Did you ever wonder why cars have become so bland—literally toaster ovens on wheels?

Throughout history, cars were works of art. Each year, you eagerly awaited the unveiling of new models, marveling at the gleaming chrome, the rich smell of leather, the elegant curves and shapes, and dashboards adorned with real wood—true craftsmanship at its highest form. Even the paint had soul, with pure lacquer that shimmered beautifully. Horns had distinct, dynamic sounds. Back then, driving was an experience—you were engaged, feeling the road, controlling the machine with precision, not slipping into a hypnotic trance as today’s vehicles encourage.

Why has this happened? Why have they stripped away the beauty and individuality from our cars? The answer lies in the larger push to transition us into something else—something controlled. We think electric cars and self-driving technology are luxuries, but in reality, they are tools to take away our autonomy. Higher fuel costs, congestion pricing, and restrictive regulations aren’t accidental; they are calculated moves to eliminate choice.

I’m a car collector myself, and I cherish the simple pleasure of working on a car or washing it—the feel of that lacquer, wiping down real rubber and chrome, the smell of the interior. It’s not just about a car being classic; it’s about knowing that someone, with their own hands, actually created it—not a robot. This is something I learned from my father. We worked together in the construction field, doing fine carpentry. People used to say to him, "Bob, you have golden hands." That’s what I think of when I see beautiful architecture and beautifully crafted cars—art made by human hands, not mass-produced for efficiency alone.

Ask yourself over and over—why have our modes of transportation, the buildings we work in, and the homes we live in become so sterile? When I’m in the New York State Capitol, I see the breathtaking 1870s-style architecture, built with care and artistry. But then I look at the Legislative Office Building, where my office is, built in the late 1960s and 1970s—a mess of white and green marble, something brutalist, without heart or passion. It’s as if they just threw up the marble wherever it landed, not even book-matching it for symmetry—just getting it done, with no regard for beauty or longevity. And the irony? That kind of construction isn’t holding up nearly as well as the architecture built a century prior.

This isn’t about progress; it’s about control. It’s about robbing us of our past and molding us into a future where we no longer own our choices. It’s time to return to true artistry, true craftsmanship, and true individuality. Let’s reject this artificial future and reclaim our right to beauty, tradition, and personal freedom.