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Spring is creeping around the corner, and it couldn’t have come any sooner (thank you very much Mr. Punxsutawney Phil).  I certainly welcome the spring, but there are two things I am always loathe to see return.

The first is allergies.  These are just about the most inane things that I have to deal with in my life.  There’s the sneezing, the stuffiness, the scratchy eyes, the running nose, and the cough.  And of course every five out of six TV commercials is from some pharmaceutical company showing how beautiful and glamorous allergies can be.  I end up making nearly a dozen trips down to my closest pharmacy to try and come up with the magic mixture of medicine which will get me through this 10 weeks of hell.  And I always find it, but only after nine and a half weeks.

The other thing I don’t look forward to in the spring is the reemergence of potholes.  Mankind has accomplished many great things: we have iPhones, bananas in New England, and even put a retired U.S. Senator in space.  But we have still not figured out a way to keep the snow from eating three foot holes into the highway!  Come on!  (How about instead of the Moon, we need to “choose [to eradicate potholes] not because it is easy, but because it is NECESSARY!”)

Maybe it’s just a matter of time before someone figures out the correct ratios and ingredients for a new tarmac or asphalt.  We should all be racking our brains and trying different things out while we cite the infinite monkey theorem.  Mix the concrete with saffron or lace the asphalt with banana peals.  Oh hell, try putting the concrete on top of the snow and see if that makes a difference.

And all spring we get to partake in the recreation of pothole avoidance.  It’s one of those feel-good sports where everyone thinks they’re better than average.  There are of course the basic techniques.  Before an unavoidable pothole you can inhale quickly to help make the car lighter and glide over the gaping abyss.  Grimacing and breathing in sharply through your teeth will invariably lessen any damage to your car.  Some of the more advanced techniques include the “short & precise swerve” where a pothole is avoided while staying in the same lane.  After every direct hit of a pothole it is necessary look into your dashboard with worrying eyes while apologizing.

Or in the spirit of the current political climate and all things socialist, let’s print money and stuff the potholes full.

In all things sport related I am always looking for that extra competitive advantage.  GPS systems with traffic avoidance and detouring software are already commonplace on high-end models of cars.  I’m sure that integrating some kind of pothole database wouldn’t be too difficult.  Then those Google camera vans could drive around mapping the locations and dimensions of every pothole, and include pictures.  GPS options could include routes with the least or most amounts of potholes, or a weekend excursion could be to visit the largest mapped pothole in the state.  Sweet.
Bring on the potholes.  My eyes are itchy, my nose is running, but I’m ready for whatever is out there.  I love spring.

I love Entourage.  Though my favorite show right now is Mad Men, I love Entourage because it’s simple and I don’t have to think.  One of my good frriends would succinctly describe the show to a neophyte as “a show about problems men wish they had.”  Another good description I’ve heard is “Sex and the City” for twenty-something males.  Whatever, I’m sold.  Men are much different than women in that we have to be cool and act indifferent regarding how vain us men actually are.  And Entourage is the only show that I know that strikes a chord just right that allows us to laugh at ourselves about it.  

I also love it for the product placements, specifically the collection of fine automobiles.  ’Vince’ is the golden boy of the entourage.  He wouldn’t hesitate at dropping a quarter of a million on a Ferrari California for his driving component, Turtle, on his birthday.  (Whom we see pulling up to a stop light next to 50 Cent moments later in that particular episode.)

And “E” (Eric) has been under the generous favor of Vincent to be cruising around L.A. in a brand new convertible Aston Martin (DB9 Volante to be precise).  And he’s paired with a grown up but still kind of lil’ Bow-Wow.

And everyone knows the black classic convertible which Johnny Drama drives.  You know what it looks like, but you may not know that it’s a 1965 triple black Lincoln Continental Convertible with the most distinguishing characteristic: the suicide doors.  I mean who else drives this thing?  When someone mentions Entourage I bounce the opening theme song through my head with a camera rising over the Lincoln as the foursome step out into the L.A night.  Timeless.

Ari Gold.  The insensitive, callous, no-nonsense, Loyd-get-out-of-my-way agent who every man wants to become.  Ari walks with the East Coast authoritative swagger, darting his eyes around his agency looking for any excuse to berate anyone in order to shape the company into what he wants it to be.  And Ari drives home in either a brand new Lexus LS or the Mercedez S class.  (That’s gotta be some magical product placement arrangement to allow him to switch back and forth as often as he does.)  

In previous season’s the foursome were ferried around in the ostentatious (but lustful) yellow Hummer H2, driven nearly exclusively by Turtle.  But now the chauffeuring is done in the standard “Black Raven” Cadillac Escalade.  (FYI: Escalade is actually an English noun that means an ascent or climb over protected or craggy walls.)  I think the Escalade has served it’s time and needs to be replaced.  Though at first I didn’t like it, Entourage would be a perfect springboard for the Porsche Panamera.  (The industry was aghast when Porsche announced this 4-door sedan.)  With a car like this, the public will hate it until the manufacturer convinces them that they actually love it.  And this is most easily done by meticulous product placement.  Whatever the price-tag, Porsche needs to become good friends with the producers of Entourage and then have the foursome cruising around in L.A.  After that this car will officially be hot.  

Why is that Ashley girl on the show?  She looks like she’s 14 and it’s creepy.  Get E a new girl.

I took my driving exam on July 20.  My birthday is June 1st.  I was sixteen for nearly two months without my license.  While my friends had made Driver’s Education their numero uno priority during junior year of high school, I had to defer until summer vacation because I was busy trying to distinguish myself academically by taking the extra college prep courses.  Did it pay off?  TBD.  Though I did finish college…eventually.  

But during those six weeks before my driving exam I was dialed in on acing that test and it was nearly all I could think about.  I think a good visual would be major leaguer Gary Sheffield up to bat, with his bat oscillating viciously behind him ready to unwind an immense force guided by those characteristic beady eyes that led one to believe that he was always on some psycho-stimulant.  My instrument would be a red 1999 Dodge Stratus (stick shift).  I am still proud to say that I aced both the practice and actual exam.  I was the only one in my class to accomplish this.

But things really hit home the day after I picked up my license.  I’m sure my parents were dreading it but I got in the car and drove down the driveway…by myself.  After a few miles I glanced at the empty passenger seat and truly went berserk.  It was a chaotic episode of expletives, gasps, and forehead slaps.  The next step in the evolution was to blast some Lenny Kravitz (“Fly Away”), roll down all the windows, and don my Foakleys.  I had arrived.  I was in complete control of over 3,000 lbs of metal on four wheels and it would go in any direction that I commanded.  

Unfortunately somewhere along the road of life driving loses it’s thrill to the drudgery of routine and responsibility.  But it doesn’t have to stay that way!  Driving can still be fun.  It just takes some planning and a positive attitude for a more serene and mature experience.  We live in a society nearly crazed on competition and it would suggest that the only way to have fun driving again is to go racing.  But what I’m talking about is a genuine and refined experience that can be cherished as a cultural pastime.  Something that a couple or a father and a son can enjoy together.  I then officially beckon for the revival of the leisure drive or Sunday driving.  And to help America get this back, I am highlighting a road that is under-appreciated and prime for such enjoyment.

I was recently in Rhode Island.  It’s the tiniest state in the U.S. and 30 miles south of the capital Providence is an island with a town called Newport.  This was the summer destination for the upper crust during the Gilded Age.  The fabulously wealthy needed summer homes so mansions were built on incredibly grand scales along the shore.  The main roadway for the southern coast of Newport is Ocean Drive.  

Ocean Drive is a fantastic road.  A speed limit of 25 mph prevents the scenery from flying by too quickly.  Though the gentle curves and hills still allow for gentle sensations of speed.  On a clear day you can start with a view of the two mile long Newport Bridge straddling Narragansett Bay which is usually teeming with sailboats of all sizes and configuration.  The rocky coastline is a favorite for recreational fisherman and their curious and canine best friends.  The waves crashing against the crags sends the unmistakable aroma of sea salt wafting over Ocean Drive.  (Constantly reminding me of my favorite flavor of potato chips.)

There are numerous beaches and some are highly exclusive.  The style of architecture for the residential properties run the gambit from old and awesome looking to modern and awesome looking.  On one bend in the road there is a parking area for people to stop and picnic or enjoy the scene.  Thanks to the consistent winds this spot is a favorite to fly kites.  And it is a unique thing to drive under dozens of kites.  I would rent a convertible just to accentuate this experience alone.

Finally at the end of Ocean Drive you make a right turn onto Bellevue Avenue which comprises the Bellevue Avenue Historic District.  The avenue has many of the mansions built by various captains of industry during the Gilded age (a period of unparalleled wealth and prosperity).  I’m not even going to begin to describe the grand scale of these mansions, but the aristocracy in the air is so palpable you could swear you had somehow wound up across the Atlantic in Versailles.

So there’s a lot of neat things to see that are sure to send an ordinary teenager’s eyes rolling from apathy.  Well America, it’s time to wake up and face our antipathy towards reality.  There are a lot of sources of influence out there that would rather have us watching TV all Saturday becoming aware of corporate America’s brands and products.  I was in Newport on Saturday and I went for a drive just for the pleasure of it.  My car wasn’t brand new, I didn’t look like Robert Redford, and I wasn’t trying to impress anyone.  I have a very pleasing image left in my mind of the sun setting behind a boat and an island that I know nothing about.  My imagination is still concocting fantastic anecdotes about who may have lived in one of the castles I saw.  And the sky was dotted with kites as I drove with the slightest of smiles.  That was my Saturday and I felt like I had arrived…again.