To Finish 45th Out Of 60, First You Must Finish
It was six years ago that my Neon last completed a NASA race. In the time since, I’ve raced everything from the 24 Hours of Lemons to Grand-Am Koni Challenge, Continue Reading →
The Critics Respond, Part Thirty-Eight
It’s not the biggest hit TTAC’s ever had; that honor, in the post-Farago era at least, goes to a short piece Ronnie Schreiber wrote about the “Porsche Design Soundbar” last year. But my analysis of the Audi ad was the fastest-moving long-form to appear on the site since my Lamborghini Urus opinion piece of 2012. And it could have been even bigger; thanks to a combination of factors including me being slow to respond on an editing question or two because I was on the way to Indianapolis to get measured for a Nomex race suit, we sent it out the door seven hours later than we should have.
Oh well. If wishes were fishes, we’d all eat salmon every night the way my father is doing in his unstinting effort to live forever. The artcle was, and continues to be, remarkably popular nonetheless, thanks to links in from a variety of general-interest heavy-hitter sites like Instapundit and the “Kotaku In Action” subreddit. As you’d expect, many of those non-automotive outlets are far more concerned with the general societal implications of the advertisement in question than they are interested in what it means for the car business.
Given some of the recent political sensitivity at TTAC among both readers and management, I made every effort to ensure that this editorial was clearly marked “before the jump” as a potentially controversial opinion piece. The opening paragraphs, and even the title, should have made the readers aware that I’d be addressing issues outside the stark sales-statistic meat-and-potatoes that defines the site’s current content and direction.
Apparently, there was one jagoff out there who didn’t see all the warning signs and managed to accidentally electrocute himself on the third rail of having to read something besides December’s CUV sales rankings.
If You’re Not #withher, Then You’re #notwithus
Please welcome a lifelong friend of mine who is an honest-to-God, no-surgery-required, cisgender female. After a conversation we had recently, I implored her to share her views with our Riverside Green readers. To protect her identity, I’ve given her a username that makes me laugh. Enjoy!—Bark
On November 9, 2016, my best friend texted me. “Well, it’s done. I voted. I voted for HIM.” I laughed, because honestly, minus a tiny snippet of hope in the very back of my brain, I thought Hillary had the election in the bag. “Remember,” I said, “This was an easy decision. Better to vote for an honest asshole who gets economics than a dishonest criminal who is married to a dude who got a blow job in the Oval.” I got the “LOL” and we both went about our day. That night, I stared at the television, incredulous, as the ticker declared that Trump would win Wisconsin. My phone buzzed. “Holy Shit, Lizzie. He’s going to win this thing. You were right about the silent voters.”
I am a 38 year old, pro-choice, gay marriage supporter. I live in a state where it’s legal to buy marijuana for recreational purposes, and frankly, I have no problem with that whatsoever. I did not hesitate when I filled in my ballot in for Donald J. Trump. Oh, and I’m a woman with a graduate degree. But, up until now, I haven’t been able to talk about that at all, because there’s an incredibly curious phenomenon happening with women in America right now.
The Media Will Show You All The Pictures You Need To Have An Opinion
Oh, that crazy Donald Trump. He’s at it again with more racist policies. This time, he’s signing an executive order to double the minimum salary for H-1B workers to $130,000, making it impossible for those poor Indians to come over to America and take all the tech jobs.
Facebook is enraged. Every public post on the subject has said that Trump is a moron/racist/sexist/idiot.Well, he might be all of those things, or none of them. But one thing he certainly is not is a Democratic Congresswoman from California named Zoe Lofgren.
1979 Ford Mustang Ghia: The Personal Luxury Pony Car
Anyone out there remember when there were luxury versions of pony cars? Yes, pony cars. Please don’t call them muscle cars. The term, ‘muscle car’ has been overused to the point of irrelevancy. No, a 460-powered ’72 Thunderbird is NOT a muscle car, and neither is a 1975 Country Squire. Neither is a Maverick or V8-powered Chevy Monza. Yes, I have heard a Maverick-A MAVERICK, for Pete’s sake!-been referred to as a muscle car. Nope. No. Wrong wrong wrong! Now where was I?
Made In The USA: Kirkland Signature Socks
Okay, I admit it. As of late, this “Made In The USA” series has been a little bourgeois. And the items that I have coming up won’t do much to address the criticism that’s been repeated by our readers again and again: namely, that this obsession with American-made products is really just another way to spend too much for things, the same way that the “foodie revolution” occurred because you have all these people in cities earning $250,000 a year who literally don’t have enough room in their apartments for a second bicycle but who still want to indulge in copious displays of economic well-being.
To counter this unfortunate trend of $175 extension cords and the like, I present to you: Kirkland Signature Socks. I paid $8.95 for these at Costco a while back. The best way I could think of to torture-test them was simple: use them for a day at work, then an evening at the skatepark, then another day at work, then 35 minutes on the elliptical machine. That’s not really equivalent to a year’s worth of hard use or anything like that, but it’s enough to cause visible wear in the overseas-made stuff you get from Wal-Mart. As part of this comparison, I would then evaluate the Kirkland socks against my limited-run, American-made Flint&Tinder socks, to see which set was better.
Surprise: The Kirkland Signature socks appear to be just as good as the F&T socks that cost literally ten times as much. But, as with everything, there’s a catch.
Imaginary Cities
No reason not to take a quick break from weightier matters to discuss something more pleasant. Chris Potter is part of Pat Metheny’s Unity Band. Imaginary Cities is a personal project of his. It’s recorded on ECM and if you are a fan of the label’s predisposition towards airy, abstract jazz recordings then you won’t be disappointed. It’s a great album to listen to when you’re trying to get some (mental) work done. More information here.
Nothing Says White Privilege Like A Good Protest
These are interesting, unprecedented times, to be sure. After all, who could have guessed that someday we’d have a president who would put a temporary travel ban on Middle Easterners? Well, I mean other than that time that Obama did it. This president specifically put a ban on seven Muslim countries—unthinkable. Hold on, I forgot about that time that Obama identified those same countries when he removed them from the Visa Waiver Program. But this president wants to indiscriminately prevent all people from an hispanic country from coming here. What? Obama did that, too? Damn. At least he didn’t strand and detain people at the airport…oh, FFS, let’s just move on.
No, the real story here is the sheer volume of protests. I mean, for real. Dude’s been president for, like, a week, and I’m guessing that some people have just been bouncing from protest to protest. And there’s been something interesting about the protests, something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on until today.
“I have learned something this morning,” my friend wrote to me via Facebook Messenger early today. “White people love to protest.”
Vignette: In Which The Author Is Mistaken For A Homeless Honda Salesman
This past weekend, I went to the motorcycle show in Cleveland. After years on the auto-show circuit I’ve somewhat lost my enthusiasm for the bread and circuses of Detroit/Chicago/NYC press days, but this public-entry bike show impressed me with both the enthusiasm of the crowd and the presence of every bike I’d hoped to see. The new BMW line including the RnineT Racer, the Kawasaki Z900/H2 Carbon/ZX-10RR Winter Livery, the XSR900 and FZ-07 in the new metallic blue, and so on.
One bike I did not expect to see: the revised-for-2017 Honda CB1100EX. Yet there it was, banished to a back corner next to the Groms. I immediately hopped on to check it out. The new tank has more fuel capacity (good) but it’s from the modern wide-wing school. About fifty percent of the “vintage” feel disappears with that tank; you might as well be on an XSR900. There were two old dudes standing next to me discussing what the CB1100 was probably like to ride, so I chimed in.
Weekly Roundup: Maybe There Really Was A Reason Why I Used To Keep My Hair Short Edition
The last time I was riding skateparks with any frequency was in 2003. My hair was quarter-inch buzz-cut. After being repeatedly and unexpectedly blinded at “Skate Naked” on Friday night, I’m thinking that perhaps there was some logic to that choice.
Friday night was a big night for “progression” around our house. On his third trip to a park ever, John managed to “drop in” to the small bowl. He got within two feet or so of the coping on the middlin’ half-pipe you see above. And he did his first “roll-in” down a steep ramp to a pyramid box. As for Dad? Well, I wasn’t exactly pulling Matt-Hoffman-style air but I also didn’t injure myself. At 45, that’s success, right?
Click the jump for this week’s contributions and a statement on a recent controversy.
Made In The USA: Shinola x General Electric
“Can’t believe that you, of all people, buy into the Shinola hype.” That’s what a commenter wrote on my Instagram page yesterday. I think that’s a compliment. And while my opinion on Shinola is, I hope, reasonably hype-free, I also can’t say that I’m immune to the brand’s charms.
I stopped by their Ann Arbor store late last night. This is, it has to be said, a profoundly satisfying place. The ground floor is designed around a selection of natural materials and carefully spot-lit to cast a flattering glow on everything from their boxes of traditional wooden pencils (that I bought for my son) to the handsome Runwell, Bixby, and Detroit Arrow bicycles.
The basement, reached down a set of wrought-iron-and-rough-wood stairs, is an authentic marvel. Brick-lined, with a fourteen-foot ceiling and that same careful accent lightning. A gloss-red bicycle sits between small, private alcoves for conversation. There’s a bar, tended during my visit by a painfully earnest and ruggedly handsome beard-and-suspenders fellow who cleaned glasses with the precise amount of vintage, authentic effort displayed by the android bartender in Passengers, where you can buy soda and baked goods. Beneath another soft spotlight, there’s a pair of bookshelf speakers and a selection of usual-suspect records (What’s Going On, Rubber Soul, Physical Graffiti, that sort of thing) for you to play on their stunning new Shinola (by VPI) turntable. A great place to write a novel, meet your future wife, or just relax with a made-in-Detroit Shinola soda. At only $1.00, the twelve-ounce glass-bottled cola is probably the only genuine deal the brand offers.