generations

First, an introduction.

I am a vehicle dealer. My grandfather was a vehicle dealer, my uncles were vehicle dealers and mechanics, my father is a weekend mechanic and my great-grandfather started a vehicle dealership in the 1920s in Luverne, Minn.

My father was born in Pontiac, Mich., when my grandfather was a marketing and advertising executive for GM.

I have always been around cars. I grew up at car shows, at my grandfather's dealership, and in heated dinner table discussions about transmissions, body style, new innovations and old classics. I'm a car girl.

My first car was a Volvo 240 GL with a sunroof and not much else. But I loved it for all its Scandinavian squareness. The second car: a 1973 Cutlass Supreme. And the current car, a 1996 Saab 900 Convertible.

But this story isn't about cars I've had. This little plot of cyberspace real estate is about the cars I want, the cars I see, the cars I learn about. The thing is, America's obsession with cars rarely has anything at all to do with the cars we drive. It is about the very American endeavor to obtain the next car. It's always about next year's model, the shinier chrome, that New Car smell.

This is a blog about desire.