Joan Baez’ hilarious “Time Rag”, from 1977, contains this bit of fantasy:
I scribbled it down on the wall calendar
And wondered about my interviewer
Maybe he’d be just a real nice guy
Bright and sympathetic with a roving eye
We’d forget all about the assignment due
Formalities, photos, and the interview
We’d hop on into his big rent-a-car
Go for a lovely drive, not far … maybe France
Oh, yeah. Right across the Gulf Stream. Fortunately, we have good tires.
And yet the idea still has resonance:
I said, “I’m taking you out to dinner.”
“Great!” he said. “Where?”
“My favorite restaurant,” I said.
“GREAT!!!” he said. “Where?”
“It’s in France,” I said.
He was silent for a moment. “Oh … I guess we won’t be driving.”
“Actually,” I said, “we will.”
Admittedly, I’m still lame enough to think proposing on the Jumbotron is cool, but what the hell: why not drive to France? (They flew to Paris, rented a car, and drove six hours to a little Breton village called Dinan.)