Back in 1983, when our family bought a new, brown Cutlass Ciera,
my mom stated that the car would be like another room of the house —
she could take naps or I could do my homework there. She was probably
trying to justify the impact the purchase would have on our quiescent
family budget, but as I was watching drivers applying makeup in their
cars this morning on their way to work, I realized she might have been
right about the meaning of a car to Americans. Maybe one reason for our
destructive attachment to large vehicles stems from the fact that they
aren’t just a way to get from here to there: they actually are living quarters.

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