When I think of things that are “classic,” I think of cars made in the 1950s and one liners delivered by Henny Youngman. Wine vintages can be classic. Artistic eras. Rock music. People like to apply it to questionable behavior, when so-and-so got drunk and puked at a black-tie dinner, and it was “just classic.” In my neighborhood, there is a “Classic Car Wash and Propane.”
This place is just classic too. The propane in particular. I grill using that propane, and let me tell you, it’s truly classic. I’m not sure about the car wash because I never use it, but just looking at how popular it is and all the attendants around it taking cash, I think, yes, it very likely is classic. The one thing I don’t understand is why the gasoline isn’t classic. Isn’t an independent gas dealer these days the very definition of classic? Anyway, this has prompted me to go around my house identifying things that are classic, like the sheet of copy paper that’s taped to the ceiling in our office. Not only is this a classic example of my not having dealt with certain of this house’s aesthetic and operational shortcomings, but the previous owner’s taping of a piece of copy paper to the ceiling to cover an improperly recessed junction box is, I would submit, simply classic.