Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: Coweta (Page 16 of 108)

Long ago. Back in the time we ate dirt. And loved it.

The four little words that carry the burden of years: Never Heard of It. It happened most recently while talking cars, when I mentioned the Datsun 240Z.

“A what?” he asked.

“Datsun 240Z,” I replied, figuring I had spoken it clearly enough, assuming that the car was an icon of sorts. Like saying, Corvette. People usually know what you’re talking about.

“Datsun?” he repeated, and frowned. “Never heard of it.”

BANG!

zCar

The hammer of aging. Remembering clearly the stuff people have never even heard of. Like the car model called Datsun before it morphed into Nissan. Used to own a boxy little Datsun and used to drive a Z-car.

But that was after they became known as Nissan in the US market.

The fellow and I were talking about the demise of British sports cars – those little convertibles of the sort I drove in high school. I suggested that the failure of the English cars was in part due to the introduction of the Japanese Z car.

It was the end of the 1960s and the US was clamping down for the first time on vehicle emissions. British car companies bolted on some emission control devices to meet the new standards – resulting in a lower-horsepower version of the previous year’s model. Since they were practically sewing machine motors to begin with, they no longer made for that zippy, happy, driving experience.

The Z-Car was designed with an anticipation of the new standards. Result: zippy, happy, driving experiences.

Needless to say, long-gone are the Triumphs, the MGs, and the Austin Healeys. The Nissan 370Z for 2016 has a suggested retail of 30K, and I bet it is even more zippy than before.

Some of the Tulsa media folks might remember the K95FM news car back in the early days of that incarnation of 95.5. The format had recently changed to contemporary country, with a news department. It was a kick to pull up to the scene in that sporty little blue Z.

It had one of the early mobile phones installed in it. That’s what we called them back then. Mobile phones. They were mobile as long as the car was moving, those first ones. Big as a cinder block and about as heavy.

But that car served to remind me that work can be fun, too. Especially for someone who is a fan of sports cars. Even if it was just a local press conference about the latest fund-raiser. It was a kick for me to drive to it.

So, today’s image is for those of you who don’t remember when the Nissan car company sold vehicles with the name Datsun stuck on the fender. The Datsun 240Z was the first in a long line of imported sports cars.

One of which once roamed the streets and byways of Tulsa County with a big K95FM emblazoned on the hood.

That was back in the days of good news, huh?

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

Reading the Book Data.

I admit to being naïve. I think I’ve confessed to that in an earlier posting. You’d expect that, I imagine, from someone who opened a bookstore in this age of streaming videos, audio books, and X-boxes.

I don’t mean to say I’m gullible. I cultivate a healthy measure of skepticism. I did lose forty bucks at a traveling carnival once, and maybe that was being gullible. Or it could have been misplaced pride, thinking I was good enough at throwing a baseball that I could hit a target and win a stuffed prize. Found out later it was a rigged game, so I suppose the lost forty bucks amounted to the dues-paying of a rube.

bookNap

Naïve is leaving the garage door open and driving down the street to the convenience store. Never was a problem in my small-town upbringing. In Tulsa, I lost a toolbox to a thief in less than ten minutes of away-time. Took me ten years to inventory the loss, since I only realized what was gone when I needed a particular tool and discovered I no longer owned it.

In the case of the shop, having grown up around books, I mistakenly believed that EVERYONE was a reader – and assumed books and reading to be a shared human passion.

Boy.

Was I wrong.

Naïve.

I’ve probably told you this one before, but I love repeating my favorite non-reader bookshop customer anecdote. The fellow came tumbling in the front door as though he had popped through a time portal, and suddenly came up stock-still, throwing his hands on his hips.

“Books,” he said. “Would you look at all of these! What do you do with them all?”

As he seemed pretty serious with his question, I remarked that I offered them for folks to buy and read. He nodded in understanding.

“You know,” he replied, still gazing around at the shelves of books, “I used to have a friend who knew somebody who read books.”

And I can tell he was proud enough of the fact that – I just let it go without responding, nodding in honest admiration.

Today’s naiveté eye-opener comes courtesy of the New York Times, reporting on a new Pew Research Center survey in which 27 percent of American adults said they had not read a book in the past year. I always tend to round-off numbers, so – to me – that figure represents a third of all adults. One in three.

Pretty sure that my over-consumption is doing nothing to offset that statistic.

And that, my friends, is why the sign on the store-front awning says BOOKS & BISTRO. Offering a little light fare at lunchtime hedges the bet a little: I’m figuring that if folks don’t read at all, or are taking up the electronic reading device, at some point they might want a nice cup o’ Irish Stew.

Or meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

I’ll have to check the Pew research data on that one.

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

Faith an’ Begorrah! Another St. Paddy’s Day in the Books.

If you’re lucky enough to be Irish, then you’re lucky enough. And EVERYBODY is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day. I’m writing this thinking back on the days of Paddy’s Irish in Tulsa, when the lunch hour was over and we could begin gearing up for the big night.

Because it was during the evening hours that everything kicked into gear. Standing room only, five-deep around the bar, plates and plates of corned beef, live music, and the annual march-through of the kilt-clad bagpipers.

StPat2

My kilt still fits, as it turns out. (It hasn’t changed, but I have – and I’m lucky to be back down to once-a-year-kilt-wearing-size.) I didn’t march around with any bagpipes, but I did run behind my daughter on several occasions carrying drinks and plates of corned beef.

They were plates to be proud of, to my way of thinking. I made a lot of corned beef in my Tulsa restaurant days at Paddy’s Irish (not just a once-a-year thing), and Dustin’s offering at our St. Patrick’s lunch today was everything you’d expect. Attractive on the plate, delicious to the taste. And as our neighbor at Hollow Tree Gifts (a find shopping boutique in the Rose District!) – as JoAnn reported back, “it’s so tender a baby could eat it!”

We sold out, needless to say, but made it almost through the lunch service before switching to the shepherd’s pies and the regular menu. Better to run out than throw out, the way I look at it.

A public Thanks! to Kristen for waiting the tables today, and another big Thanks! to Dustin for all his hard work in the kitchen. There is no question that – as fun as St. Patrick’s Day was at Paddy’s back in the day – I enjoyed our shamrock and corned beef lunch party a lot more. Less stress. Shorter hours.

And fewer Irish-revelers hanging on to the floor for dear life and partying into the wee hours.

So, I’ll be putting some of the party decorations away. Others stay put. We’re Irish everyday here, not just around the seventeenth of March. Remember, there are no strangers here, only friends you’ve not yet met. So,

Come visit!

McHuston

(PS The strangers and friends line is courtesy of our Irish poet friend W.B Yeats, from whom I borrow with gratitude.)

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