By Daniel Rigney
Houstonians have a paradoxical love-hate relationship with their cars. They curse the traffic other drivers cause, the potholes other cars have made, and the cost of fueling their thirsty vehicles for the daily 20-mile commute to their jobs in the carbon industry.
At the same time, Houstonians also seem to embrace their cars, viewing these as extensions of themselves, and even as art objects. Our cars bespeak our tastes, our cultural roots, and our place in the financial standings. Corporate executives in Houston seem to favor tastefully understated BMWs and Mercedes, while oil workers on the other side of town are more apt to drive pickups through the smog that our traffic and industry manufacture.
I drive as little as possible myself, preferring to take light rail whenever I can. But I don’t begrudge others their art-mobiles. In fact, my favorite event of the year is Houston’s annual art car parade, previously reported here.
Houston is the art car capital of the world. Eat your heart out, Minneapolis.
Each year at the art car parade I make a mental note of the number of hybrid or electric cars in the procession. When their number surpasses the number of internal combustion engines, we’ll know we’ve turned a corner in the war on warming.
Last weekend, our fellow OS blogger jmac1949 from the San Francisco Bay area was in town. I persuaded him to join me on a blogging field trip to witness a smaller art car parade, the first annual Slab Parade, held in McGregor Park on the city’s predominantly African-American southeast side. Jmac grew up in the Houston area, so these are his old pedal-stomping grounds. He and I set out in a spirit of adventure on Sunday afternoon, cameras and blogging pads at the ready, to record the historic event.
As the parade approached McGregor Park, I got my first look at a 'slab.' No less an authority than the Urban Dictionary explains that “SLAB stands for ‘Slow, Loud And Bangin.’ It's a term used mostly in Texas for an old school car such as a custom Cadillac or Lincoln fitted with chrome accessories such as grill, Rolls Royce goddess hood ornament, trunk belt buckles, and wire wheel covers.”
These are art cars with an African-American flair. When we lived in San Antonio, we often saw their Hispanic/Latino counterparts, the low-riders, bouncing through Brackenridge Park on Sunday afternoons. As Norm Loukinen observes in MySA, you may be from San Antonio “if you know what a low-rider is and admire its auto-ethnicity.” (And please, please, folks, don’t call it “San Antone.”)
Here in Houston it’s a beautiful day for a slab parade. Jmac and I are admiring slabs like this little blue number featuring gull wings and a longhorn grill.
Here’s a pair of tricked out tricycles -- candy-apple red three-wheelers resting alongside a traditional Texas pickup.
We even see a few long-wheeled bikes like this one. Slabcycles?
And then there’s the next generation of slabs, the Baby Slab.
City Councilwoman Wanda Adams, gracing the back seat of a classic black Cadillac convertible, sends warm greetings from sunny Houston.
Bling is not my thing, but as flashy cars go, these are certainly among the finest I’ve seen. I look at the Houston art car culture as an authentic manifestation of indigenous folk art, and a grass-roots democratic alternative to the high-end world of upper-class investment art. These cars go over the top in style, and they do it with a jazzy sense of humor.
Ride on, art cars. Ride on.
But beware the Jaws of Gold.
Danagram
;] rolling since 2011
Houstonians have a paradoxical love-hate relationship with their cars. They curse the traffic other drivers cause, the potholes other cars have made, and the cost of fueling their thirsty vehicles for the daily 20-mile commute to their jobs in the carbon industry.
At the same time, Houstonians also seem to embrace their cars, viewing these as extensions of themselves, and even as art objects. Our cars bespeak our tastes, our cultural roots, and our place in the financial standings. Corporate executives in Houston seem to favor tastefully understated BMWs and Mercedes, while oil workers on the other side of town are more apt to drive pickups through the smog that our traffic and industry manufacture.
I drive as little as possible myself, preferring to take light rail whenever I can. But I don’t begrudge others their art-mobiles. In fact, my favorite event of the year is Houston’s annual art car parade, previously reported here.
Houston is the art car capital of the world. Eat your heart out, Minneapolis.
Each year at the art car parade I make a mental note of the number of hybrid or electric cars in the procession. When their number surpasses the number of internal combustion engines, we’ll know we’ve turned a corner in the war on warming.
Last weekend, our fellow OS blogger jmac1949 from the San Francisco Bay area was in town. I persuaded him to join me on a blogging field trip to witness a smaller art car parade, the first annual Slab Parade, held in McGregor Park on the city’s predominantly African-American southeast side. Jmac grew up in the Houston area, so these are his old pedal-stomping grounds. He and I set out in a spirit of adventure on Sunday afternoon, cameras and blogging pads at the ready, to record the historic event.
As the parade approached McGregor Park, I got my first look at a 'slab.' No less an authority than the Urban Dictionary explains that “SLAB stands for ‘Slow, Loud And Bangin.’ It's a term used mostly in Texas for an old school car such as a custom Cadillac or Lincoln fitted with chrome accessories such as grill, Rolls Royce goddess hood ornament, trunk belt buckles, and wire wheel covers.”
These are art cars with an African-American flair. When we lived in San Antonio, we often saw their Hispanic/Latino counterparts, the low-riders, bouncing through Brackenridge Park on Sunday afternoons. As Norm Loukinen observes in MySA, you may be from San Antonio “if you know what a low-rider is and admire its auto-ethnicity.” (And please, please, folks, don’t call it “San Antone.”)
Here in Houston it’s a beautiful day for a slab parade. Jmac and I are admiring slabs like this little blue number featuring gull wings and a longhorn grill.
Here’s a pair of tricked out tricycles -- candy-apple red three-wheelers resting alongside a traditional Texas pickup.
We even see a few long-wheeled bikes like this one. Slabcycles?
And then there’s the next generation of slabs, the Baby Slab.
City Councilwoman Wanda Adams, gracing the back seat of a classic black Cadillac convertible, sends warm greetings from sunny Houston.
Bling is not my thing, but as flashy cars go, these are certainly among the finest I’ve seen. I look at the Houston art car culture as an authentic manifestation of indigenous folk art, and a grass-roots democratic alternative to the high-end world of upper-class investment art. These cars go over the top in style, and they do it with a jazzy sense of humor.
Ride on, art cars. Ride on.
But beware the Jaws of Gold.
Danagram
;] rolling since 2011
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