Status update:

We’re off to SEMA.  Yes, we’re meeting up with old classmates while there. No, there is not an agenda or an expectancy, except Vegas-y Vegasness, clogged with crazier-than-usual cars. And that’s plenty.

[Ed.:  Also whiskey, beyond the usual one Wild Turkey.]

Curbhunter Fails

Curbhunter: it’s not for the weak or stupid or poor. Unlike so many other things in my life lately, two of three IS bad. This guy seems to have avoided all three:

  • not poor, because: year old Range Rover
  • not weak, because balls enough to park a Range Rover outside the shithole complex that makes Mesa Ridge Apartments look like luxury condos.
  • Maybe that is stupid.  So is overnight parking in general.  But look in the front seat! A GIANT PUKE BUCKET! That is malice aforethought Eagle Scout like preparation.  You can’t always find a Hill Auditorium trash can when you need one.

Continue reading “Curbhunter Fails”

My Frat Bro Russell

Russell Something-or-other drove a Fiero like this. Drive-By Shootings: The Lesser Lights.

Pontiac Fiero

We would call it “the Chevette of 1980s mid-engined ‘sports’ cars,” except that it involves Russell the stoner.  We nearly got in a fight with him about his previous car, a Pontiac T1000.  We called it a Chevette by any other name: he was adamant that not only was it NOT merely a re-badged POS, it had “completely different wiring” and components.

Uh, no, sorry.  Go hit that bong again, dude.

So, we’ll just say “Oh look” and be glad this one doesn’t have a JC Whitney vinyl bra like Russell’s.

Too Close To Home

In every sense.

I’m driving the thing that is not a  redRam 1500 with a Hemi and a touchscreen that I REALLY want car to the office. Around the corner, I see a parked Camry with a critical ass implosion. It’s like my neighbors’ kids after one of their constant DR calls.  Plus it’s a Camry: a crash is an improvement.

camry crash
oddly familiar

But I keep driving. Slowly. The debris field around the car is unsettling.  Then I remember.  I know this story.  I lived it.  It’s actually never that far out of mind. Continue reading “Too Close To Home”

Those who forget history…

are doomed to repeat it.  Sometimes, so are the people who remember it.

I got my start behind the wheel in a parking lot, at one point with a ginormous floaty Lincoln.  Never on the street – escalation is bad, mmkay?Then more lots, and then finally  on the road with Dad.

So too with my kid.  Kid2 just got a learner’s permit.  Kid 2 has long ago driven a Continental in an empty parking lot.  Today it was more lots and then a couple of cautious forays onto the street.

The big difference?  A stick shift that was not a total fail. Also, a cop.

Oh shit.  A cop.  He was looking at us.  We need to switch places.
Dad, I’ve got my permit. We’re legal.
Sorry.  Force of habit.


Eat the Rich: We Called It

About a month ago, we noticed some newspaper attention for a car show we go to every month. Concurrently, the “usual suspects” (whatever the fuck that is supposed to mean) changed the name of this thing from “Cars and Coffee” to “Scottsdale Motorsports Gathering.”  The new name seemed a bit pretentious; the media coverage portended more everything in the following months.

And it happened. Continue reading “Eat the Rich: We Called It”