Every time I hear the argument that magazines are better than the Internet because a person can't take a computer into the bathroom with them to read I think: there has to be some better reasons.
Well, I just discovered there's one big obvious reason why magazines are better than the Internet. It's because when one reads a magazine they aren't exposed to those billions of little computerized nano-spiders that latch on to their every typed thought, and then glean personal information so a search engine can magically transform it into a commodity to be sold. I learned this while posting a blog on Custom Classic Trucks' Web site. Innocently enough, my blog "Mini-Bike Freaks?" was about the Hodaka-powered Bug Flea mini-bike my dad bought for me in 1965, and the future plans I had to restore it. It really freaked me out when I Googled the words "Hodaka-powered '65 Bug Flea" to see how soon it would appear in a search and got a firsthand look at how creepy the Internet experience can really be.
All hell broke loose when I used the analogy: "Just like pot leads to heroin, the next bike I got was a '49 Harley-Davidson Panhead." Directly below a link to my blog about the Bug Flea was a link to some kind of weird drug council Web site with a picture of Adolph Hitler on the same page that contained a carbon copy of every word on CCT's blog page, including links to "Find a local car dealer." At first I couldn't tell whether these people were leftist potheads, or right-wing reactionaries. Some of my words were highlighted in pink, while others were bright yellow. The disturbing part was it didn't matter how the word was used in context, they were all thrown into the same pot to collectively serve a biased agenda. To give an example, the word "dealer" in "find a local car dealer," and the word "drug" in "Hey, what the heck, it was start on the Bug, or start messing with some of these old gas pumps I drug home" were amongst the words singled out as me aggrandizing illicit drugs. I guess what triggered the whole chain reaction was my using the pot-to-heroin analogy to illustrate how gearheads are always looking to step up to a bigger, more powerful means of transportation.
Finding it to be so outlandish, I rushed down the hall to show the Web site to my friend Tim Bernsau at Rod & Custom. I asked Tim to Google the key words in on his computer and see for himself what came up. I'm glad I did, because after I showed Tim the Web site I jumped back on Custom Classic Trucks' Web site and posted a blog about the brain police at the bizarro Web site. About an hour later I Googled to see if bizarro brain police came up in a search and discovered that the original link that started the whole thing had vanished like it never existed. Wow, what a mind-blowing experience this whole thing was. I really love puppy dogs, but God forbid that I might post this on one of my blogs because I fear I might end up in the crosshairs of some animal rights activist's Web site accusing me of animal bestiality. Who knows where this kind of nonsense ends.
Well, the pretty news lady on TV just announced there's some troubling new information about eggs, and there is 32 teeth in the human mouth, so I think it's time to move on to greener pastures-not the ones that are more environmentally friendly, but just good old-fashioned green pastures.
Beyond barn-find trucks, there are field finds. A field find can be located anywhere, it doesn't have to really come from a field, or pasture-it can be a truck that someone found abandoned in an urban parking lot. Here in Southern California, we always get to see old trucks in people's backyards when the TV news copter flies over some poor slob's house and reveals his entire collection. Wow, here's a guy that has a clean '72 Ford F-100 Styleside, a ratty '75 Chevy shortbed Fleetside, an old-school '56 Chevy panel, plus a ... aw crap, that's my house! I have to go now.-John Gilbert