While my colleagues were living the life in beautiful Detroit (pronounced Day-Twaaa), I was forced to slum it in the Hills -- Beverly Hills, that is. It was the grand opening gala for the McLaren showroom and I was torn as to what car I should bring.
NSX or Porsche 911? Nah, I wouldn't trust the valets with either. Cinquecento for the sheer irony?
I chose the Mustang. No, it wasn't to impress anyone except for myself. I don't care what the elite uber-wealthy think, the Mustang's cool. The decision came down to W.W.S.mQ.D? What would Steve McQueen do?
In the lineup of white Porsche Cayennes, black Phantoms, pearlescent Aventadors and murdered-out DBSs, the Mustang still had an undeniable presence. The burble and roar as it rounded the corner from Wilshire Blvd. announced its arrival. As I opened the door to let my girlfriend in, I heard over my shoulder, "Five-oh. Right on." It was probably a fellow journalist.
The Mustang represented. End of story.
Mark Takahashi, Automotive Editor
evodad says:
02:45 PM, 01/11/12
You tell us of all the cars and then no pictures! I'm very disappointed
evodad says:
02:47 PM, 01/11/12
Well Mr. Takahashi I stand corrected, just found them in straightline. (And totally missed the link in your post) Thank you sir.
bodyblue says:
08:38 AM, 01/12/12
I think showing up in a 77 Volare would be just as cool. It would show the tools that think your car has anything to do with what kind of a person you are that you dont play by their stupid rules.