Mid-Life Crisis Anyone?

I turned 40 years old nine months ago and I haven't gotten any crankier than I was before, I haven't begun to get up ten times a night to pee, and I haven't begun to forget people's names (except for the inconsequential many who populate the background of my life). So how do I know I'm deep in the throes of a mid-life crisis? Three words: Little. Red. Porsche.



Yes, I bought a 1984 Porsche 944 sports car with a 150 horsepower, normally aspirated four cylinder engine, allegedly squeezing out a top speed in the 130 mph range. As much as I love my wife, son, and family, I find that this car occupies my waking thoughts quite frequently. I like to think of it as the car I only dreamed of owning back when it was new and I was a senior in high school, the car that Jake Ryan drove in Sixteen Candles, the car that Porsche Purist Dicks love to hate. It's a quick little piece of german engineering, that can turn in on any car and embarrass it in front of the popular girls, even cars twice its price, twice its horsepower, and half its age.

But I also recognize that it's a desperate attempt at bottling youthfulness. It also represents compromise, being cheap and able to transport a young son in an otherwise useless backseat. Moreso, this particular model has the less-desireable 3 dial dash with unattractive yellow gauges using Seventies technology. I have changed them out for better looking ones, but still it's a work in progress. Note the jokey tank commander goggles hanging from the mirror in this image; I'm trying not to take it seriously, yet I love it.



As the inaugural post of OnceWereBachelors, why is my car even here? Perhaps it's because lost bachelorhood is a desperate state of compromises where fatherhood is a work in progress. And you need to wear tank commander goggles to make it through the black smoke with a smile.