Auto-Erotica Vol.1 – Land Rover Defender 90

After a few posts, I noticed something this blog was sorely missing: sex appeal. Since my girlfriend probably wouldn’t like me dumping pics of Katy Perry’s ubiquitous cleavage, I’ll go with something event hotter: car porn.

 

 

The D-90 is my favorite vehicle ever made, hands down.  Being neither sports car nor pickup man, I’ve always loved classic SUVs, those made when the “S” stood for “Sport” instead of “Soccer”.  The appeal of the Defender is patent: it’s elegant, spartan, and a stark contrast to the Range Rovers which have become an international symbol of gaudiness.   Oh yeah, and it actually performs offroad.  The short, boxy frame evokes classic safari wagons from the ’50s and ’60s, while the iconic horizontal bar grill and triple-bulb headlights provide a modern touch.   Sadly, Land Rover ceased exporting these beauties to the US in the late ’90s, almost certainly because fickle Americans found them too stiff-handling and militaristic. In other words: too badass…

 

 

I think about these things a lot – whenever I see one, I annoying point it out to my girlfriend and immediately snap a phone pic – and will own one when I have the coin.  Although some stout tires (Yokohama Geolanders, preferably) and possibly a roofrack would be in order, these are one of the few vehicles that look perfect just the way they are, a true classic that should not me muddled with aftermarket trinkets.  My biggest decision would be color:  Land Rover green is too common, too iconic.  White is blah, although it has it’s charms.  Surprisingly, I lean towards two colors I despise in most other vehicles: yellow and red.  Though loud, these colors work well with the D-90 for some strange reason – maybe it’s the contrast, I guess…

 

 

Such a sexy ride – if I won the lotto, this would be my first purchase for myself, and I would treat her like a queen.  A queen that likes mudbaths, that is…

 

 

Doesn’t get your pulse racing?  You’re either tasteless, a homosexual, or a hipster.  The first two I can’t do anything for, but if you’re Answer C then we can at least find some common ground over this:

 

 

Now that’s hot…

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“There’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too, you can paddle all around ‘em in a big canoe”

Now that we’re firmly entrenched in fall, the falling temperatures and changing leaves begin to be taken for granted. As the face of winter approaches like a freight train’s headlight, the novelty of this greatest of seasons wears off and becomes yet another backdrop to our monotonous lives.  True as this may be, I try to take time to enjoy the little things that make this time of year so enjoyable: walks in the woods, campfires, and glasses, flasks, tumblers and canteens filled with glorious bourbon whiskey from the hills of Kentucky.  As with other important things, my drink of choice is seasonal: spring is for full-flavored craft brews that remind you of the world coming to life again.  Summer in the Southland is hot, so lighter choices like Pabst Blue Ribbon are in order, especially during the daytime.  Winter I’m less picky, because I’m usually too damned depressed to care.   But fall is for bourbon: something about it just goes right with SEC football, smoke off campfires and barbecue pits, and half-moons rising over the Southeast skies.   To celebrate this magical but fleeting time of year, I’ll share my favorite bourbons,  a few drink recipes and some bourbon related tidbits…

 

 

 

My current go-to spirit, Bulleit Bourbon is a straight Kentucky bourbon whiskey characterized by its high rye content (28% – thanks Wikipedia!)  Maybe it was just the old-timey medicine bottle look to it, but this brand instantly caught my eye, and after my first bottle I have been drinking nothing but for almost two years now.  Pour this elixir in your favorite glass or tumbler over some ice cubes and top it off with a splash of Red Rocks golden ginger ale for the best bourbon + ginger of your life…

 

Fun Fact: Bourbon is the Official Spirit of the United States per Act of Congress, 1964

 

 

Maker’s 46 is probably the smoothest bourbon I’ve ever had…

 

 

Good ol’ Knob – another blind choice I made on cool bottle alone.  Fueled many college bull sessions…

 

 

Ok ok – it’s not bourbon, I know.  However, Leopold Bros. Apple Whiskey is good shit.  Serve it up with two ice cubes, taking your first sip as you see the ice begin to melt.  It’s the closest thing to a “fruity drink” you’ll ever see in my hand…

 

What’s the next best think to do with bourbon besides drink it?  Put it on steak.

 

 

If this doesn’t make you feel manly, you need to get checked for low T.   Mix a shot glass or two of your favorite Kentucky gentleman into a mixing bowl with some soy sauce, brown sugar, mustard (yellow or spicy), and a sliced Vidalia sweet onion, then pour it on the cow.  After 2-3 hours,  throw that beast on the grill or a seasoned cast iron skillet and feel like an instant badass…

 

If you’re wondering what the title of this post is from, it’s a little ditty by Harry McClintock called “Big Rock Candy Mountain”, about a bum’s Shangri-La…

 

 

As with changing leaves and autumn breezes, bourbon goes hand in hand with life’s more solemn moments.  So if you’re reading this and your dog died, your woman left you, or if you just miss grannie’s chicken and cornbread, fill up glass and check out Nashville’s the Civil Wars – they’ll do for your bourbon what Hank Sr. did for beer…

 

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What next? Madame Brovary?

I am not a bro. I repeat: I am not a bro.  However, I have many good friends who are, and know for a fact that many respectable gentlemen were once bros (Thomas Aquinas anyone? Henry V?) . Modern bro-dom is nothing new – it can recently be traced back to its heyday in the bro-tastic Eighties with Animal House, and one of the grand potentates of bro-dom, Ferris Bueller. However, modern bro-dom actually stems from the Beat Generation, our old pals Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty, er, Jack Keroauc and Neil Cassidy. Yep, the guys that brought you On the Road, Howl, and the Merry Pranksters were bros.

 

 

Me??

 

 

While embarking on one of the greatest road trips of all time (very bro I might add), this loose-knit gang of twenty-somethings hitchhiked in truck beds, pounded margaritas in dive bars, and hooked up with the grandmothers of slampieces we enjoy today.  Granted, these were some mighty literate bros, and were capable of expressing thoughts much deeper than those contained in Incubus lyrics.  Nonetheless, these proto-bros set the stage for the sea of endless white backwards-turned caps in bars across America, jacked up on Four Loko ready to  hook up with freshmen girls while they’re skinny.  Well, at least now we know who to blame…

 

 

Hey bro … it’s your fault…

 

 

Perhaps sensing this, some clever bro (they exist) realized that On the Road could be appreciated better by the bros it spawned if it were updated just a tad, to include things like P90X, flip-cup and My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy.  Hence the birth of On the Bro’d.  After skimming through these hilarious micro-chapters (which actually do read very similar to the original), I got me thinking, “hey, why stop here?  Plenty of classics can receive the bro treatment!”  How about Broliver’s Travels, where a tall ass bro finds himself in a strange part of town where the other bros are all easily under 5’6″?  How about Don Quibrote, where an impressionable bro goes on an epic mushroom bender, hops on a horse and hallucinates that some windmills are spectacular giant wooden slampieces?  Sound like winners to me.  The Collected Works of Charles Brokowski? Wait for the movie…

Anyway, whether Bro or Brentile (I know, too far), check out On the Bro’d.  If you share a love/hate relationship with bros like me, you’ll love it.  If not, at least you’ll be reading something other than that Girl Who Played With A Hornet’s Nest crap…

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A Flutter in the Trees

Being from the Deep South, country, folk and bluegrass music has provided a soundtrack to the quieter moments of my life, from an old radio on the back porch putting up snap peas with my late grandfather to music festivals in the muddy hills of North Georgia surrounded by hippies and mountain folk.  Raised on the impeccable, stayed vocals of  Neotraditionalists like Dwight Yoakam and Alan Jackson, I began to lose interest in “mainstream” country music around the time Mutt Lange unleashed Shania Twain’s crimson haltertops on the world.   For most of my college years, I shunned anything with a twang in favor of Michael Howser’s lingering leads, but I remember how all that changed almost instantaneously when I heard a band out of Stillwater, Oklahoma called Cross Canadian Ragweed.  The music was raw and real – equal parts ferocity and candor, no parts Music Row sheen – I was instantly hooked on the new “Alternative Country.”  From there I went on to Bush-bashing cowpokes Reckless Kelly to my all-time favorite band, Athens’ own Drive-By Truckers…

Now it seems even the record execs in their ivory towers in Nashville are taking notice – new acts like Jamey Johnson, Miranda Lambert and the Band Perry have a well-worn boot firmly planted in tradition, with just enough tunefulness to appeal to the Chesney Flatts masses…

Hearing that Cross Canadian recently broke up, I realized this was the perfect place to start this blog.  This band embodied the best of the Red Dirt scene: unflinching emotion and unsentimental nostalgia, all with an eye to their progenitors and a mission to rock out and have a good time, country style…

Here’s some vintage CCR … gonna miss you guys…

Although not “country” or Americana per se, I have tremendous respect for Jack White and what he has done to help popularize roots music amongst my generation.  Here is the Stripes’ absolutely haunting cover of Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” …

“Newgrass” bands like Old Crow Medicine Show and the Avett Brothers have even made prewar “Old Time Music” fashionable.  It’s more common than ever to see fiddlers and mandolin players  busking on the corners of rusty cities like Birmingham and Chattanooga thanks to those guys. Here’s a fantastic new band out of North Carolina called Mandolin Orange…

Man this takes me back to my grandmother’s farm in South Georgia, playing old hymns around the piano on Sundays after church…

So there’s a glimpse of what you’re gonna get here: the well-worn, the vintage American, the rural, the forgotten, the homesick, the longing, the barrel-aged. whiskey-soaked best of life. In other words: the good stuff….

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