On Saturday, I spent the day watching Rim of the World Rally. Just like always, Lancaster was a festering hellhole of heat, sweat, and dust. The crowd at ROTW is an interesting mix of Lancaster natives, the Faster-n-Furiouser crowd, Anime/Japanophiles, general motorsport fans, and the curious Subaru nerd or two. If you can stand the heat, it's a lot of fun to watch the events, the cars, and the crowd.
There was a car show/competition for heavily modded cars: There was a cone course where you could drive your own car! I've got to figure out how to enter this next year, because it looked like a blast: Surprisingly, during the time I was watching, two of the fastest cars on the course were generic looking Subaru Foresters--one of those even had a roof rack still attached. And as a Ford hater, I also took satisfaction when "the loudest Mustang in the world" turned out to be one of slower cars.
There were part vendors and car dealerships with displays in the (mercifully air conditioned) pavilion:
One of the best things about Rim of the World Rally: You can walk and interact with the pit crews between the stages:
AAA has a sketchy agenda that I wasn't completely aware of. Weird. So consider this an open letter to AAA: I like your "come fix my car when its broke" policies, but your anti-environment policy, not so much.
And now, another great moment in American Television
I come home from work and flip on the television. "Entertainment Tonight" is on:
Next Monday, an E.T. exclusive jailhouse interview: We talk with Joey Buttafuoco about why he's back behind bars. And find out just how much weight he's lost.
That's right: they're teasing Monday's show with Joey Buttafuoco's weight loss.
To quote David Cross: I vowed that I’m going to retain that image every time I hear George Bush go ‘the terrorists hate our freedom.’ You know what? I hate our freedom. Me, little ‘ol me, I’m an American, I fucking hate it. That’s all we’ve done with it? We’re fucking assholes man.
Kurt Vonnegut is dead. Much of his writing is great, but some of it is transcendent. Like his allegorical short story Harrison Bergeron--how could another human being write something so perfect? Go read it now.