Where did the Gingermobile go?

Batman had the Batmobile, the Lone Ranger had Silver and even Shrek had Donkey - so, just recently, people have been asking why I've removed my little sidebar about The Gingermobile.

Well, folks, the Gingermobile is no more.

That's to say, the car is fine. It's now the powerful chariot of a very pretty girl from Mercer County. But since she's a honey blond at best, my 1985 Pontiac Firebird no longer has the right to be called The Gingermobile. In fact, nothing does.

You heard correct: Il n'y a plus de Gingermobile.

Friends, there comes a time in a man's life when a gas-guzzling, two-seater sports car is apparently no longer an appropriate means of transport for a loving husband with a small, bouncy baby. So even though it broke my heart, I sold my beloved dream car to young couple who would no doubt enjoy it much more than I could.

When I was eighteen, I was driving the original Gingermobile - a '78 Triumph TR7 - and it was the bee's knees, the mutt's nuts and the cat's pajamas all rolled into one. Hopefully, the young couple I sold it to think exactly the same of my lovely car.

But like the passing of a beloved pet, it's not easy to fill the absence left by a heroic steed. I've been thinking long and hard about whether or not I even need a new Gingermobile - and, if I did, what that Gingermobile would be.

I can confirm only the following:

1. It will be red.
2. It will be fast.
3. It will make people stop and scratch their heads.
4. It will be wildly impractical.
5. It will predate 1990.
6. It will drink gasoline like it was going out of fashion.
7. It will be all those things and yet, somehow, more...

Currently, my eye is turning to my original American chariot, the pimpin' Lincoln of former New Jersey Governor Jim 'Friday Night Special' McGreevey himself.

That rampant red roadster, made famous by a mention on Playboy Radio's breakfast show, turned so many heads, I had to have a chiropractor on retainer (try her, she's the best in New York.)

With seating for six, trunk-space for golf clubs, suitcases and at least two dead bodies, plus square good looks like I used to have (before I was introduced to American-style meatloaf) the old 80s Lincoln Town Car personified the most grown-up aspects of my wildly immature car buying tastes.

Perhaps The Gingermobile will ride again - and perhaps, that's an indication of what it might look like...

Adieu The Pimpmobile

With Tina just about ready to pop, we'd had to give serious thought to getting a more sensible automobile - which meant that one of the two red Rolymobiles had to go.

Hearing this, the Lincoln decided to do what every single Roly car does upon hearing the news that it might be sold... [In a couple of week's time, after still being an invaluable transportation unit until that time - Editorial Bear]

It died.

There'd been an intermittent problem with the starter for a while now. Occasionally, if the car wasn't firmly in Park or Neutral, the starter would whizz, but refuse to start the car.

Occasional became permanent. This morning, the Lincoln refused to start and no amount of coaxing, jiggling or swearing would get it to work.

So while I was at the office, oblivious to the whole thing (my parents did the same thing when they got the cat neutered) Tina called the tow company and the Lincoln went away to wherever old livery cars go when they die. [The scrap heap - Editorial Bear.]

I am actually very sad about this. I loved that stupid old car.

For such an astonishing ridiculous beast, it was comfortable, reliable (until this morning) and drove like a dream. It was like cruising in a recliner, sitting behind that big, wooden dashboard, staring out across six feet of gleaming red bonnet.

The Pimpin' Lincoln had style. It cruised on a cushion of air. It could do 85 for hours on end, absolutely silently and without breaking a sweat. The metallic red paint and heavy-duty sound system were worthy of any ghetto-fabulous Pimpmobile and - according to popular legend - former New York Governor Jim McGreevey had done the deed (with all sorts of people, in a variety of combinations) in the back seat.

It had even been discussed on Playboy Radio. My car. Mentioned on their breakfast show.

Goodbye, Pimpmobile. You will be missed.

Can I sell it on eBay?

My cherry-red 1986 Lincoln Town Car has done us proud since we arrived in America.

It's gamely taken me to and from work every day, plus handled the occasional 'jaunt' out of state, to the suburban strip-malls of Long Island or the unspoilt farmland of Pennsylvania.

But like in all good melodramas, just as you've come to love and trust a (mechanical) member of your family, it's daunting and dastardly back-story emerges.

In this case, it's the sordid story of another disgraced tri-state Governor - and the starring role my Lincoln plays in his continued infamy.

You see, I bought my cherry-red car from a rapper, who had sprayed it metallic red to suit the rest of his fleet of old, but well preserved luxury cars. In it's 'previous life,' my Lincoln had been a business-like silver and apparently belonged to non-other than disgraced New Jersey Governor Jim McGreevey, back in the days when he was mayor of Woodbridge.

I say apparently because I have no proof. I'm taking the word of a virtual stranger, who maintained that the reason my Lincoln's central-locking has a virtual life of it's own is because it was 'uprated' to provide the former Governor 'enhanced security.'

He could have been fibbing - but I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt.

The Governor's Lincoln

Before Eliot Spitzer's hypocrisy was revealed, the most recognizable 'grubby governor' in the New York area was James Edward "Jim" McGreevey - a Colombia and Georgetown alumni who served as an New Jersey assemblyman, local mayor and state senator before winning the 2001 gubernatorial election and becoming Governor of New Jersey.

A controversial governor, mired by accusations of corruption, his downfall came with the appointment of Israeli Golan Cipel as his homeland security adviser.

When the Bergen County Record revealed Cipel's lack of qualifying experience for the position, a background check was launched, leading to The Record classifying Cipel as a 'poet' and a 'sailor' and making innuendo-laden references to Cipel and McGreevey's 'close friendship' and how they 'often travelled together.'

Forced to explain the decision to appoint Cipel to the post, it was soon revealed that Cipel and McGreevey were more than just 'close friends.' They were, in fact, lovers - which probably went a long way to explaining why McGreevey had appointed him to a position for which Cipel was unqualified.

The allegations of corruption and the revelation that McGreevey had cheated on his wife with another man led to the Governor stepping down from his position in November 2004. So ended the sordid saga of Jim McGreevey... Or so you would think.

The Blameless Wife

Meet Dina Matos McGreevey - Jim McGreevey's second wife, who he was married to when revelations of his gay affair came to light.

After learning of her husband's homosexuality, she filed for divorce - and that messy court case has been dragging on since October 2004.

Jim McGreevey wants custody of their kids. Dina Matos wants $600,000. So far, her major trump-card has been her status as the wronged woman, cruelly deceived by a man who lied to her from the very beginning about his sexual orientation.

But just today, Teddy Pedersen, the former driver of then-Mayor McGreevey, revealed that Dina Matos was just as guilty of hypocrisy as her husband. Not only was she fully aware of her husband's malleable sexuality - she regularly joined in a weekly three way known to the participants as 'Friday Night Specials.'

Starting out with dinner and drinks at a local TGI Friday's restaurant, the 'party' would continue in no-less than the back of my car - before winding up at McGreevey's Woodbridge condo.

I'm happy I got the velor seats shampooed now!

This revelation has seriously dented Dina Matos McGreevey's veneer of innocence - possibly giving former Governor McGreevey more clout to demand custody of his kids.

"It's frustrating to hear her call Gov. Spitzer a hypocrite while she's out there being as dishonest as anyone could be about her own life," said Pedersen, 29. "She's framed herself as a victim - yet she was a willing participant."

"She had complete control over what happened in her relationship," he said. "She was there, she knew what was happening, she made the moves. We all did. It's disgusting to watch her play the victim card."

In addition to providing the transport for McGreevey's much-publicised 'Friday Night Specials,' I wonder what other misadventures my Lincoln's witnessed?

If only that walnut-veneer dashboard could talk...

Disclaimer: Although it is widely accepted (by me) that my Lincoln Town Car previously belonged to Jim McGreevey, I have no proof of this beyond the word of a rapper and a bumper-sticker promoting McGreevey's 2001 campaign for Governor. Take this article in the spirit in which it was written.