewood is restacked for next year’s hibernation.  It is a time of re-birth, resurgence and celebration.  Those that have put off winter’s projects quickly spring to action in an effort to complete them before the siren song of the ocean lures them away.

Spring will soon give way to the beautifully long days of Summer when the fresh morning air is replaced by Sun’s sweet sting upon the skin.  Lengthening days will soon become endless and I look forward to this more this year than ever before.  Perhaps this is a sign of age as I truly appreciate why some of the blue haired crowd migrate toward the Florida coast each year.  I’m not talking about the blue haired punk scene in Miami’s thumpin night clubs, but rather those advanced in years who board their land yachts in search of a warmer Golden Corral.  This unfortunately, isn’t our only similarity.  I have noted other signs that senior citizenship is closer to my heart than my roaring twenties used to be.  If one presumes that I make it to my 74^th year, this would mean I am at the half way mark.  The optimist in me says 40 should be closer to half way home, but only time will tell.  Be that as it may, there are some things in life that have become far more important to me than they once were.  Remember when going to bed was a nuisance and your internal clock said rest was over when the sun broke over the horizon?  These events were often not more than three or four hours apart and there was a time when that was more than enough.  Those days are behind me now, and if I don’t get the requisite 8 or 9 hours, my aging body pays the price.

Perhaps one of the hallmarks of aging is the importance of one’s bed.  Not just the time spent in it, but rather its quality of construction and the level of comfort it provides.  I find these days that the number of pillows required for comfortable sleep has increased 10 fold.  I often puzzled in my youth why adults had so many fucking pillows on their bed.  It seemed wasteful, excessive and decorative at best.  They come in different shapes and sizes and I had presumed this to be a statement of style not a matter of function.  As it turns out I was mistaken.  Age dictates that one stuffs all these small pillows around their bodies, under their neck, between their knees or wherever else is necessary to remove pressure from aching joints.  Falling asleep with a crooked neck no longer means an extra stretch or two is required come morning, it means that the following day will be spent in misery while praying that your failing peripheral vision will keep you from colliding with another vehicle due to the continued inability to turn your damned head.

And yes, I realize that this is a bit overly dramatic for a guy in his late thirties.  The truth is, however, that while the wrinkles don’t bother me as a man, the inability to move as quickly and freely as I once did is a depressing reminder that I am approaching the downhill portion of my journey on this earth.  In recent years I have taken the necessary steps to preserve my aging chassis and am proud to say that I don’t fit the traditional “DAD” look at the public pool.  That being said, I have spent the better part of a week or so trying to convince my wife of the value in owning an aging Mercedes-Benz.  She has a very valid point, why would you spend that kind of money on a car when you can buy a brand new Honda for half the price?  While it is true that the former is high maintenance at its best and requires a bit more consideration than a simple turn of the key when starting it on a cold winter day, to assume this to be the only factor in your decision making process would be an unfair assessment and deprive you of perhaps the greatest automotive experience of your life.  The Mercedes is quite capable of mating for life.  It is a timeless work of art.  Yes, perhaps less technologically advanced than the cockpit of the average space aged rice rocket, but beautiful none the less.

The soft leather seats of the Mercedes hold you tightly when you need to feel reassured and they shape themselves perfectly to fit your current needs.  The burl wood on the dash ages with your touch and every instrument seems to remember your preference.  The leather ages as well, and eventually some of the shine is gone from the instruments due to their continued use.  And yet they function, just as they should.  In the end, the well-worn interior is perhaps more beautiful once you have made it your own than it was when you purchased it so many years ago.  And so what of the exterior?  Well, buying a Mercedes means that it won’t get lost in the parking lot and that the quality material and craftsmanship will keep it looking youthful for many years to come.  Yes, the Mercedes is temperamental and you might not always want to drive it to the local store for fear it might not start when you return, but I promise the alternative is not as attractive as it seems.

Sure, the Honda is reliable.  It will start and run for years after its looks have become outdated.  It will do as it is told and will never offer to second guess any of your commands.  When purchased new, it is a statement of technological advancement.  It isn’t stately and timeless like its counterpart, it is new and glitzy and wants you to be impressed.  While its youthful vigor is impressive and many would prefer it to the aging luxury class, it has failings where the other does not.  The seats never really mold to your body.  The instruments don’t simply wear to your touch.  Repeated use will in fact make many of the buttons and switches simply fall off the dash.  The exterior is of no better construction.  It will quickly become outdated as new models become available and its lack of distinction means you will spend hours at the mall looking for the damned thing in the parking lot.  Hell, you might accidentally even try to unlock one that looks just like your own except for that Apple sticker in the window.  The benefit of its cheap price is that one can simply trade it in for a new one the moment it gets a little worn around the edges.  Let us not even discuss the possibility of an auto accident.  The Mercedes is built like a brick.  Any dents or dings can simply be hammered out and repainted.  It’s defiant presence will protect you when times get tough and you feel as though it will always look after you the moment you slip behind the wheel.  Not so for the Honda.  The slightest bump or bruise, the remote possibility for rough road conditions will have it folding like a cheap suit.  Once damaged, the Honda never really gets back to the way it was.  It remains broken.  It creaks and cracks, parts no longer fit as they should, even after extensive repair.  And this much I promise, the repairs will be EXTENSIVE.

The wife’s response is this:  “Well, if I am going to spend THAT kind of money I may as well spend a little more and buy a damned Ferrari.”  While I am certainly not going to go on record as casting aspersions about Magnum P.I.’s 308 GTS, I will say this . . . The Ferrari is a thing of beauty.  It will always be beautiful.  The Mercedes has historically been far too clunky and Germanic to be as breathtaking as the venerable Ferrari.   It’s unmistakably beautiful exterior betrays certain truths.  The interior in uncomfortable, it doesn’t understand you.  It is a FERRARI and that is all it has to be.  You must simply accept it for what it is.  I won’t change for you because it is far too self-absorbed to take your feelings into account.  And perhaps most importantly, the Ferrari is remarkably unreliable.  Fast, yes, but not a daily driver.  Enough said.  For every one of the wife’s points, I have a counterpoint.  Toyota . . . expensive but reliable and will unfortunately run long after its looks have failed you and a majority of its body work has rusted away.  “NEXT!”.  Exhausting the entire automotive industry with this same laundry list of pros and cons, one can come to only one conclusion . . . buy the Mercedes and you won’t be disappointed.

So, now where does that leave us?  For those of you that haven’t been paying attention at all . . . I AM A MERCEDES-BENZ and though she may regret it now, the wife couldn’t afford the Ferrari and was fortunately sensible enough to leave the Honda dealer in her rearview mirror.  So long as she keeps me garaged and my engine full of oil, I will be there with her till the end . . . or at least till the kids go off to college.  By then she will probably want a convertible and I don’t have an argument for that.  Stay tuned.  R.