The lovely and talented Veronica Gamba, Playboy’s Miss November 1983, has a need for speed and a jealous streak.
Photographed by Arny Freytag
“I’m a very jealous person. Stupid jealous. I think it’s a sickness. It’s OK for me to look at other guys but not for my boyfriend to look at other girls. It’s so sick. I should be put away!”
Isn’t that so often the case with jealousy? We covet 100% of our lover’s attention, but excuse our own inability to reciprocate it: by extension, if we are all doing this, then we must only assume that the truth is we will never, ever get that 100% of anyone’s attention, it’s impossible and we’re all just lying to each other.
I’m striving to find a positive outcome from this chain of thought. How about this. Unless you are very, very lucky, the likelihood is that no one will ever be able to snap out of their own shit and love you as much as you deserve, nor even as much as you are capable of loving yourself, so maybe treat yourself more kindly than you do? I’m going to try to pull at least that small slice of upbeat advice from the devastating reality of human isolation and make that a project in positivity. Maybe I will take myself out on a date. If I get fresh with myself, I will slap me.
“I have fantasies about being a race-car driver. It’s not only the speed, it’s the enjoyment I get out of just looking at a car. I have very strange feelings when I look at a car I like. It’s a turn-on, kind of. I’m like, awed by it. I’ve driven as fast as 120 miles an hour. It’s like I’m going to die at any second; like I’m going to explode. I used to love to drive on the autobahn. Cars go by you like — shuuum! So far, I’ve gotten only one speeding ticket, and that was for doing 42 in a 30-mile zone. It wasn’t even worth getting a ticket at that speed!” (“Princess from the Pampas,” Playboy, November 1983)
I really understand where she’s coming from. I had my license revoked when I was 19 because I sped like a maniac. I accrued too many points on my record in a one year period, absolutely all from speeding tickets. It was the “exhibitionist speed” and “reckless endangerment” ones that put me over the top, I reckon. Fucking bullshit. But I recognized the dangerous side to my obsession with vehicular shenanigans and, even after my license was eligible to be reinstated, I did not immediately pursue getting it back. I waited until I was emotionally ready to have such a potentially fatal machine in my hands. (Again, so often — the secret shadow side of our hottest passion is the potential for our destruction.)
I still go for long, remote country drives and may from time to time, if I’m alone, get the speed going a little high, but I’ve come to understand that the more appropriate, safe, and comforting thrill I get from driving is the strong sense of being in control, of choosing my own destination. Plus, I have to live for my daughter’s sake, so I don’t allow myself to push the limits of my speed any longer.
Looks like that is likely the case for Ms. Gamba these days as well; according to the wiki, Veronica “has been married twice and has a child from each marriage, a son (Christopher), born 1980 and a daughter (Melissa) born in 1987″ (the wiki).
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