Mid-life Crisis - it’s coming your way.

I never had a proper mid-life crisis.  I’m terrified of motorcycles, I like a large ride instead of a tiny sportscar, and I’m married so that rules out a girlfriend.  I also don’t drink, smoke, or do drugs.  Some would say I couldn’t have a mid-life crisis without these.  Some would say I am just plain no fun.

My dear wife offered me a mid-life crisis vehicle.  No, not a car.  It was a guitar.  She told me to go out and buy something I would never otherwise buy because I couldn’t afford it.  I fell into a Gibson 1959 reissue Heritage Les Paul.  Not a ton of those left-handed.  My wife, bless her, got off pretty easy.  What I didn’t realize was that I was being given carte blanche.  No matter, it’s a great guitar.

Guitar reproductions are driven partly by quality issues, vintage guitar pricing, nostalgia, and although few will admit it, mid-life crisis.

I had suggested that car companies get on the crisis-wagon and offer reproductions of certain classic cars.  Not like the extremely silly VW Bug; I’m talking about a pretty faithful reproduction of the body, with a nod to the original inside, but with current engine, stereo, etc.

I should have figured a way to patent that idea.

The Loud Family lives down the street.  They have a small house but it looks nice from the outside.  What I can’t figure out is how that many people live there.  We’re talking about two parents and something like five kids (you never see them all together so it’s hard to get an accurate count).  What you can divine is that they’re LOUD.

I didn’t have enough information to figure it out but when we first moved in, the daughter, about five years old, comes boldly up to the truck and announces herself by name.  It was a great moment, even for someone who isn’t too fond of kids.  The neighborhood should have suspected something also, epsecially when one of our helpers ran the entire length of the twenty-four foot truck, banging on a conga, shouting “WE’RE HEEEEEEEEEEERE!!!!!“

Time passed.  A basketball court appeared in the driveway.  With the basketball court came basketball kids.  Any time of day or night you could hear the mellifluous tones of a basketball (bang BANG BANG) combined with the screaming of assorted children (F*$& YOU).  When Mr. Loud would ask his youngest son (a serial killer in training if I’ve ever seen one) to quiet down, the kid would give him the finger and walk away.  You could hear the screaming for blocks.

Before I knew it, one of the kids was of driving age.  Apparently he fell in with a circle of friends who fancied themselves `gangstas.’  There is nothing sadder than a middle class white kid who either thinks he’s black or would prefer to be black.   One day I saw this huge black Lincoln SUV parked across the street, taking up a spot or three.  It sat there for a few days before my wife figured out it was Loud Jr’s car.  Apparently since he was a gangsta, he required a proper gangsta-mobile.

One had to be impressed with this buggy.  It was even bigger than my car.  It appeared to be loaded.  How does a teenager purchase a Lincoln?  That must have been one interesting salesman.   I will freely admit that my wife drives a Lincoln.  It was ten years old when we purchased it and cost very little.  So how did Loud Jr manage to pay for this?  Good for him, however he pulled it off.

Shortly thereafter, a red Mercedes appeared near the Loud Lot.   When I say Loud Lot, I mean every parking spot within half a block of the Loud House.  Because the basketball court took up the driveway, the Louds were forced to park their cars on the street.  All up and down the street, in fact, leaving neighbors with nowhere to park near their own houses.

Putting on her detective cap, my wife discovered the Mercedes was just purchased by Female Loud; the one who ran up to my moving truck.  Talk about a time warp.  I don’t know how much a Mercedes costs these days, largely because I don’t shop for them and also because I don’t care.  The one Mercedes I drove handled decently but drove like a truck.  Every pebble made the car shudder.

Once again we were moved to ponder how a teenage-ish child could afford a Mercedes.  Since it was red, it also cost more to insure (I kid you not - red cars cost more).   Again, good for her.

Not so good for the neighborhood, though, as there was one more Loud Car to park on the street.  Apparently no one ever told the Loud Children what being a good neighbor entailed.  One was lead to wonder if anyone told the Loud Children anything aside from `Have a good time.’

Apparently tired of new kids, the louds materialized with two Loud Dogs.  I have never actually seen these dogs, but rest assured the entire neighborhood has heard the Loud Dogs.  It is said that people who live near airports don’t hear the planes after a while.  I suspect the Louds used the same technique because the dogs were outside most of the day, barking constantly, like mad dogs.  And they continued to bark like mad dogs.   And no one did anything about it.  As the barking never stopped, the Littlest Loud had not done any science experiments with them and buried them in the yard.  I do not want to be the next person who owns that house.

Occasionally the Loud Dogs would escape.  It never took long to figure out when this happened because there was a brief pause in the insane barking, followed by Mr. Loud screaming for them to come back.  I swear, my house shook.  Sometimes even Mrs. Loud would come out of her hole and help in the rescue effort by also screaming at the Loud Dogs.  This was surprising, as we thought Mrs. Loud’s main function was yelling at Mr. Loud.

One day a new and horrible loud noise permeated the neighborhood.  It wasn’t too difficult to imagine where it was coming from.  It turned out that the latest Loud to reach driving age just got a car.  At this point you’re probably asking whether it was a Cement Mixer, an eighteen wheeler, or a Bentley.

It was a Mustang.   And not just any Mustang - it was a mid-life crisis Mustang.  The one I suggested the manufacturers make and that I should have patented.  They definitely got a bit closer to the original this time.   Once again, good for him.

What really got to me was the reaction to this car.  I was told when I started driving that there were certain cars that got women’s attention way more than others.  I just shook my head and rationalized that I wouldn’t want one of those anyway.  Eventually they’d grow out of it.  Hopefully.

So much for rationalization… my wife was most impressed by this Mustang.  Another female neighbor walked to the Loud House to compliment the Youngest Loud to drive.  People were talking.  Even one of the same-sex couples had to walk over to take a look.

I still don’t want a mid-life crisis mobile.  I still wonder what it would be like to be a teenager and be able to afford a really nice car.  And the neighborhood still wonders where they’re going to park their cars.