Shoe by Gary Brookins and Susie MacNelly for April 07, 2013

A girlfriend says that I have to name my squad car after her, as it is an Im-Paula.

i had an ’83 toyota celica i called “junior”. i made sure i said it like sean connery in the movie, “indiana jones and the last crusade”.

p.s…“do not resuscitate” is a terrible thing for an exner classic like cosmo’s ’59 desoto" to be saying!

I had a ’51 Cadillac limo that I called “Mother Bear”……

I named my Cavelier “Silver Bullet” after the Silver Bullet band. I haven’t named my Cruze though.

my subaru legacy was “emeril”

I named mine Vlad. Vlad the Impala.

I have a 2001 Avalon. I call it my “Grand-pop-mobile”

I named my Honda “Fenry”.

I named my Mazda ‘Ahura’

I had a ‘65 Plymouth Barracuda, whose name was ’Moiv’. Even had a plastic figurine above the radio that was the personification of ‘Moiv’. Sadly, when I got married and had children, ‘Moiv’ had to be replaced by a ‘72 van which didn’t get named except cursed at.

Cosmo’s is the best one! How could any red blooded American not be in love with the automobile ?

I hada 73 Gremlin named Grumpy.

My TDI is named Teddi, my former Golf was Arnie, and my Boxster was Boris (see The Who)

Susan, I mean this in best way possible. Get a friend with a car and start where you are, NYC, and make point B, Buffalo. But don’t take the thruway. Pick up NY 17 just off 287 and keep going when it turns into I86 and go all the way to Jamestown. Then turn North to Buffalo. Wait awhile for Spring to truly set in. The scenery is magnificent and you will not have nearly as much traffic when you get out of NYC metro. Be Blessed and have a great time.

Starting in 1977: ’67 Impala was “The Bat”; Opel was “Pooky”; Chevette was George; Sapporo was "Garfield (had such an attitude); Metro is “Egg”

My 2002 Hyundai Santa Fe is named Stormhound. All my vehicles have had names.

I respect your opinion, an’ my understanding is that your position on cars is held by most females …perhaps there is something in the DNA of males that more readily makes them kindred spirits of machines – especially those that go fast an’ look deliciously sexy doing it. I’m not kidding…it really could be something in the genes of the male gender.I’ve spent my entire adult life loving automobiles. For many guys, they exist as more than a mere means of transportation, but as an extension (if you will…) of themselves, and their personality (real or only self-perceived).For a moment, forget the economic an’ energy issues we are facing…an’ try to imagine the healthy American male that would prefer a Prius over a Camaro, all other things being equal. They even cost about the same money – but they say totally different things about their owners… Guys get an adrenaline rush from powerful cars that few women can understand or appreciate – Danica Patrick would be a notable exception, of course. Generally, though, women are much more practical an’ conservative when they are choosing an automobile – men, on the other hand, are often ruled by a different passion for the beautiful, powerful, sexy adrenaline machine. Take the all-American sports car – the Chevrolet Corvette – not everyone’s cup of tea in a car – but you wouldn’t find too many guys who would turn down the chance to drive one, or to own one…I think I read somewhere that about 95% of Corvette sales are to men – no surprise.there.

I always call mine “Baby” because it never goes anyplace without its rattle.

I only call my cars names when they don’t start. Those names are all NSFW.

Americans love their cars because it’s more than getting from Point A to Point B… it’s getting from Point A to Point Z! Big country!

Must be a bit young. Now cars are just transportation devices. When I started driving they transported your soul.

My first two cars were unnamed but the third, a ‘64 Dodge Polara, became Lorelei. That was followed by the Canary, a ’69 Austin America. Next up was a ’66 Ford Galaxie without a name. That was traded in on Mavis the Maverick who stayed with me for 11 years. She was followed by a Dodge Omni that fell apart, bit by bit. Next up was a ’91 Pontiac Sunbird that was only called excretable names followed by Squeak, my ’87 Mustang who’s remained with me for 18 years. Anything newer would be too complicated to maintain. No airbags, fewer annoying warning noises and the instrument panel still uses English labels on the controls. Hieroglyphics in newer stuff hinder my ability to understand functions.

I never named a car, but I’ve been accused of running a couple of them on witchcraft …

Hey, if it works!

@SUSAN NEWMAN – Maybe things aren’t so far apart where you live :-)