Hollywood Icon Marilyn Monroe at One Hundred: Will Her Legend Endure?

 

icon - noun - famous person who represents a group or idea (Merriam-Webster)

    After one hundred years, through the magic of photography (and technology), Marilyn Monroe maintains her blonde, seductive looks, and hence, enduring legend. Until February, the Academy (of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences) Museum in L.A. is honoring her perennial beauty as well as her controversial past in a meticulously complete exhibit for all to experience for the price of admission. But for how much longer will Marilyn remain an American icon? 

Although the exhibit premiered in June, last night, the Academy Museum opened it to members only. Being that my daughter is one of them, she was permitted to include two friends. Fortunately, she chose her best female friend from France and me. For thirty minutes, we were treated to the curators' lecture that revealed all of the particulars regarding the colorful displays, including Marilyn's elegant wardrobe set aside in plexiglass from her classic movies, such as Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Some Like It Hot, and How to Marry a Millionaire. After the info session, we all headed up to the space, meticulously designed in reds to appeal to the aesthetically minded. What struck me initially was the diminutive size of the costumes. With a waistline of 22 inches, hardly voluptuous Marilyn would have been a size 2 or 4 today but was an 8 back then. (The camera put on twenty pounds making Marilyn more zaftig then she actually was. Hollywood has always been good at deception.) Looking around, I also noticed that the average age of the onlookers was about fifty. My daughter and her friend, 35 and 36, were about the youngest there. As their generation is more savvy re: past pop culture, I was not surprised that they knew quite a bit about Marilyn. I asked the French friend what Marilyn's reputation is over in France, and she said, "The same as here," meaning Marilyn is most likely still recognized in European countries wherein the Hollywood fantasy is still of interest. 

Yet does all of the existing American population know Marilyn? Unless the parents are fans, Generation Z doesn't. After I filmed and posted a short video of the Academy show on TikTok, most of my followers (approximately 35 and up) responded favorably. Some even reposted the video, but most of them are probably fifty and over. I have no way of knowing.

An hour later, I found myself at a cast party for a stage production I was just in, and I sat next to Max, a twenty-year-old student of jazz music (our company's sound man) who grew up in Culver City, the home of Gone With the Wind and The Wizard of Oz. As the musical genre is much older than Marilyn (and the films nearly as old), I thought that perhaps he would have at least heard of her. Nope. "Who's that?" he asked. I replied, "Google her." If Gen X doesn't care about Hollywood icons of the past, their Generation Z kids won't either. Such a shame. All of history should be taught. (As an aside: an allusion to Marilyn had come up in a play that I had been teaching to my high-school juniors back in 2019. Of course, they had been clueless, so I had made sure to provide them with all of the backstory on her. They might still recall who she is today. Hopefully.) 

Despite no longer being a uniformly household name, Marilyn is still lucky that the Academy and wealthy followers remember her and will continue to preserve her memory in tightly sealed, temperate vaults wherever they can be found. Although this sounds awful, Marilyn is fortunate she passed at the ripe, youthful age of 36 as it is possible that her career might have lost momentum over time. The studios did not like Marilyn since she had grown to be "difficult," open to working with only about three directors. And her character type, the Blonde Bombshell wound up losing popularity, vanishing completely during the women's movement. Sadly, Marilyn might not have been able to overcome typecasting as her range was on the limited side, and audiences tend to hold onto stereotypes. Roles depicting complex, female characters might not have been offered over time. On a personal note, I think it would have been tragic to see her fall victim to "the rich face," numerous face lifts, etc., resulting in a plastic countenance like other Hollywood stars whose names will go unmentioned. The need to stay young might have weighed down a buoyant, forever-young Marilyn, crushing her legend. 

Yes, perhaps Fate had mapped out her destiny accordingly to her advantage. Our pretty, sexy, faux Marilyn will always be a constant, an ageless star in the constellation of Icon, preserved for anyone curious enough to explore her region of past popular culture. 

#MarilynMonroe, #icons, #Hollywood, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay

 

Escaping into Anachronism

 

anachronism - noun - anything (person, place, thing, event, etc.) out of its proper time in history. (Merriam-Webster)

    Although I have featured the above word twice before, it has been begging me to take a closer look at it. I don't remember whether or not I told you (I probably did), but life in California is way different than life on the East Coast particularly as there are way more outlets for you to escape into your passions. From doing the tango to collecting antique cars, no matter what floats your boat, you can find a group of people who are into the same thing so that you can bond accordingly. 

    Bond, the heartbreaker I alluded to in my last post, is back in my life, probably for good this time as I plan to hold onto him. Why? I have never met a man quite like him. Merely to say that he is "interesting" would be a trite euphemism, a gross understatement. Here I am left with no synonym as there is no adjective that can even come close to being precise when it comes down to depicting Bond.

    Recently, he introduced me to an establishment sans an actual building that he frequents: the Society of Creative Anachronism, founded in Berkeley, California in 1966. I wouldn't call it a cult because unlike a branch of a particular political party that will go unnamed, it doesn't have a prescribed, omnipresent, omnipotent leader calling all of the shots. However, each kingdom elects a king and queen just for the sake of historical accuracy, which is paramount. What the organization amounts to is a large, international collection of individuals who escape into Medieval times just for kicks. Basically, it is like a continuous revamping of Braveheart sans the lighting, cameras, etc. When it comes to recreating the time period, the SCA members go the distance in terms of wearing the exact costumes and participating in researched pastimes. Many possess Medieval weapons and use them competitively for sport. Obviously, no maiming or killing is allowed. Bond, who also creates and sells museum-quality, Medieval crossbows, is a champion archer who has earned the title of Lord because of his unmatched marksmanship with a bow and arrow. Since Odysseus is back in vogue due to Chris Nolan's ubiquitous The Odyssey, I would say Bond might fit into the character's sandals quite well albeit he is not willing to go that far back in time to do so. But who knows? As the movie is so popular, maybe a branch of the SCA might break off and escape into Homer's time frame as well? As the past is as vast, yet more familiar than the future, anything is possible when it comes to the creative anachronistic style of life.

    For the next two weeks, the twenty SCA kingdoms throughout the world will be converging at Cooper's Lake Campground in Slippery Rock, Pennsylvania for the Pennsic War, an annual Medieval reenactment involving something like 10,000 people. No kidding. This is a serious meetup that is not open to the public like any Renaissance fair would be. But if you showed up wearing just the right costume, no one would tell you to get lost in the woods although as the PA campground is so vast, many SCA members might be already. Lost, that is.

    Wouldn't it be great if all of the wars, particularly the one happening in the Middle East right now, were just staged for fun sans casualties? It might not be a bad idea since there are people in the world today who are so bellicose as to crave combat. Why not give them something a bit more creative to engage in? The budget involved would be a lot less than the billions already being spent in reality. And everyone would walk away unscathed, perhaps shaking hands in friendship? 

    As John Lennon wrote, "Strange days indeed. Most peculiar, mama." His own anachronism, he was ahead of his time as opposed to the other alternative. Still he might have smiled at the thought of the SCA. 

#hobbies, #pastimes, #anachronism, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay

The Non Sequitur: Negotiating What Drops Down From Out of the Blue

 

non sequitur - noun - a conclusion that has no logical connection to the preceding premise.

Unfortunately for those of you who pride themselves on being the Dr. Spocks (of Star Trek) of the Universe, you may be totally confounded by the daily non sequiturs that present themselves in the news these days. But what if one has caught you off guard personally so that you have been completely blindsided by what has fallen into your lap from out of the blue? 

Case in point: my love life at the present moment is resembling a rom-com that ends tragically with a non sequitur, meaning an ending that is a complete reversal, one that makes no sense at all given the "preceding premise" and one that is so illogical that even suspension of disbelief can't go the distance so that it would seem rational. Let's put it this way. My actual experience transcends that of Sex and the City's Season 6 when Carrie Bradshaw gets dumped via Jack Berger's post-it note: "I'm sorry. I can't. Don't hate me." Albeit the note is rude–contrary to decorum–at least the two are depicted as not getting along; ergo, the break-up is seen as inevitable. But what if all had been going swimmingly the entire time; passion was constantly in the air; affection, plentiful, future plans were being conceived; "I love you's were exchanged? And then, hours later, there is a text message that reads, "I'm leaving town and you. Although you did nothing but love me well, I can't return the love" even if he had been the entire eighteen months of the ill-fated relationship? An insane non sequitur! 

After I did everything to make sense of it and the previous star-crossed relationships that I mainly walked away from, the most current, nonsensical, real-life episode motivated me to Google: Why are Baby Boomer men so messed up? 

For once, A.I. was totally accurate. Our dear Boomer guys' irrational behaviors come from mirroring their shell-shocked, WWII veteran dads who could still proudly hold their medals high despite their unrecognized PTSD. Because they had saved the planet from the Nazis, these larger-than-life soldiers had unrealistic expectations for their male offspring. They taught their little boys to be unemotional, which was perceived as being strong. (You know, like "There's no crying in baseball" although that is directed at women.) Ergo, the sons grew up not knowing how to manage their emotions well or just submerging them altogether. When you are deprived of love from your hero–your dad–you have a hard time loving yourself or anyone else, particularly an emotional woman like me who loves fast, hard, and well. You become unstable, noncommittal, fearful, and guilty–in short, a psychological disaster area. Which is why most therapists do exceptionally well. And by the way, unsurprisingly, the divorce rate among Boomers has never stopped burgeoning. 

Okay, Boomer gals. How can we negotiate the non sequiturs? We don't have much of a choice. We can try communicating our needs (which has never worked for me) or attempt couples therapy that emphasizes the communication (again, never worked for me), or if used to flying solo, we can go back to the single cockpit of that small stunt plane and "defy gravity" while singing the tune from Wicked.  It isn't so bad. At least our current society embraces singlehood as acceptable, unlike the Greatest Generation's that did not. 

Will I go back to Match.com to search for yet another seriously mentally ill, male Baby Boomer anytime soon? Nope. I'm looking forward to taking to the air (literally) in a glider in the fall. When one is down, the only direction to go is up. And eventually, I'll be the one to drop down from out of the blue. Hopefully, there won't be any non sequiturs, and the landing will be cushioned. 

#blog, #blogger, #romantic love, #breakup, #relationships

The Empath

 

empath - noun - a person with a high capacity for empathy; one who is highly sensitive to the mental and emotional states of people around them (WebMD).

Save yourself or your health insurance company $250 per one hour session with your psycho-therapist. If you are self-aware, willing to embrace your liabilities, you can self-diagnosis your condition via the internet. Of course, professional analysts will always be necessary as so few of you out there are able to look your faults in the face and do the research as to how you can rise above what is ailing you. 

The other day, I did, and I have to admit that I am glad. My self-inflicted enlightenment came when I acknowledged that I am an empath–or as my mother had pointed out once long ago–I feel too much.  Because of this, I and persons like me tend to have a hard time negotiating romantic relationships. We tend to fall in love almost immediately, "love bomb" just because we become precipitately obsessed with the object of our affections, take initiative planning dates, and hastily make regular contact via texts, email, video-calls, or just plain phone calls. Then the sh*t hits the fan. As we are galloping away towards the finish line, we realize that we are the only jockey on his horse in the race since we haven't given the other party time even to fall in like with us. Needless to say, high expectations of reciprocation are leaking through the saddle bag, and sooner as opposed to later, there is resentment as we empaths are too afraid to throw a rock onto the track, stop the race, and communicate our needs to the other jockey and horse a length behind us, but coming up fast. So what happens inevitably is that we quit and trot off to the stables alone without looking back. I can't tell you how many times I have prematurely left a perfectly good race to the finish line of mutual love just because I was not prepared to speak my mind to my contender.  

What causes a person to be an empath, you ask? Emotional volatile parents. If you had a mother like mine, one who was always on the verge of exploding with anger towards my narcissistic sister, you, like I, would be prone to anticipate the eruption and head for the hills before arrival. In order to do this, you, like I, would need to latch onto the culprit (the parent) closely, almost becoming the person yourself so that you could feel the pot brewing before it reached its boiling point. Eventually as an adult, you find yourself intuitively connecting to everyone, deserving the title of intuitive empath. As so much energy is used up in the process, you tend to seek solace to reboot, confusing close companions who are left asking, "Where did she/he run off to?"

What can we empaths–paramount people pleasers who love intensely–do to achieve longevity in romantic love or friendship? There is only one way that we can: erase the fear of confrontation and communicate our needs clearly, in some cases, strongly. Last weekend, I told all of this to my boyfriend, James "Bond," who has his own psychological baggage, but probably more or less ADHD and/or just PTSD. Ordinarily, as he is not a hot head unless he is driving on the 405 and someone cuts him off, he just said that I should hit him over the head with what I want or need sans mincing words. (As an actor and bonafide Jersey girl, this is something that I am not shy about doing.) Example: "Hey, Asshole! I need you to text me good morning every once in a while." Apparently, "Asshole" alone would motivate him. So far, it is working. Who knows? It could work for you, too. 

Being an empath isn't easy, but it can often open the door to friendships as we empaths tend to be more selfless than selfish, and we will listen to people's problems and even shed a few tears with them. And we will remember birthdays, organize dinner parties and outings, each becoming recognized as the ultimate cruise director. After all, everyone appreciates a compassionate listening ear and a natural giver. 

However, it is never good to be so selfless as to be invisible. Empaths' lives matter just as much as those of their opposites, narcissists, as well as everyone else in between. If you aren't an empath, but you have a friend who is, connect with the person and tell him or her that next time, you will call to listen to his or her rant, wish him or her a happy birthday, or take him or her out to lunch as you are aware that you contribute virtually nothing and are now feeling guilty enough to return favors that the empath has so willingly provided over the years. 

Maybe just stop using the excuse that you are too busy and try to be a better friend to all in your life, not just the empaths?

Just sayin' or just hitting you over the head with it. 

#empath, #romantic love, #friendship, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay

Bi-Coastal Friends: A Contrast

 

bi-coastal - adjective - living, working, or regularly traveling between the East and West Coasts of the United States (Merriam-Webster.com) I would like to amend the preceding definition to include the following: 2. bi-coastal (as it pertains to friendships), platonic relationships that exist simultaneously on both the East and West Coasts of the United States.

Because I lived in the New York area for all but two years of my life, when I uprooted my cast-in-stone life and relocated to Los Angeles in 2024, I was able to pack up my friends (and some family) in a technological suitcase and take them all with me along with my material possessions. Additionally, once I was acclimated to the day to day in SoCal, unabashedly joining multiple organizations filled with like-minded folks, I made many new friends rather quickly. Ergo, at present, I have a variety of bi-coastal friends. Half are there, 3,000 miles away, and half are here. So far, I am managing to keep juggling the multifarious balls, spending quality time with both subsets either online via Zoom, texting, email, phone calls, or in person. 

Most would find it difficult to maintain contact with all of these cherished individuals, but for me, a lifelong collector of people, not things, it isn't. But what I am noticing lately is the dissimilarities between the groups. For one, my East Coast friends have more complicated lives despite most being retired. The majority are married with children and grandchildren, meaning they value family more than friends. I have to book way in advance if I want to put together a Zoom or if I want to visit them in actuality. They don't have time, or don't have the motivation, to step away from their routines and visit me. So the street is, for the most part, one way. And it is short. My East Coast friends do not like to drive far to see people whom they love as friends. If they agree to meet at a restaurant, it better be equidistant from all parties, making said eatery not easy to locate. And as they are always consumed with familial obligations, an agreed upon date and time are near impossibilities. Case in point: I just got off of a group text that involved five women (excluding me in CA). It took the better part of the day to finalize plans for a birthday dinner party. They were all so occupied, they had to opt to go out the following evening. Which impressed me as you would think spontaneity would be an extinct concept with this group. One more thing re: socialization, my friends on the East Coast will rarely return texts within an hour's time. Some will go days sans answering, something I find a bit rude. 

On the other hand (or side of the country), my West Coast pals, despite being much younger than the East Coast crowd and employed, are a bit more uncomplicated. For one, finding a mutually compatible date to get together is relatively simple, but it could be because I don't cut them as much slack as my East Coast associates. I give them two dates, they select one, and wha la! I pencil them in on the calendar. If the group is large and a few can't make the date, it is not a big deal. They simply join the party the next time around. (I wouldn't dream of excluding any of my East Coast friends from an event, probably because they would be irreparably pissed off at me.) And no one out here is afraid of driving distances albeit in L.A., he or she should be since the drivers here are off the deep end (and have the potential to be literally). We do have to attempt to schedule meetups before or after rush hour, though, as traffic can be heavy at certain times, and it may take two hours to go ten miles. Still, even if it does, no one is very distressed about it, but the East Coast clan would be infuriated despite having to endure traffic abnormalities regularly. And one last difference, just about everyone I know here will text back immediately or within a reasonable time frame. 

What I find interesting is that my "transplant" friends who were once East Coast denizens but who now live here brought their social idiosyncrasies with them. (See paragraph 3.) And it doesn't matter how long they have resided here. When it comes to human nature, a pattern often remains fixed. 

Could it be that East Coast urban/suburban dwellers are by and large a bit more uptight than their counterparts on the West Coast? Could it be that the West Coast coalition experienced better parenting? Do the variations have anything to do with the weather? Eureka! It just could be the reason. I do believe people, in general, are quite affected by climate changes. Consistency is key; inconsistency causes stress and related problems. Yet what do I know? All I do know is what I observe. Opinion can transmogrify into fact with substantial evidence. 

What it all filters down to is this: I feel blessed to have the friends I do have. All of them are family to me, solid gold despite their contrasts, good or bad. 

#friendship, #bi-coastal, #differences, #blog, #blogger, #sociology, #personal essay

Pride: Unity Through Diversity

 

pride - noun - deep sense of self-respect and admiration of achievements; celebrated visibility of the LGBTQIA+ community. Merriam-Webster.com

On Saturday, we in the United (?) States will be celebrating 250 years as a nation. What started as an involved experiment that a room full of anachronistic geniuses imagined is still pretty much that–an involved experiment– as the legal complexities within the government have been continually tried since 1776. The current regime has put the bi-partisan, democratic system to the test on a daily basis, needless to say, exacerbating any divisions omnipresent due to opposing political platforms. I know. I know. You are probably saying to yourself, "Why doesn't she tell me something that I don't already know?" It's coming. 

Lately, though, contrary to the aforementioned popular belief that the Media perpetuate, I have seen signs of unity among "We the People." Unifying the globe, the World Cup has been proving that even if you don't like soccer ("football"), you can join the international ranks, choose a team to root for, find yourself a sports bar supporting your specific team with at least five TV monitors, pick one, and watch. Chances are, as you will be shouldering up to people with the same team in common, you may feel that you belong and that Earth is a lot smaller than you think as its people tend to be pretty much the same: boisterous, potentially violent if on the drunk side, but joyful when their team wins. Even if the team loses, you can still stagger home with a few, new, most likely American friends. (Just don't talk politics or religion on the way home.)

Another unifying element is the local fair for a cause. This past Saturday, I, along with others, volunteered to host our church's rainbow-cookie-decorating booth at the Culver City Pride Festival, one of a few here in Los Angeles. One of our members, a young woman transitioning into a man, baked 500 homemade cookies to hand out gratis to anyone of any age who desired one. Some enjoyed getting a bit messy by taking modified Baggies of food-colored icing and using them to create Technicolor art on top of the flat sugar cookies. All walks of LGBTQ, etc. participated as well as legions of straight people, notably families with children. As it was my first experience at a pride celebration, I was pleasantly surprised to see so many straight parents introducing their offspring to the LGBTQ culture, which I feel is an exemplary, unifying idea. My young, attractive–albeit also straight–Presbyterian pastor decided she would give out hugs for free, advertising the giveaway via a rainbow-bedecked sandwich board that covered half of her petite form. Back and forth, she paced for hours in front of the booth, attracting attention. Not surprisingly, many souls–lost or found–took her up on the deal. She must have felt Jesus's presence as she was taking a walk in his sandals since if he were present, he would have offered to step in and give her a hug and a much-needed coffee break. I couldn't help but wish that a few "Christian" politicians, stuck-in-the-mud of conservatism, were there to see just how beautiful we humans can be when we aren't afraid to offer love to all, not just a select few. (Thank you, Matthew 25.)

The bottomline: Take some time to look around, before, after, or during the fireworks on this July 4th. Are we as a nation actually all that divided? Maybe not. I, for one, know that after 250 years, we have at least one thing in common: we are still the people of United States of America. Based on what I have seen, not read, I know that no matter what, we will band together to keep this great democratic nation from crumbling like a sugar cookie sans red, white, and blue icing. 

Happy 250th Birthday, U.S.A.! 

#July4th, #unity, #Pride, #personal-essay, #blog, #blogger

Hubris: Hell on Wheels (A Road Rant)

 

hubris - noun - extreme, excessive pride or dangerous overconfidence (Merriam-Webster.com)

When it comes to driving in L. A. where traffic jams blend ubiquitously into the landscape, I have an unproven, yet practical theory. All of the drivers who initially flunked and then passed (by the skin of their teeth) their DMV driving tests anywhere else in the United States migrated to SoCal sometime afterward, celebrating the possibilities of the California car culture on the way. Why do I think this is true? Vehicle accidents are plentiful here, which is why car insurance and registration in the City of Angels are probably the highest in the country. But much of the crashes might be due to hubris, the pervasive attitude that bigger is better. Because the "Biggers" contend that they are better, they push their weight around. I see these folks cutting off economy cars all of the time because they can. Apparently according to the "Biggers" whom I know and love, the rationale behind buying bigger is that the larger the vehicle, the least likely they and their passengers will lose their lives in collisions. Well, I hate to tell you guys, but someday you'll die. And if you are meant to die in a car accident, you will, no matter how colossal your vehicle is. The problem here is that "Biggers" often cause the road fatalities. 

Every morning, I listen to the headlines via the New York Times app. Today's last two-minute, oral article considered the rise in pedestrian deaths due to the bigger and better. SUVs and trucks are so high up that the drivers' sight lines are limited. As their gazes are on the distant horizon, they simply do not see pedestrians at ground level. They also don't see those of us who are beneath them in compact cars as was the case last Saturday when I was trying to exit the parking lot at Trader Joe's. A woman riding high in the saddle of a huge Suburban didn't see that little old I in my pseudo-lowrider Mazda 3 was perpendicular to her monstrosity and started backing out of her spot. Fortunately, the car in front of me moved in the knick of time so that I could hit the accelerator to escape the probability of my car's getting reduced to a crushed tin can. Thank Goodness for small favors. 

While I'm on this rant, pertaining to the parking lot of Trader Joe's (and parking garages), I'd like to broach the topic on differentiating between SUVs, mini-vans, vans, and pick-ups and compact cars, such as Austin Minis, VW Beetles, Priuses, etc. The former grouping DOES NOT BELONG under the nomenclature of "Compact" albeit I see these monsters parked in the tighter spaces labeled COMPACT in giant letters ALL OF THE TIME. Why? Hubris. Bigger is better, so "Biggers" can park wherever they want to. It's a free country. Right? Why should smaller cars have a more generous selection of parking spaces? (This is the thinking.) Well, just to let you"Biggers" know, there are engineers/architects who design these parking areas and take the width and length of all possible parked vehicles under consideration when planning the lots. If you "Biggers" cop an attitude and park where you don't belong, you limit the space in back of you and that of the other "Bigger" parked behind you so that you pretty much park yourselves in or just reduce a two-way road into a one-way path, making it harder for vehicles to move freely and safely around the lot. It's also a lot easier to gouge the doors of or hit any one or more "Biggers" parked next to you in the compact car spots. Ooo weee! Door dings and fender benders abound. If the trend continues, before you know it, your SUV or truck will look like it had an egregious outbreak of small pox or a bad case of acne albeit I realize that some of you don't care. Yet wouldn't it be nice if everyone followed the rules posted via signage instead of considering them just a suggestion? 

Of course, there have always been "Biggers." A long time ago (fifty years in fact), there was a gas crisis that convinced the "Biggers" back then to trade in their gas-guzzling, V8 Caddies for  practical, efficient Japanese imports, such as 4-cylinder Toyotas. How SUVs and pick-ups became stylish is beyond me. Maybe the Boomers whose parents had them take their El Dorados to the nearest gas line back in '76 actually had too much fun while waiting all night for gas? Or maybe the Generation X and Millennial "Biggers" just crave more confidence so they buy big to rise above the status quo on the roads? Who knows?

I have no answers, just advice. Biggers, obviously you can keep your pretentious possessions, but try to park where you're supposed to, and don't attempt to cut off us puny peons on the 405, 10, 101, 110, or elsewhere. Of course, don't forget to look down when making turns so that you don't hit any pedestrians crossing the street. Thank you. 

"That's all." 

#critique, #personal essay, #driving rules, #blog, #blogger, #rant, #LosAngeles, #car culture