OPINION: A metaphor of...something
May 20-Not quite sure what to make of it, but I had a moment last week that felt like a metaphor. Wander through it with me, if you're willing.
The setup is this: Awhile back I found a 1970 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia, the same type of car Angie drove as a teenager. Surprised her with it for her birthday.
Stick shift. Manual steering. Manual everything, actually. Crank windows. Engine about the size of a lawnmower, crammed into the back end of the car. Functioning radio - hey, both AM and FM! But no USB jacks, no tire-pressure warnings, no check-engine light. When you drive it, you've got to drive: Two hands on the wheel, both feet involved. Lean forward, not back.
Didn't want to press our luck and try to make it from northwest Olathe to Kenmar Drive on a 56-year-old engine, so I rented a car trailer, watched the instructional videos and loaded 'er up. If you've read these columns before, you have good reason to suspect some kind of mechanical gaffe on my part, but I'll spare you the suspense and tell you we made it fine.
It was the journey - actually, one particular moment in the journey - that struck me.
The SUV we used to pull the trailer is all-electric, a 2024, quad-motor, all-wheel. Power steering? Heck, the thing drives itself. Tell it where you want to go and it directs you there. Tells you where to stop to juice up. You update the system software just like you do your phone, magically, over the air. USB? No, it has whatever the newer plug thingies are called; for that matter, it connects wirelessly to your phone. At Halloween, it'll play spooky sounds anytime somebody walks near, if you want it to.
Can you imagine explaining all this - starting with the phone, for that matter - to the guy who first bought that Karmann, fresh from the German factory? 'Scuse me. WEST German. You'd have to explain that, too.
A few minutes into the trek down K-10, I grew comfortable enough to dial up some music, Bluetoothed to the car stereo through the phone. The algorithm (2026's pale imitation of a DJ, I suppose) pulled up a new single, just out, from one of my favorite bands with a new album on the way.
"Rough and Twisted," it's called. The band? Yeah, a rock-and-roll outfit, guitar-forward, riff-driven. You might have heard of 'em. The Rolling Stones.
That particular song has a bluesy, Exile-On-Main-Street vibe to it. Couda fit right in there, after, say, "Ventilator Blues."
So, to recap: I'm in a 2024 SUV, pulling a 1970 rear-wheel-drive stick shift, streaming a brand new 2026 single that sounds like 1972.
A few days later, I might add, the Stones put out a video of another new track from their album, wherein they let AI de-age them. Looks like an early 1970s version of themselves playing the song.
What do I make of all this? Time folds in on itself, if you look for it. Or listen for it.
The equivalent - I imagined - would've been trailering a 1914 horse-and-buggy behind a 1970 truck, listening to an 8-track of ragtime. Not sure which interval included more change.
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