Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm supposed to be working. In the next three days I have to outline an entire book, assign editorial to one of my magazines, and put another one to bed, including proofing blueline. Gah. But, before I start to bang my head against a wall and ruin my eyesight even further, I just need to quickly share my newest obsession with you. Because I can't get these guys out of my head.
This show is so much ding dang fun, I can't believe it's taken me all these years to discover it. If you've seen it, you know what I mean. If you haven't oh, man, you don't know what you're missing. Riddled with wry British humor and lightning fast quips like, "As we know, there is a financial crisis going on at the moment, but we’ve decided not to take part in it.” Because these guys have a love for the automobile so unabashed, it has eco-warriors across the globe flinging tofu at their screens on a weekly basis. My kind of show, exactly.
My favorite episode so far is pretty indicative of how things operate between Top Gear's three hosts: the producers tell each of them to choose their dream race car and let them out for a long, fast spin along one of the world's all-time great highways. They consider the Transfagarasan Highway in Romania, but eventually decided on America's Blue Ridge Parkway, because "The Americans always think they're right."
Right.
James selects a Ferrari 458 Italia; Jeremy, a Mercedes SLS (hubba); and Richard, bless him, chooses what has to be, hands down, my least favorite car on the planet, the so-butt-ass-ugly-not-even-its-momma-could-love-it, Porsche 911 GT3 RS.
Jeremy, a man after my own heart, ridicules his compatriots, pointing at the Ferrari and stating, "That is a car a five year old would love," then at the Porsche, "And that is car a 55 year old would love." And then he beams at the Mercedes: "But this, this is a car for grown ups with elegance and taste."
(Jeremy is also responsible for my latest auto obsession, the new BMW 1M—see below and tell me if you don't think that thing has major fizz—it's like a Staffie Bull with wheels.)
But when they finally get to the Parkway, shot in all its golden-lit summer afternoon splendor, they discover that . . . the speed limit never tops out beyond 45mph! The sight of these three gear heads crawling along in their raring-to-go sports cars, trying to figure out if they should just go for it and put the pedal to the metal, is one of television's all-time greatest moments.
Freakin' priceless, in fact.
So, yeah: Watch this show.
13 comments:
Good afternoon Moi,
I understand your schedule problem. I left Sunday came home Monday evening and leave tomorrow for two weeks. Really should be getting ready to go, instead I'm popping around to see what folks are up to.
I like the show, or at least the fellow driving. No helmets good commentary and he really looked like he enjoyed the car.
As for the car. OK, it may not be a truck. Yet, I would like to give it a test drive.
Moi: We should enter a mutual harassment society. Anytime we see that the other has offered up any new blog postings or emails, we should send each other messages saying, "Just what the HELL do you think you're doing???" I'm even late on getting my excuses out the door at this point.
PS: Intern girl is working out great. I actually had her do some work today that I'm only barely having to redo, and I'll be able to bill for it at a nice rate. Life is occasionally grand.
" petro sexual handbook" had me falling off my chair laughing. I really must show this clip to Blowfish; once I am sure he won't laugh hard enough to blow his femoral artery plug.
Definitely your BMW has serious Fizz.
Real... I love to become one with this amazingly beautiful, exquisitely engineered, functional sculpture...breath sucking Fizz.
In Greenville, SC
BMW has a performance driving school with a state of the art professional course to fizz on. There is even a M class for more experienced, highly skilled performance drivers.
Perhaps we should consider this for a destination summit?
Karl: S.B. drives a truck. Big, fat, jacked up. Inside's like a freakin' luxury liner. I'm only allowed to drive it in a straight line. Which is fine with me. I prefer small and low to the ground. Hope you get off to a good start today!
Czar: At least you can work late into the night. I have always been and always will be an early morning person and my ideal work day is 5am to noon. After that, my brain starts doing weird things. So I'm handicapped by time in more ways than one.
Fishy: Oh, now, that would be an inspired Blog Summit! I'm mostly uncomfortable being in a car when others drive fast (even with S.B., who's as capable a driver as any I've ever known—it's a control thing, I'm sure), but I drive very fast when it's just me, rarely under 85mph, if traffic allows.
I remember during the first blog summit you and Chickory discussing cars at a level many men don't even understand and I'll offer this post as proof. This is like reading Greek to me, but I loved it because when you get passionat about something.... there's is nothing more fun to read.
I'm going to tell my bidness partner about this show because he will understand it.
Moi: Rereading your post, I forgot to mention . . . bluelines! Bless your heart, you ink-stained wretch. Real bluelines or faux bluelines? I remember the old days -- that blue impression on that shiny yellow paper that smelled awful. How many hours I hovered over bluelines. I remember them back at the printing plant, like five feet wide by six feet tall, or however big the plates were on those huge presses, where they'd print six or eight city timetables all at the same time, then send them off to the bindery to be chopped and folded.
As Loudon Wainwright III wrote:
The good old days
Are good and gone now
That's why they're good
Because they're gone
Oh, wait. This post is about cars. My family sold them for 78 years, and I know nothing about them whatsoever, nor do I care. Speed, looks, performance -- none of it. Same goes for college football, hunting, home repairs, porn . . . If you happen to find a missing Y chromosome, send me one, willya?
Boxer: Oh, that's right, your bidness partner is a Petrol Sexual, too :o)
Czar: So you drive a . . . Pacer? No, faux bluelines, but it's the name we use. When I started off in the printing business after kollitch I was hired as a paste up artist: Exacto knives and rubber cement and eyesight like a hawk. And I could strip a negative like nobody's business. A year afterward, the owner became the first person in ABQ to buy the all new Macintosh with its desktop publishing system. Screen the size of a postage stamp, but in that instant, my--and the rest of--the world changed forever.
My boys (10, 11, & 12) are addicted to this show. I've told them that they're not getting a license....ever.
Chantel: Good luck with that! Maybe by the time they're old enough to drive we will have invented teleportation, or your boys will have snagged themselves rich girlfriends with chauffeurs.
Well you know this ex-Detroiter watches the show! (when I have time, that is!) Of course, I like the Brit version over the U.S. one.
Hope work is coming along well, I've put up a post about our house progress, from food blog to home renovations blog!
But one thing, dear Moi, you must give up your Mercedes love and BUY AMERICAN!!!
La Diva: Well, a vintage Corvette WOULD be ideal :o)
APPROVED!
Have a good weekend, girl, we'se paintin'!
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