And The Winner is.... [Part 2]

For the past 2 weeks, I've been scouring the online classifieds for a black (or red), '95 (or '94), Normally Aspirated, unmodded Toyota MR2 T-Top within 250 miles of D.C. (yea, I really am this picky). Since the recent chilly weather, the Alfa has been acting a little peculiar, and I'd rather my brother experience the performance of its first winter in his ownership. This being the case, I had to hasten my search and therefore be a little more flexible in my requirements. I found this little gem on autotrader.com.



I've actually had my eye on it for the past week. When it first came up in my search, I wrote it off because it was green, but after getting more information on it, I couldn't have found one in better condition this close to D.C. A '94 Dark Green NA Toyota MR2 T-Top with a clean bill of health from both CarFax.com and Autocheck.com. The only hitch? It's in Pittsburg, PA. At first I thought "no prob!" when that couldn't be further from the truth logistically. First, I have to test drive and inspect it. Second, I have to have an independant professional inspect it. Third, I need a car to drive up to PA. And fourth, I need to drive said car back to D.C.

Fortunately for me, my dad has taken off all of this week for the holidays and volunteered to be the return car driver.

We started out early this morning, and drove 4.5 hours to Canonsburg, PA. On our arrival to the used car dealer, I walked in, said who I was, asked for the keys, and drove off (without even presenting ID) with the car to the nearest Toyota dealer who I had an appointment with. They performed their 130 point inspection and found that there were only a few minor oil seals (surprise!) that needed to be replaced.

Then it was my turn to inspect the car. Having as many accidents and mechanical failures as I have had in my Prelude, I've become sort of an automobile forensic scientist. From the pictures the dealer sent me before I came up, I thought I was going to need to do a little sprucing up with the interior, but that turns out not to be the case. The seats in the pics looked very sun bleached and somewhat stained and upon looking at them I thought the dealer should invest in a better digital camera. The seats and the interior were remarkable for a non-parish owned '94. It even had the OEM radio from Toyota with the "LOUD" button. The paint I was very suspicious of from seeing it both in the pictures and up close. The color is a deep dark green, but it is a little sparkly (kind of like crest sparkle if you remember it) giving me the impression that this was not the original paint job. Under the hood, it was the same color, a good sign, so I checked underneath the passenger side door to see if it was as well, and sure enough, it was. If it wasn't original, it was done extremely well so I didn't mind that much. [Edit from the FUTURE] I later found out this color was one of two colors with the Toyota "Pearl" designation. These Pearl colors were the only two colors that were Clear Coated (makes colors last A LOT longer). There were very few blemishes in the paint and the bigger ones were on the front bumper. The exposed yellowish plastic of the front bumper and extremely slight warpage gave me the "aftermarket shit" taste in my mouth, and when I got down to look closer I could see that the radiator has a big ole dent in it, telling me this car had been in a minor front collision. Bargaining power. The rest of the body was in tip top shape; no evidence of frame damage/repairs, no dings or dents, and no irregular body seams.

But what about the Oil, Magellan? For you just joining us, my Prelude's oil burning power is why the price of crude is so high right now. 2 quarts per 12 gallons of gas. A-mazing. This at least gave me the knowledge of what to look for in the engine. I opened up the engine compartment to find.....oil. BUT. From the pattern I was seeing, it was from a one time event as opposed to oil refill after oil refill. The oiled area was rather large on the block, very dusty brown, and didn't show signs of the ceramic coating flaking off, so my guess is that they left the oil cap off one time a while back, and just didn't clean it off the engine block. Aside from this puddle, the engine looked pretty tight.

After taking the long way back to the dealer, and deciding that I had to have this car, I sat down with the dealer and started haggling. And by haggling I mean cry about how I drove 250 miles to see a car with a few problems. After agreeing on a price, we started processing the paperwork when who should walk in? A cute girl there to see the MR2. (HAha! IT'S MINE BIATCH!) She was looking all over for MR2's to test drive. We all discussed how hard they were to find and she asked if I could drive her around in it (THAT'S RIGHT, IT'S MINE) and of course, being the gentleman that I am (MINE...BACK OFF) I did. During the drive, I was amazed at how knowledgable she was of the MR2 (She had read her history as well). She said she was looking for a yellow one (probably the rarest of the rare MR2s) to replace her sports car her recently-exhusband (yea, she was like 27) was awarded in the settlement. So... cute, loves sports cars, has knowledge of a pretty niche car, recently single through divorce, and talking to me voluntarily!?!? (GET THE FUCK OUT, IT'S MY GOD DAMN CAR....OUT OUT OUT....MINE MINE MINE) Line up sister.

My dad and I left the dealer at 5pm and headed back home. 11 damn hours in a car in one day. Many thanks to my dad, I'm sure he wants to kill me at this point.

And The Winner is.... [Part 1]

The Toyota MR2 Mark 2 (Normally Aspirated)!

My brother owned a Mark 1 MR2 and to this day, he still raves about it. He got his up to 192k miles with almost no major repairs until a lady driving a Suburban had an epileptic seizure and ran over the passenger side of the car, killing the car and thankfully, not my bro. He took me driving in it whenever I visited him and the things it could do. He'd take sharp 90 degree turns at 50, through it into second, whip the tail into a controlled spin, and shoot out the other side without even wincing.

Not that I'll be doing any of that. I've just loved the Mark 2 MR2 ever since it came out, the only thing I had to overcome was buying a used car again (They stopped selling MR2s here in the U.S. in 1995.5). The "used" car thing was itching me for a while, but given my position in life (grad school or no grad school), I didn't want to deal with a long term loan as well as lose an assload of it in depreciation the minute I drove it off the lot. Given Toyota's reputation for durability I can somewhat stomach no warranty.

I guess that, and I would be completely eliminating the option of having a back seat. And storage capacity. But at this point in the game, I'm not ready for a "pratical" solution to my lack-of-car problem. I'll call it my quarter-life crisis purchase. That's the buzz term right?

Anyway, the MR2 has got some quality history behind it too. A lot of car enthusiests view it as one of the classic cars to come out of the past 2 decades. MR2 officially stands for "Mid-Engine Runabout 2-wheel drive." A lot of people don't like "runabout;" I guess the word is too Star Trekkian, so they replace it with "Rear wheel drive." It isn't called MR2 every where it's sold, in particular France (which immediately came to mind). If you say the letters in French it is "Em-Air-deux" which is entirely too close to the languages word "merdieu" meaning "shitty." The MR2 graced the United States from 1984-1995, with the Mk2 coming out in '91. Since it came off the U.S. shelf, it was beefed the hell out of in British and Japanese markets (god I'm jealous). But the origins of the MR2 are what really strikes me as interesting. It was long rumored that the MK1 MR2 was an old design by the English SuperCar designer/manufacturer, Lotus, under the project name of the x100. When GM (I vomitted when I found this fact out) bought Lotus, relationships that were in place between Toyota and Lotus were severed, and the x100 project scrapped. Toyota eventually picked up the design, did its process optimization thing (Damn Kanban), and WHAMMY, the MR2 arrived. But this was not entirely true. Lotus, the engineering powerhouse, did not give the x100 project to Toyota, but lotus engineers designed-wait for it- the MR2s insane suspension (as well as oversaw the MR2s overall design).

Even if the entire car wasn't designed by Lotus engineers, the resemblence between the MR2 Mk1 and the X100 are striking, as well as, and I know Ryan will disagree with me, the MK2 resembling the Elise.

Time Magazine's Man of The Year: GOD

One thing's for sure, he sure has been talked about enough. God and prayer have reached mainstream media status. Frankly, when I see a constant headlines like "Man survives Tsunami on raft, Prayer" on CNN, Tabloid cover stories like "The Ultimate Prayer Healing Issue", I think it just cheapens faith all around.

The thing that grabbed my guff was how much the recent presidential candidates talked about "their relationship with the almighty." It's absolutely fascinating how a country could go from completely fearing the influence of a religious body to requiring an open "relationship" with the christian god. When John Kerry came out and said "I'm a Roman Catholic" blah blah blah, I thought back to my mom who told me about how everyone in America was fearing voting for JFK because he was a R.C. and the possibility of him answering not to the American people but to the Vatican.

To me, seperating politics and religion is an obvious thing. Terms like "Greasy Politician," "Can't bullshit a bullshitter," "in industry's pocket", "Clinton" come rushing to my mind. "But Jamie, we can set a new standard of politicians, ones that are so morally rightous." Save it. Would I want God intermixed in a scandals like watergate? The cuban missle crisis? I don't want my politicians saying "we need to build more nuclear weapons" and run on the God bandwagon. I imagine Truman saying "May God bless every man, woman, and child I'm bombing in Hiroshima"

For friends of mine, this must look like from left field because they can say that I am not a religous person. I guess that this is a fair judgement since I do not participate in religious norms and activities. But this is somewhat of a misconception, with reason behind this is key: I don't advertise. Why? Because I can see (and have seen) the evil in "spreading the word."

Sunday school is an interesting place. The ongoing development of kids to do the right thing, to be good people, to be god's humble servants. Once you get old enough to understand death, you raise your hand and you ask "Where am I going when I die."
"Because you're X, you'll go to heaven."
"Where will my friend Craig go? He's Y?" This is always when you see the shortcomings of sunday school teachers...
"You mean to tell me Craig won't be there? He's my best friend?"
"He goes somewhere else." And why? He picked wrong, or his parents started him wrong. After all the lessons, the memorization, the coloring, you mean to tell me that I am required to be better than someone? What about this whole humble thing? The pride being a deadly sin thing?

But the "somewhere else" reply is a fun one to interpret. One way to look at it: Regardless of how moral you are, we are all going to somebodies hell.

It doesn't matter how you cut it, some religion, sect, denomination, cult, or what have you has you slated for an eternity of damnation for a belief that you hold, some value you asribe to, some action you've taken, not being part of the judge's religion, or simply because of the geographical location of your birthplace. Shit, tons of people are going to Jerry Falwell's hell, I know that for a fact.

But if all people of faith who are good and follow their religion exactly get into the pearly gates, then why is my religion better to study than little Craig's if it doesn't matter in the end? I could wear condoms in other religions and still get in.

It's been a struggle these past few months.

Bishops of the Roman Catholic Church came out and told me that if I voted for someone who was not pro-life or was pro-stem cell research than I would not be able to take communion and thereby forfeit a ride to the pearly gates at the end of my life. They of course rescinded these comments a week later. After this controversy, before election day, my church decided to take a less aggressive stance, but ultimately say the same thing, to support the less evil candidate, to only partake in "material cooperation with evil."

The above statement and politicians stronger embrace and showmanship of religion, have left my mind in a moral tailspin. A conflict of Common Law, a code developed even before America to govern all, and Religious Dogma, a code to govern people of faith. Where Common Law and some of religous beliefs are based on Universal Truths. Killing hurts people, stealing hurts people. Easy stuff. Now I'm being told that if I don't help my religions dogma become common law, I could be blocked from entering heaven, when I know people in other religions (or with no religion) in america, good people, don't believe in the same dogma. So we're right and law should state we are right? Where do we get the nerve telling other people that they are completely wrong when our judgements are based on that which is unknown (i.e. faith). Where do other people get the nerve to tell us we're wrong?

"Religion is a good thing...taken in moderation" ~Coleman - Trading Places

Christmas Puzzles

I was talking to one of my co-worker's girlfriends at my Christmas party, and I outed the information that I was raised matholic. She burst out into laughter because she, much to my surprise, was raised by a math teacher and a math professor. I told her about my family's tradition of mathematical Christmas gift tagging and she emailed me this:

Chocolate Math

Original Message:

This is pretty neat how it works out.

This is cool chocolate math!!!!!!!

DON'T CHEAT BY SCROLLING DOWN FIRST!

It takes less than a minute......Work this out as you read.

Be sure you don't read the bottom until you've worked it out! This is not one of those waste of time things, it's fun.

1. First of all, pick the number of times a week that you would like to have chocolate. (try for more than once but less than 10)
2. Multiply this number by 2 (Just to be bold)
3. Add 5. (for Sunday)
4. Multiply it by 50 I'll wait while you get the calculator................
5. If you have already had your birthday this year add 1754.... If you haven't, add 1753.
6. Now subtract the four digit year that you were born.

You should have a three digit number.
-The first digit of this was your original number (i.e., how many times you want to have chocolate each week).
-The next two numbers are ........ YOUR AGE!

When I read this, I was doing this:

C (# of "chocolate times")
2C
2C + 5
100C + 250 [= 50 x (2C + 5) ]
100C + 2004 {add the 1754)
100C + (2004 - BY) (BY = birth year)
2004 - BY = Age, and 100C shifts the digit C over by two places.

It was hilarious because she also attached her parent's reply to this email, which was identical to mine except for the variable names.

You didn't know about my parents mean way of labeling Christmas presents every year?
Normal kids get tags like "To: Bobby, From: Mom"; my siblings and I got tags like "1F2A". Yes, hexadecimal folks, and then after you deciphered your hex, you would have to be able figure out which numbers corresponded to your gifts (ex. divided evenly by the number you are in the order of birth [So I would be 3 for born 3rd]). But this was only one years puzzle.

Why would we have these sick math problems?
I guess learning and shit, but I think it went more like this. After I got wind that the notion of the jolly old fat man was an outright lie, my parents started putting out our Christmas gifts on Christmas eve with no tags so we couldn't tell who's presents were who's, and therefore make it impossible to cheat and find out if you got that "Johnny Exploding Head" you asked for. And if you tried sneaking a peak at a suspected present, you have the possibility of opening someone else's present, and that would be rude.

I worked around their tomfoolery that year. They underestimated how knowledgable I was on the items I was receiving and had successfully rounded up the majority of the unwrapped boxes that were mine into a corner that night. The leftovers were left to figure out, which I guess is another premise on to this coniving little game..."If you want to open all of your presents, you'll have to figure out the code."

I guess like all things in life, once someone figures out an exploit of a system, that system must be overhauled to make the honest people's (my sibs) lives miserable with more layers of complexity. But my sibs and I usually had the cipher by the time my parents got out of bed Christmas morning. I had a knack for identifying what was in a box so I concentrated on dividing the pile into three smaller ones with gifts I hypothesized were to be someones. My bro and my sis have a knack for math and patterns (I'm more fond of shiny objects) so once my sensory opinion was made, they would track patterns in the letters, numbers, or symbols that were on each tag.

My parents war with my sensory ability didn't stop there. To prevent the packaging geometry/shape cues, they wrapped my presents in bigger sweater boxes to confuse mine with people who legitimately received sweaters. That didn't work because I usually found away to rattle the package to hear what's in side. Vibrations of different materials are extremely telling. Shake a CD case or slide it around a cardboard box...you can tell if it is a CD because of that distinct ABS plastic lid clacking sound. DVDs are even easier. What also helped was the fact that the only person asking for sweaters was my sister, as well as squeezing a box full of tissue paper felt very different to squeezing a box containing a sweater. Tactile cues were easy, but another great auditory cue was the travel time to impact. Tilt something from side to side, and you can get a pretty basic idea of the geometry of the sliding object inside.

As we grow older, the more boring our tastes become in gifts. "What's this?" (shake shake shake) "Well, it's in an envelope so it's a check. Ooo, what are you?" (bend) (shake) "You sound like nothing, therefore you are a book. And we all asked for books." The a priori information is significantly decreased when we all ask for books, cds, dvds. "Ooo, this CD clacking sounds like that Goldfrapp album I asked for" So some years, it boils down to trial and error.

This year was pretty tough because not only did our request lack any sensory cues, the cipher was history based instead of math. Each gift had a label with a historical name on it (some from complete left field) and the century to which this figure was born would indicate who the present was for. 1700's - My Sis, 1800's - My Bro, and 1900's - Me.

I'll have to think up some creative gift requests for next year.

I Got Aural* While Driving My Brothers Alfa Romeo

I really fell into my groove with driving the Alfa Romeo. Up until the commute home today, I had yet to even press the power button of the CD player, oh but when I did....oh man.

I've always had a thing for female vocalists, from Kitty to Portishead. (Contrary to what some of my friends say, liking female vocalists does not necessitate not having a penis or an affinity for gay man love**) Tie this in with my Downtempo kick I've been on for the past few years and my return to Jazz and Blues music thanks to my extended stay in Chicago in dickity-ought-three and you get a picture of a guy who defines mello...when that couldn't be further from the truth :)

Anyway.
My brother had left a gem from his personal collection waiting to be spun in the CD player. What came out was a medley of an upbeat jazz rhthym, classical jazz instrumentation with a slight twist of downtempo and triphop effects, and topped off with the alluring vocals of Bebel Gilberto from her self entitled album. I couldn't describe her voice to do it justice, but in some of her tracks, she sang in some language that was not english, spanish, or italian, but it was absolutely enthralling.

At the end of my commute home, I googled her. It's funny to see how things can be so interrelated and still have them feel like they came from left field. Bebel Gilberto actually did some work with one of my favorite downbeat bands, Thievery Corporation, as well as worked on a few tracks with Deee-lite's DJ Towa Tei. She's also a native Brazillian, home of Bossanova (Brazillian Jazz) and that crazy language that Ryan breakdance fights to, Portuguese.

*Joke credits to Warren's WUVT away message
** How can you be straight and not think Deee-Lite's Lady Miss Kier is smokin.

A Taste of Italy

More Good News:
Today I had a HUUGE blowout in the Porsche. I was on the outerloop of the beltway just passing over the Springfield interchange, when the back left tire of the Porsche exploded. I pulled over immediatly, which happened to be on the overpass of I95 on the Beltway, and realized I couldn't be in a tougher place. If I walked towards Van Dorn, I would have to cross 95N-onto-495 on ramp traffic, If I walked towards Braddock, I would have to cross 495-onto-95S off ramp traffic. Or I could have waited 2 hours for AAA. All of this to inflate the spare.

But something great happened. I had about 4 of the lugnuts off when the CVS roadside assistance van pulled up. Now this is community service. The guy came out, an impact wrench in one hand and an airpump in the other and got me rolling in less than 10 minutes. Turns out the vans are part of the "Samaritan Program" run by CVS, whos aim is to help the general public along motorways, and it's completely free. To me, this is going above and beyond what I would expect from any company, so CVS has earned my deep seeded respect and owe them my business and graditude.

Fast forward the day a little bit - The Bro gets the call. "You killed my Porsche?! Just kiddin. I'll come by tonight and trade you the Alfa Romeo for the Porsche." Might as well drive all of his exotic cars, right? Here's a pic of an Alfa Romeo Spider.

The Bro arrived and we headed out to teach me how to drive the Alpha Rodeo.

The A-Rod definitely requires a distinctly different mindset while driving. Where the Porsche is the "Leave everyone behind you" the Alfa is "No one can stop me from sitting back and enjoying the ride." But the Alfa comes with some quirks, ones that leave me more nervous than with the Porshe (partly due to the feeling that The Bro prefers the A-R over the P). First and foremost is the transmission. First gear must be shifted into no faster than 4 seconds, lest you bring on the grindies. Since the Spider has been out (I think since the early 60's) it has only gone through 3 model upgrades. Therefore the manual recommends to downshift only occasionally and when you do, to double-clutch. The clutch itself is pretty tight, and again I am left realizing my clutch on my 'lude is toast. The shift assembly is rather unique as well. Over the years, A.R. engineers concluded that it is much more ergonomic to have the shifter protruding out of the dash center console. The idea is that the most comfortable position is your hands at 10 & 2 and with the shifter being only 8 or 9 inches to the right of this position (as opposed to 8-9" right, and 10" down on the floor). The next hurdle was getting used to not having power steering. This was the first car I've ever driven without power steering and I have to say it is a shocker. You absolutely have to get the car moving before you can turn the wheel. You can forget about any sub-10mph maneuvers. Also, grooves or bumps running slightly non-parallel to your lane can actually push your steering in that direction.

The next lesson was how to fit our 6'4"+ frames in the car. We both laughed at how strange it must look with both of us in this tiny car. Since it is winter time, the hard top has been installed, encouraging us taller glasses of water to slouch a little to gain us some head room. Next was the simple fact that the car was so low to the ground. The hood of the car barely gets to my mid-thigh. Next was the pedal cluster. The distance between the clutch and the brake was fine, but the distance between the brake and the accelerator was just ridiculous. The pedal is located a little more than an inch away from the wall, and the brake is about a half an inch away from the accelerator. This requires one to remove their right shoe to drive.

Quirky, but oh so classy. Quirks are some of the most lovable aspects in a relationship. They are what make people unique. I just have to get beyond my first few date jitters.

OK, Fess Up

I'm convinced that one of us in our circle of friends writes for The Onion. These two "In the News" side headlines appeared no less than 2 weeks apart, and somehow they seemed to have struck a chord in 3 of our groups jokes.

The Evidence:

My bets are on Warren. He threw that Columbo gag in there to make me think it was Kramer.

The New Car Search

My mind has been a flutter for the past few days about what car I should get. Although I'm 25 and society wants me to grow up, I will try and stay true to a promise made to myself years ago not to get a 4 door car until I reached 35. The problem is: I'm picky as hell. Here's how.

The OH-NOES!!:

• Korean made: (ex. Kia, Hyuandai) Reason - shitty mechanical parts, good warranty. What good is a car if it is always in the shop?
• American made: (GM, Chrysler, et al) Reason - perpetuating the english standard of measurement. Their failure to advance engineering as a whole and lack of applying engineering ethics is deplorable. Ex. Chrysler transmissions - "hey to save some $$$, let's use last years transmission design that is 10 yrs old and breaks all the time."
• Volvo: Reason - Too mature looking for me. They just recently started making coupes in the past 6 yrs and carry a hefty price tag.
• Mercedes: $$$ You've got to be the Count of Monte Cristo to afford these. They actually have a line of cars in Europe called the A-Series, that is cheaper and marketed towards younger (read: less rich) people than their normal customers. Coupes are ~$30k+ used.
  
• Cadillac: I'm not that old or pimpin at this point in my life.

Realisticly eliminated:

• Ford Focus Coupe SVT: New. Ford has actually impressed me with the Focus. Their first successful paradigm shift interms of keeping up with the Japanese in manufacturing efficiency. Combine that with the SVT race engineering/innovation branch of Ford and we have ourselves an American candidate. Unfortunately, their reliability sucks ass (although improving through the years).
• Honda Prelude Type SH: 2001. An impressive car to say the least, but its fundamental flaw is that it carries the name Prelude. Although the curse that my car bears is a bit of an extreme, I've heard a lot of bad Prelude stories from pretty much every owner I've ever encountered. It doesn't help that most Honda mechanics will tell you straight away that Preludes simply just bong oil in their later years....all generations, not just mine. Sounds like a little bit of the American car manufacturer mentality got into the Hondas.
• Honda Accord Coupe: New. The car that replaced the Prelude as the heir to the Honda non-roadster sports car throne. All 5 generations of Preludes were built off of the accord frame, and throughout those years there was always an Accord Coupe. It was deemed the "Not Exciting Prelude" because of its lower power to weight ratio and its conservative exterior design.
• Acura RSX: Slightly Used. Suffers from the same affliction that many tall girls suffer from: Disproportionate Ass Syndrome. I mean, the ass is HUGE, but not Corvette Huge Ass HUGE. Other than that, it essentially has the body of a 4 door, but the designers thought that making the ass bigger and the door longer, and not calling it a sport sedan was a good idea. The Type S classification saddens me because unlike the original Type R class, this is just another line item package you can opt for when buying the car, and NOT completely maximizing every drive system with Acura engineer tested and approved performance parts.
• Acura Integra: Used. With the Ricer population being as big as it is, I don't want to drive the one car that is considered the lynchpin of their community.

My list of options:

Unrealisticly Wanted:

• Nissan 350Z: 2003. Even used, financing would require paying an assload for 60mo...but oh my god. The innovation in subsystem design is incredible, and hot dam is it sexy.
• Toyota Supra MK4: 1996. They stopped making them in 1998 And the used ones still go for entirely too much. '98s can still run you as much as a new 350Z. But I gotta have some incentive for Ryan to come over and butt hump me right?
• Honda S2000: 2002. Honda made this their only sports car when they retired the Prelude in 2001. When it first came out, it was said that the S2000 engine was the most efficient non-diesel engine ever produced, and could beat the Porsche Boxter (whoopie! you've beaten the woman's Porsche). I've sat in a BMW Z3 and a Mazda Miata...both were a little...snug. Oil me up and peel back the sunroof for some Jimbo Sardines.

Most Likely:

• Subaru RS: 1999. Frankly, I think the American WRX is an ugly stick slap in the face to what the pre-2000 Japanese version once was. In particular making it a 4 door car, but I can't argue with its under-the-hood design. A dealer told me that you could get a valve timing chip to up the horsepower by 100hp, and that they had to dumb down the performance for the US version because of some regulation. Must be the "Not Allowed to Out-Muscle and American Gas Guzzling Shitbox Muscle Car" regulation. Back to my point, Suburus are awesome cars. All wheel drive and turbo (or supercharged) standard on all models are killer selling points. The second best Subaru ever made in my opinion was the RS coupe. It's not as aggressive as the WRX, but its somewhat unassuming appearance and impressive performance gives it character.
• Toyota MR2 MkII: 1994-1995. One of my first purchases in my youth with my $0.25 allowance was my first matchbox car: A black Toyota MR2 MKI...and it was beast. I totally put lowering springs and performance shocks on it, and man did it handle through those little orange turns. Nah, but really. I remember when the MKII series came out and just being amazed at it's metamorphosis. My bro had MKI that he introduced me to at 50mph around 90degree turns. Utterly amazing. They say that the 94-95s are less "tail crazy" than all MR2 predecessors, and given my luck, I'll home in on the version that has the least potential of killing me every December.
• Mazda RX-7: 1994-1996. I've got one word, and one word only: Wankel. The trick with the rotary engine is that it is extremely difficult to seal the different volumes from each other during operation (controlled explosions is the name of the game in combustion engines). I'm impressed by the very fact that Mazda has stuck to its guns this long with a different technology other than the standard 4 stroke engine. Still researching maintenance costs on this one.

Don't Be Shocked But.... (I'm also considering some 4 doors)

• Mazda3s: New. I can overlook the fact that this car was once the Protege (even tho IMO the Mazda Protege 5 was pretty hot). The 3 is a little bigger, but more stylized and with more power than its previous Service Pack. A whole bunch of us spent a day race driving these suckers around the FedEx Field parking lots in last summer's Mazda Challenge. Not a bad drive. Although I've only driven the automatic, I'm not exactly enthused about it's low end torque...or its suspension for that matter. Even in the beefed up suspension race models we drove during the challenge, we still only experienced handling comparable to my Prelude. Still, for a 4door econobox, it's pretty smokin.
• BMW 323i: 2000. Yes, I know they are expensive to maintain, but many owners say that although repairs costs are higher than other cars, the rate at which you need to repair is lower compared to other brands. The 300 series is sleek (read: HOT), somewhat peppy, and it's a friggin BMW. I can atleast give the ladies a false impression that I'm loaded.

Other Considerations:
The Chrysler K-Car
The Dodge Omni
The Hummer H2: New. Actually no. Fuck you, your kids fuckin soccer team, and the fucking Tank you call the "Family Vehicle." Be sure to check off the "Armor Plating Option" for all of those roadside soccer balls that you might be hit by.

The Autopsy

This morning I woke up with one thought on my mind: Man, my transmission is FUCKED! It turns out the guy signing in Sunday morning "arrivals" of my nature, is collecting all 5 generations of the prelude (They actually started making the Prelude in 1979), and he needed a 4th Generation (mine). I told him to wait until I get a diagnosis to see if I was going to sell it.

At work today, I get a call on the celly from FairFUXMEINTHEASS Honda telling me that they started looking at it at 6 this morning and still haven't determined what was going on. He started listing off what they had found wrong:

• All of your spark plugs are fried and are coated with some kind of mixture of what we think is oil and anti-freeze but your head gasket isn't blown.
• Since it would be too expensive to actually look at, we are pretty sure your valves are coated in the same crap and a few of them might actually have been bent in the process.
• After a compression test, we found that number 3 cylinder was not maintaining pressure and could be indicative of a blown piston seal or ring - we don't know.
• Your check engine light came on at some point and turned off again before we started it to and it shows that one of your cylinders wasn't getting enough air or too much air (hooray for data analysis right? I could have programmed that in assembly in 5 minutes)
• Your transmission and clutch actually look fine. It's just we can't get the car above 3000rpm even up on the lift.
• Since green team can't figure out what's wrong with it, we had our best mechanic start looking at it.

4:50pm roles around: "Hey Mr. P, uh, well, our best mechanic still doesn't have an answer. There is about 5 of us helping him out, and we still can't find the problem. We'll keep you posted.

Awesome. 5:30pm: Ok, we got it. Your catalytic converter is broken. It appears that who ever did your timing belt job last (Billy Craft Honda, Lynchburg, VA) missed the timing by just a little bit which caused oil to seep into the cylinder when it was igniting causing carbon and not so burned oil to build up in your CAT. This build up eventually lead to pieces of the CAT to break and obstruct flow from the exhaust port of your engine. So let me read off what you're gonna need done:

1. Get a new catalytic converter
2. Get new heat shields for the CAT because the last ones are toast
3. Replace heat shields that are inbetween the exhaust manifold and the catalytic converter
4. 150,000 mile service. We'll replace the bad spark plugs, put in new drive belts, adjust your timing belt CORRECTLY, and clean out the valves and check them for proper shape
5. Your cam seal is leaking and will have to be replaced.

And the grand total is: $2131.00

Not too bad actually. I was expecting upper threes. Looks like I gotta get a tow truck and tow this guy back to my place.

If you're calling about the missing Egg Legs,

Then you'd better check this shit out:

I can't figure out which is more hilirious about this pic - the guys face that says "I would crush you all if this thing could only walk down the stairs of this stage" or the prancing ?female? who is obviously strung out on some kind Japanese Meth-Cocaine-Bacon-Gasoline drug hybrid.

The full press release can be found here. Check out the DJ ROBOT on page 3.

Porsche Mania

The key epitomizes it all. Since my car is FUXXORED, I asked my bro if I could borrow one of his 17 cars, and he hands me this key. If you have any soul in your body you would recognize the pewter emblem dangling from the single key (ok ok, you people who don't know it is a Porsche have souls too). In awe I looked at him, thinking to myself "this it! My right of passage into manhood"...a single key to the insane family sportscar. There are no house keys on the ring, no gym locker keys littering any of its circular real estate. No. This key is for one thing, and one thing only: Driving. With it, there is no soccer practice, no groceries to bear, no flip down tv with DVDs running, no "I'm too busy to drive cuz I'm retarded and talking on the cell phone". None of that cat crap.

But then he took the key away :-) He did so in order to demonstrate what I was dealing with. We drove out to Pope's Head Road (one of our favorite rat racing spots) and while doing so, my brother gave the history of Porsche, Porsche Engineering mentality, Porsche Racing mentality, and made it clear that I had a duty to maintain the dignity inherent to the car. First, only Ferraris are allowed to pass you. Second, you probably won't be able to take too many people off the line, but you'll smoke 'em in the end because Porsche's are designed to be race cars, not shitbox rice rocket dragsters. Third, when trying to pick up ladies in the car, be sure to to turn down the blasting phat german techno beats before talking to them.

It's actually a 1987.5 Porsche 944 Turbo, one of the best ever made, and when it was my turn to drive, this was extremely apparent. My brother played down its off the line acceleration, but then again, I drive a shitbox Prelude; what would I know. The real fun kicks in with the suspension...it simply...does....not....move. No matter how fast you are going or how aggressive your raceline through the corner is. Once your midway through that corner, you punch the gas and the Turbo slingshots you out of it. The highways are pretty fun too. When you drive stick, you develop kind of a shift timing during certain situations. "on ramp: 3 seconds - shift to 2nd gear, 3 seconds - shift to 3rd gear" etc. Doing this with the Porsche results in you entering the highway and shifting into 5th at 90mph (did I mention 90mph is at top-center of the speedometer? 55 is a quarter of the total gage). 5th gear is reserved for 85+.

With great fear of destroying something so wonderful, I dropped my bro off and the Porsche drove me home. I have no F^ckin clue how I'm going to be able to shop for a new car.

Jamie: "Man this piece of junk is slow."
Sales Douche: "Sir, this is the fastest model in its class according to this year's Motortrend AND Car And Driver."
Jamie: "Ok ok, I'm sorry. May be I shouldn't have put it so harshly. So how much are you charging for this shitbox again?"

The Car that just wasn't meant to be

My car has always had...issues. I always think of it as an evil voodoo curse. The first day off the lot, the battery completely died; 5-6 months later is when the curse took on its first incarnation: repairs. Apparently the dealer who sold it to me did such a good job of steam cleaning my engine that oil leaks where completely impossoble to determine. After a ton of gasket replacing, a few tune ups, and a few other LARGE repairs, it stopped leaving spots on the driveway.
Then came the second, more costly, incarnation: accidents. Apparently the car's red color and size indicates to morons "BULLSEYE." 4 out of the 5 major incidents were caused by someone elses negligence. Negligecting to check mirrors, neglecting to notice that I hadn't moved at a stop sign, neglecting to hang up the cell and notice I hadn't moved, and...hmmm what am I forgetting...oh yea, neglecting to have a dead tree cut down after a hurricane before the next storm.

After reviewing my maintenence record spreadsheet, a trend appears...big things happen in December. This December it seems, to be no different.

On my way back from Tech tonight I had a little "trouble." Why was I going home from Tech when we just won the ACC Championship? Laura's b-day party that had promises of punch and pie (and a crazy good time), that's why. So I make my leave and notice something that I've run into in the past: the Prelude having difficulties getting up steep inclines (the car used to be a crazy hill climber...just ask Mtn Lake Rd). This time around it was getting to be a bit more appparent.

The symptoms? First, it gradually slowed down going up hills. Shifting to a lower gear didn't help at all. Second, after a while of going uphill, it started feeling like the car stutters/lurches; like someone is tapping the break pretty hard and pretty quick. But before tonight, it was only going up the big mountainn before the Blacksburg exit off of 81. This time it was any hill. If I kept my speed above 82mph, it wouldn't have a problem. If it dropped below, it would gradually have more difficulty getting back up to this speed and hills just compounded the problem.

Finally, after following a slow ass truck onto I66, it started happening. The thing just couldn't go faster than 65. Then 55. Then 45. At this point, my only motivation was to get it as far as possible to reduce the towing mileage...well, and not get myself run over by a semi. These two convictions came colliding at exit 24. Continuing on at 45mph was going to turn me and my tiny red prelude into one of those red lane divider reflectors. Once exited, the car couldn't accelerate to save its life, even off a dead stop. I dumped it at the nearest gas station.

Having dealt with the amount of problems this car had in its lifetime in my ownership, it was not all that difficult to put aside the ominous fact that I was stranded, I've faced worse. So I downshifted into my first priority (Laura's party [fabulous {Who needs more nested parantheses}]), called Mikey to pick me up (who I will forever be in debt to...much thanks dude), and told the tow truck guy that I was leaving to get fucked up so he can pick it up whenever he felt like it and the wad of cash in the sun visor was for him. We'll see how bad Fairfax Honda wants to fuck my ass with the repair bill come Monday.

Newman Library: Old Favorite Place to Study

New Favorite Place to Take A Dump

I mean for real people. The can in the handicap stall of the 4th floor mens room allows for tall peoples legs to bend at a 90degree angle instead of making you feel like you're poppin' a squat.

You know it really is amazing.

These Essays are going to Kill Me

Among other things, I've come down to tech to get some forward progress on my grad applications. Progress here equates to scoring two academic recommendations. I know I already have secured a stellar one from Dr. R, but I've got to convince my old mechatronics prof that I deserve his recommendation.

I met with him last year and he seemed moderately impressed with my interests, skills, and ambition. He is more of a realistic person, telling me what my current short-comings are and what I can do to impress admission offices in other areas to make up for them.

This time around I asked him a lot about how I would fare at my current list of schools and see if he had recommendations as to where else to apply. My current schools are:

Carnegie Mellon - Biggest robotics research institute in the world
Johns Hopkins - Excellent interdisciplinary opportunities in medical robotics
Univ Texas: Austin - Well known robotics program and hey who can argue with a high concentration of hot chicks?
GA Tech - Ranked #5 in the country in Engineering with a lot of overseas study opportunity
Rensselaer Polytech (added) - My brother went there. Apparently has a mechatronics specialty

I also needed a few answers in terms of the essay; mostly how to structure it and what to include/not include. Ok..ok...how to write the damn thing. After speaking with my prof, this will be the fourth iteration. Each iteration having a different focus. It's been driving me insane for the past 8+ weeks. I should have taken Tom's advice to keep things simple:

Tommy: KARNAGY MELAN GOOD
Jimbo: GET IN ZEE CHOPPPA!!!!
Tommy: I'M RIIAGHT HEEYA! ACCEPT ME!!!

If only it were that easy Tommy. If only.

After scoring this prof's recommendation, I went to hang with Dr. R to see what crazy robotics shenanigans he was getting himself into (and to make sure he'd still recommend me). I was very impressed...he's got like 5 new robotics programs going with DoD and others, all for Autonomous vehicle development. Sweetness.

I had to stop my grad application process last year because I didn't have enough faculty recommendations, so I was on such a high after leaving Dr. R.'s office that I went to my old hangout (Newman Library) and cranked out a significant portion of my new essay iteration. I should have taken this trip a loooong time ago.

Pop Vs Orchestra

I know pop has been around for a while, but its appreciation still eludes me. I've been rockin out to Led Zeppelin for the past week (Rock on Tommy), and just thought to myself "I wonder how much influence producers had on this process." When I think of music production I immediately think of sound booths and mixing boards and seperate members of the band playing/singing their part of the song to the prerecorded base. Start out with the percussion track, guitarist records his part listening to the percerssion track, and go all the way down until you have a finished song.

Then I wondered "Do the seperate sections (percussion, violin, chello, etc)of the New York Symphony Orchestra record under the same method when they record albums?" Albums usually signify the "best" or completely unfettered ability of the artist, so would they seperate them to get the best results? Would they put their sound through synthesizers or pitch modulators, alter the song digitally to make up mistakes?

The live performance now becomes a show of how well a group can recreate this sound while completely pumping up the audience. Pop, with lip-synching and digital voice enhancements, pretty much eliminates the first half of this equation and transforms the live performance into a live album tasting with small people doing backflips on stage you have to squint at to see.

We really need a grunge-like revolution. More skill...less silicon.

The Magical Number Seven

The Magical Number Seven, Plus or Minus Two: Some Limits on Our Capacity for Processing Information

An interesting reference to Human Interface Design. Did I mention I love this shit? I remember explaining this to someone who thought I was a nut job driver. My arguement was that although we have 5 senses, we still can have several processes going on in our heads at any one moment, and the number of processes wasn't limited to by the number of senses one has. My examples of inputs/monitoring processes while driving were Rear Car Count, Forward Traffic Pattern, Steering wheel vibration, accelerator pedal vibration, seat vibration, tire traction sound pitch, and it was which mode of driving you were in that would dictate which processes to follow.

Did I mention I hate being called a crazy driver?

My Black Junks

I estimate that Fairfax County Rec. Centers are the source of 82.883% of my personal anecdotes which I guess is understandable because I am there for 2 hours every other day.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, I posted about the lack of updatage of my wardrobe. This also carries over to my swim gear, which was purchased sometime around 1997. In my heyday (read "High School"), I usually blew through 1.5 suits per swim season. When I went to college (read "Was a lazy asshole"), there really was no motivation to get new stuff because the old stuff just hadn't gotten any mileage. So naturally, when I restarted my swimming gear in April, I just used the old stuff. But now, things are really starting to show.

A little fact: Chlorine bleaches the shit out of everything.

Evidence: My Lap Suit.

The original color here folks, is yes, the same black as the SPEEDO tag and the black stiching. This color is a little enhanced because when photographed, it was about 5% damp. When I first put it on before a swim, I essentially look like naked white guy with fleshy bags hanging from my waist.

Today, I set out to hit the 2 miles in an hour mark (200yd free warm up, 18x 100 any stroke, 2x 200 free pull, 2x free kick, 6x 100 any stroke sprint, 200 free cool down). Because of the kick part of my work out, I really have to step it up a notch in my sprints to make the hour. Today I was off by about a minute (which rocks), but the sprints were insane. As I stood there in my lane, proud of my new time, huffin and puffin, I spy this girl in the upper deck looking at me with a big smile. "Alright, I've got fans now!" My body relaxes a little bit, and my neck drops to rest, and as it does, something isn't quite right with what I am looking at.

Another little fact: Prolonged exposure to chlorine deteriorates materials; especially the tensile strength of stitches.

The front of my lap suit had ripped in half, exposing the completely unbleachable black nylon suit liner.

I am Jack's semi-exposed package.
The absolute hilarity of the situatuation washed over me, and busted out in laughter as did my new 16yr old fan. My nylon-contained-fruit-basket was sticking out of the rip as a lone volcanic island sticks out of the sea. Thankfully, the Old Lady Aqua-Aerobics class let out a half hour prior so there was no threat of an Old Lady Orgy Class starting if I got out of the pool.