[defcon65]

Growing up in the midwest, the 'gearheads' were invariably the mulleted shop-class kids who lived in trailers, blasted Asia and Dokken out of Kraco speakers in their jacked-up Novas, flunked out of school and ended up working at NAPA. Those with more self-described refined tastes plastered their walls with pics of 959s and Testarossas, listened to Black Flag and the Minutemen, begged their rich dads for a Supra or hot-rodded a V-Dub with dual carbs and a tuned exhaust. Most of these guys ended up driving Volvos and fixing teeth. I was somewhere in between. I could talk s**t with the burners AND knew who Ferdinand Porsche was. I had a '67 Karmann Ghia and later on a '67 Chevelle. They were both great cars in entirely different ways and I hated selling either of them, but both had to go by the time I graduated college and needed something newer and more practical. But then you get older, a little more affluent, suddenly single and voila - a 911 appears in your garage. I couldn't be happier now, never thought I'd get here. The bitterest regrets are reserved for the things you haven't done. The mistakes you just accept with time.