Picture it: Connecticut, 2000. I had just turned 16 and was eager to get behind the wheel of my first car. It would be shared with my brother, so my parents agreed to chip in if he and I collectively paid for at least half. A lot of you know that I got a ‘99 Mitsubishi Galant ES (that I still miraculously have, 18…
2001 was an awesome time to be in the market for a full-size European V8 performance-tuned luxobarge. Which of these four from that year would tempt you the most?
Hey Oppo, I’m having a tough time getting an answer from the Googles and thought I’d tap into your collective knowledge. Anyone know what the first model year was for the Ferrari 550 Maranello? I know production started in July of 1996, but I don’t know whether the first examples were considered 96MY or 97MY.
Occasionally I like to pop in and say hello just to assure my Oppo friends that I’m still alive. And here’s proof: I saw this beautiful Ferrari 456M GTA last weekend at the annual Ferrari Spring Thaw in Leesburg, Virginia. How’s everyone doing?
Good morning, Oppo! I photographed these cars in a farmer’s field in Virginia this weekend and need some help identifying them. I think the Plymouth is a ‘56 Plaza two-door club coupe. However, I don’t have a clue about the three Fords. Anyone know the model/year of them?
Got a few new silver hairs for my birthday. So far, 34 feels a lot like 33. Oh, and guess what? The Phaeton is still in the body shop, three weeks later. Every time they say they have all the parts they need, they decide they need to travel to Narnia to find more. Maybe I’ll have my car back by 35.
The Phaeton has these individual headlamp washers that pop out to clean the lights every time you pull the windshield washer stalk. The other day, the driver’s-side washer became stuck in the extended position. I figured the motor had died, so I left the car with my mechanic on my way to work.
...is “Christmas Shoes.” And I’m not just saying that because I hate shoes in general. It’s really bad. Thankfully, all the local radio stations seem to have purposefully avoided it this year.
Here’s every car that came to Katie’s this morning.
I love Portlandia, but it kind of bothers me that they chose a 1996 Saab 9000 Aero 4-door hatchback to be the anonymous “boring” car in this sketch. I mean, what’s boring about an Aero? Heck, what’s boring about ANY pre-GM Saab?
I’m impressed with the number of cars my brother was able to fit in his driveway on Thanksgiving Day. All in all, it was a success. Politics were avoided. No one drank too much. And for the first time, I actually brought my partner, and everyone was nice to him. No more having to uncomfortably dodge the inevitable…
I have, like, 120+ unused hours of sick leave and I’m not feeling that stellar anyway, so it seemed like the right thing to do. Phantom III picture is unrelated.
So it turns out the cable wasn’t broken or loose. The pull handle and the latch weren’t broken either. The latching mechanism just needed to be greased. First time this car’s ever had a problem that cost less than $100 and took less than an hour to fix.
This morning I tried to pop the Phaeton’s hood, and no dice. The release lever just did not respond. I’m planning to take it to my mechanic on Monday, but does anyone have any idea what could cause a hood release to fail? I’m hoping that it’s nothing terribly expensive, but nothing on this car is ever cheap.
This summer, I said goodbye to the roommate and got my own place for the first time in my life. I wasn’t sure what it was going to be like living on my own, but after four months, I can safely say the pros outweigh the cons:
He’s needed to sell his late mother’s car for a while now: 1995 Chrysler Concorde, garage-kept all its life, and just 28K original miles. It’s literally one of those cars that a little old lady only drove to church on Sundays.
Pretty much everywhere it goes.
I have a bunch of late 19th-century photos that I’ve never done anything with. So let’s play a game. “Marry, f*ck, kill” is just too vulgar. Let’s class it up. Of the following three gentlemen, you must:
I have a bunch of late 19th-century photos that I’ve never done anything with. So let’s play a game. “Marry, f*ck, kill” is just too vulgar. Let’s class it up. Of the following three ladies, you must: