Cars on the freeway are moving like slugs
When you drift off to wake up
Do you always hit the brakes...

A burden buried so deep that the words lay below.

Fill my head with concrete
My heart with steel
Take me anywhere
Fuck me till somethings real

I know a guy with a rock star life, but he still don't fly so he's mad at the sky
Sits me down and kicks his wisdom he's been around I give him a listen
Seems like he got a lot of complaints about how nowadays things ain't the same now
Used to play some faith in the basement a toast for the sky and those kids that he came with
Cause they all on the same shit based on, cut down placement, up town, stay strong
Don't never do a dance with the devil now, that smile is a sign that you're sellin' now
Judgement, gossip, ethics, let's just exploit all this excess
You can feel how we feel to walk around town to lookin down from those tall heels
And who needs fame or fortune when you get the same love that the fame is snortin
Future so afraid of yours that you strayed from the course and you came up short
Believe me have more credibility if you wasn't just another drunk pill junky
It's obvious to me that he's still hungry for the superstars a little balagie
Go ahead and get mad at God point your fingers at your dad and ask Santa Claus
Listen all ya'll it's a sabotage wouldn't look so bad with the bandage off
(Chorus)
It goes one for the bar tap two for the shine
Go to your car and do another line
Barely trust them their all puppets love is nothing scared of success
One for the bass two for the drums
Last call gonna take whatever comes
Barely trust them their all puppets love is nothing scared of success
I think it's great how you used to be great
I can't hate how you choose to relate
But I know you had the potential
I understand why you wanted to let go
A lot of pressure in the middle of those shoulders
And we ain't gettin nothing but older
Ain't nothing change but the day we run from
But nobody knows that better than you,huh
(Chorus x2)
Barely trust them their all puppets
love is nothing scared of success
Thanks to Brian for these lyrics

(This is just a draft of some things I have had rattling around in my head. Clearly I am not a writer so read at your own risk.)

Its been just over a year since I bought one of my stylistic heroes, a BMW E24 635CSi. My love affair started when I was 16 and living at home in rural Iowa. A gentleman moved to town from Arizona and promptly purchased a local gas station (one of two in the entire city). With him came a dark blue 87 5spd 635CSi. Perhaps under estimating the size of the market he had cornered on gas or just how far he was from anyone mechanically keen to just what the 6 series BMW was, the car was for sale shortly after his arrival. It was all very "Witness Protection Program" in hindsight.

Being 16 and desperate for something which would secure my cool guy status while setting me apart from the lifted truck, Chevelle and Camaro crowd the lithe sophisticated Sixer seemed perfect. It had it all in spades to a 16yr old country boy. Brand cache, rear wheel drive, 5spd, sunroof and power windows. Did I mention it was probably one of 3 running BMWs in town? How about the power windows part, a real bona fide Bitchin Bavarian.

Calling my parents financial means at that time modest is a stretch, so exactly why my father agreed to let me test drive a car which cost substantially more than a Chevy Cavalier  is to this day a mystery to me. Perhaps him being a car guy he recognized the barely hidden lust behind my eyes every time we passed the car sitting parked with its obnoxious for sale sign tacked to the windshield. Which we did often, again, only two gas stations in town. Its equally a bit strange when I reflect back upon the day the owner turned over the keys to my father and I. Just what hell was he thinking. Was business really that bad?

Some words were said between the owner and Dad and we had the keys. My father and I drove in silence with him behind the wheel of the big six. Now being a hot rod guy I didn’t expect any real feedback approaching positivity from the old man and I was granted as much. I however was nearly bursting with anticipation as I poured over just how many damn buttons this car had. I mean it had a "trip computer", what it did was lost on me but it looked like a calculator in the dash and that was pretty damn cool and sure to impress chicks. Power headrests? I had no idea such technology was even possible, I was riding IN the future.

When we had a reached a safe enough distance from town dad turned over the keys to me. I am not sure if the distance from any eyes other than that of corn was to appease the owner or to hide my body when I wadded up a car we couldn’t possibly afford I will never know. A small bit of personal information myself is necessary here. I am not tall man though now in my mid 30s so at half that age its safe to say the low seating position of the big coupe was a challenge. I mashed every seat button available and nothing would get me anywhere approaching what could be considered a safe seating position. Seeing over the dash however was not going to preclude me from driving the lusty old German. Here is where I draw a blank. My memory ends at turning the key. I recall a deep bellowing mechanical howl, fear, ecstasy and my teeth being dry from what could have only been a completely ridiculous grin. Sold.

At some point my father pried hands off the wheel and we took the car back, again in a stony silence.  To my thinking there was only the signing of paperwork left to be done. The old man however had an ace up his sleeve. In our decrepit Plymouth Reliant K wagon chugging home he acknowledged my pleading and related that the Brake Lining warning light was on in the 6. I must have either missed it or didn’t know what Brake Lining was, likely I did not care. He then played his ace. We could talk about purchasing the car should I prove that I could afford to maintain it. I needed to get a quote on doing pads and discs from the local "just out from under the shade tree" auto shop. He wasn’t going to have the BMW as a lawn ornament. From my perspective it would have been a much needed improvement/addition to our pair of 1958 Ford Edsels and my half finished 1964 Chevy Belair (welded shut back doors, chain steering wheel, swivel bucket seats, you get the picture).  What my father had artfully done is deferred rejecting me himself and let the local mechanic do it for him. Genius. There was no amount of bitching on my part which would make the job any cheaper so I accepted the price quote as the end Sixer dream. Hey, an 84 4runner was pretty much the same thing right? As I grew older I staged an automotive rebellion with my father and small town peers and got into something exotic which I could afford (barely at times), Volkswagens.

Its 2010 and I was looking for my next terrible German car idea. The Sixer test drive long pushed to back of my mind but never fully forgotten as I had always kept the car vaguely on my radar. I say vaguely due to in part my sporadic research over the years which had cleared the rose tinted glasses with stories of low production numbers for 5spds, atrocious automatics and sky rocketing maintenance appetites. One evening at a weekly local German car gathering the topic happened upon the old six series. Suddenly as solidly as they had so many years ago all the pieces fit. I didn’t just want a 635CSi, I needed a 635CSi. Also as it had previously money and common sense reared their fun-killing heads, this time however I  was the one with the ace. I was trying to sell my 99 Saab Viggen under the auspice of being able to give the finger to my manager and quitting my job. Well the Viggen sold and the funds stayed in my back account for the sum total of 11 hours before I was driving home my childhood sweetheart embodied by a 86 635CSi. Ace played.

Skip ahead to 2011 and I found/find myself still in one of the worlds worst jobs. The Sixer is one of four cars in the stable so it was getting sporadic use. I began to loathe watching it sit so a new plan was in order. I sold my 88 Cabriolet to again attempt the whole quitting the job thing and by necessity spend more time in the Six. Not that I really needed the goading. The relationship to that point had not been without a few close brushes with the rocks.

Putting aside its penchant to run through 92 octane like it’s Keith Richards at a cocaine open bar the old BMW liked to give you a scare now and then. And by "scare" I mean the "hey, you awake? Surprise guard rail sucker!" brand of sheer terror. A 12 mile drive to work left my knuckles a whiter shade of pale then what they should have been for having never exceeded 60mph. The Viggen would try this trick occasionally as well but only when prodded with a large helping of boost. The 6er needed no such provocation. I was assured it was a symptom of old suspension bushings by various folks. So I went through the problem areas in the suspension. The Shark dialed down the crazy significantly. Win.

At work I frequently find myself outside having a smoke looking at the Six in the parking lot. This is one of those cars that I will never tire of looking at. The low beltline, delicate greenhouse and slathering of stainless steel trim. And then there is that nose, raked forward so that the hood hangs over the slab US bumper giving it a brutish prow. Ellipsoid headlights tucked back into grill making a frozen scowl. The B pillar vents for slits not unlike the gills of its most popular moniker, the shark. I have fitted wheels so large that it would make Ze German engineers punch their wives but I cant help but to think this car was built with 18s and wide rubber in mind. Its fender wells are properly stuffed with AC Schnitzer goodness. The BMW achieves something rarely seen in automotive design these day in that it appears both muscular and delicate while not being confusing or cluttered stylistically. I always think of words like lithe, svelte, Armani, rapier etc etc. One look and it is hard to mistake its purpose, this car wants to driven, enjoyed, gawked at and as I only recently found out it also likes it a little rough. Mechanically it is 80s BMW stout. Now "stout" is not something I revel in when it comes to cars.

 Im going to come right out and say it. The sixers M30 "Big Six" motor held no joy for me. While it dutifully hauls around the coupes massive girth I found little need to ask it to do anything else nor did it ever seem eager prove me wrong. I grew up around engines with names like Hemi, Nailhead, Wedge, Windsor so this was a bit of a let down. When I contemplated the M30 I thought Mail Truck, Tractor, Meets Expectations etc. So there it was, a motor named The Great Reluctance. The pedal on the right simply increased the volume and sped you quicker towards the nearest gas pump. The gearbox faired no better, notchy, rough, clunky and my personal favorite, loud. I think BMW may have constructed it entirely from bits of broken lawn mower parts and wood.  My work is across the street from a UPS shipping distribution center and sometimes found myself wondering if the men in the brown were having a more sporting experience behind the wheel of their rigs then I was mine.    

There is a short 4-8 mile section of road just past my office building where after a rough evening I can sometimes be found absolutely punishing my Rabbits 8V or the Audis 2.7T. Its mostly a long climb of tight 90 degree turns, switch backs, on and off camber sweepers. Mostly 3rd gear work through the woods on the PNW, not too shabby to have close at hand but no Tail Of The Dragon. The BMW had never been on this stretch of road. Now I can hear what you are all saying, but read the previous paragraph and there is a pretty good reason why I never bothered trying to force a square peg in a round hole by storming that road in the Six.

In the middle of a particularly grueling graveyard shift I found myself outside doing the usual visual once over session with the shark and for some reason I eyed the road beyond the parking lot snaking into the darkness and reached for my keys. A little jaunt, why not stretch the old girls legs. The M30 in the Six has a unique startup sound which I find very endearing. The starter turns over a little too fast and a little too long before The Great Reluctance explodes to life with a great raspy exhale. As cheesy as it sounds it reminds me of the Lambo's start up, anyway, I digress. I let the shark come up to temp and then flicked on the candles BMW called headlights in those days and made my way out of the parking lot. Driving slowly hoping to get the ever fitful gearbox synchros to their barely grinding happy place I admired the big coupe's low slung reflection in the darkened office windows. Loping around in a tall gear always makes you feel like your slinking around in the shark. Plodding through the gears with the six pointed to where the street lamps end and I am struck with just how pliable the M30s power band is. It seems happy to churn away dutifully in whatever gear you feel like yanking the gearbox into no matter the speed. Like a big down comforter made entirely out of torque. To date I had never explored any region much over it's power vs. noise apex at 4400rpm, no real point of beating on the poor thing. On this night however there would be no sympathy in my right foot I quickly decided.

I put the shark down into 2nd gear and brought the M30 up its sweet spot as the last street lamp glided past. A quick cop check in the rearview and I dropped the hammer on The Great Reluctance. If you listened closely enough to the M30 I am sure you could have made out a "WTF!" in the exhaust note. A 4000lb blur of Bronzit leaping into the darkness in a cloud of noise. Leaving it in second and on boil a couple thousand rpm short of stupid the 635 barreled unceremoniously towards the first tight right hander. Here is where the six series becomes a different animal and begins to win hearts and minds. Pushed hard the car will give you some body roll as if to ask "are you sure?" then it just grips. The big plush fur coat comes off and reveals a short black cocktail dress (did I really just type that?). Dial back the volume pedal a bit on the initial turn in then stab it out through the apex and the 265s out back make a valiant attempt at ripping up the asphalt. Hard into the 3rd gear and BMW begins to shed its girth and build speed like a freight train. The raspy growl becomes became an unfamiliar maniacal bellow. Thinking to myself that The Great Reluctance may have been holding out on me I ran deep in 3rd before releasing it to fourth.  Going a bit quicker than I was used to in my other machinery I came up to a neat little switch back. Down to third again and the M30 wailed to the right side of tachometer in protest. Set it to half throttle and she swung into the first left then solidly transitioned to the right changing directions like some archaic cruise missile. With the tach vertical and the nose pointed up the hill the M30 yanked at my right foot like a pit bull at a stake in the yard. I unsnapped the collar and let it run through 3rd then long into 4th. The interior became a cacophony of engine noise , gearbox whine and wind. Could it be? Had the Sixer found her lungs and her legs? Down again to 3rd and on the binders for a ninety degree left. Common sense flipped over the "Be back soon" sign on the door and I grab second. A deep mechanical shrieking exhale erupted from the Six as the suspension loaded and two tons of German steel fought for purchase on the tarmac. Back hard on the gas at the apex and The Great Reluctance has left the building. This shrieking, howling dynamo of steel just ahead of my feet cannot possibly be same dumb mail truck motor I have been living with for the past year. I am shocked and bristling by the time I realize the rear end has come loose and its time for me to catch it. A quick snap of counter steer and Falkens bite again. A long straight uphill stretch and the BMW is set to ballistic as I row through gears.  I grip the Sixer by the scruff of the neck and we do this loud rough dance for few more times, each time a bit harder. Then its over, street lamps begin to pepper the side of the road and we are in a no fly zone because if I were a cop this is where I would sit parked. Waiting for some idiot in a BMW shouting up the place.

I pull the big six onto the first residential street and shut it down. Standing outside the car the deafening silence of 3am is broken only by the metallic ticking of metal cooling. Lit by a solitary street lamp the big coupe looks silken. Satisfied. Game for another go. Even classy gals like it a little rough every now and then. I snubbed out my cigarette and reached for my keys again.

See the animal in his cage that you built
Are you sure what side you're on?
Better not look him too closely in the eye
Are you sure what side of the glass you are on?
See the safety of the life you have built
Everything where it belongs
Feel the hollowness inside of your heart
And it's all
Right where it belongs

[Chorus:]
What if everything around you
Isn't quite as it seems?
What if all the world you think you know
Is an elaborate dream?
And if you look at your reflection
Is it all you want it to be?
What if you could look right through the cracks?
Would you find yourself
Find yourself afraid to see?

What if all the world's inside of your head
Just creations of your own?
Your devils and your gods
All the living and the dead
And you're really all alone?
You can live in this illusion
You can choose to believe
You keep looking but you can't find the woods
While you're hiding in the trees

[Chorus:]
What if everything around you
Isn't quite as it seems?
What if all the world you used to know
Is an elaborate dream?
And if you look at your reflection
Is it all you want it to be?
What if you could look right through the cracks
Would you find yourself
Find yourself afraid to see?

Only Air from Stephen Brooks on Vimeo.

http://stephenmallon.com/

Shannon F (@crashingdoor) has shared a Tweet with you: "thesulk: If a girl says "there's a lot about me you don't know" I just assume that her vagina is a golf bag for dicks." --http://twitter.com/thesulk/status/46335729818812416

A few folks asked about where to get these. There happen to be a few on ebay right now if anyone still wants one.

http://cgi.ebay.com/Pabst-Blue-Ribbon-beer-sticker-1970s-Cool-Blue-/120678709840?pt=LH_DefaultDomain_0&hash=item1c1902fa50#ht_500wt_1156

I was asked to write a short description of what I am looking for when it comes to a job, what is the ideal situation, place. The twist was to write it from a purely emotional perspective with no job specifics or references to what I would bring to the role. 


Since apparently my work ethic for homework has changed little since dinosaurs roamed the earth and I was in school I had to do it in 30mins before it was due. 


As I have found with some of the other "exercises" I have been doing, there is some interesting results when you free thinking a bit. When you (or maybe its just me) thinks about jobs and careers the narrative seems to always fall into what I can do, not how I would like to feel about the work and the people I do it with.


Anyway, unedited here is what I scratched together. Do you feel this way about your job?


The Dream 


Why 
The Dream is a job which is deeply reflective of myself, my beliefs and convictions. An opportunity where loyalty and dedication are alternately dispensed, received and rewarded. Work which is effortless and attractive like reading a very good book, a place where I needed to pried away from and not into. Success and failure are deemed to be equally valuable in the pursuit of the The Goal. A place where the tendency martyrize has been supplanted by accountability and a caring recognition of one's strengths and weaknesses. I want to relied upon and respected, ultimately trusted in a meaningful and positive way.  


Where 
The Goal should be something that has a recognized output which demands care and thought to be successful. Be it a product or service it should encompass the betterment of life at large, whether you can hold it in your hand or one is conveyed solely by its existence. My work will be felt more than seen. If it is done right then one would ever know that anything has been done at all. The products merit and worth will be judged and weighed in balance of The Team's reputation and not in its advertising.  


Who 
The Team should consist of individuals who first and foremost bring their skills to The Dream and their personalities serve only to supplement those skills. The focus and realization that The Teams goals ultimately benefit not only a bottom line but an individuals success would be evangelized. All successes should be shared and celebrated. Care and fore thought should put into The Goal and The Team in equal amounts. Trust is earned and rewarded.

Wedding Photography
Originally uploaded by Herman Au - http://www.hermanau.com

A few observations.

1. The 911 GT3 and GT3RS are the best sounding production Porsches ever built. Ok..and the original duckbill RS doesnt suck either.
2. How much do I love them? I would take a GT3RS over a GT2 or 993TT all day. Yeah, I said it.
3. If I owned a GT3 I would paint a huge middle finger on hood. It would only be proper.
4. After being handed the keys I would estimate my drivers license to be valid for no more than 3hrs.
5. I would so throughly cane that flat six they would need to surgically remove the wheel from my hands before taking me to jail.
6. Having watched this video twice I feel like I need to dive head first into a swimming pool filled with cocaine to relax a bit.

That is all.

In 1965 Carrol Shelby built two Cobra Super Snakes (one being for himself). Propelled by a twin supercharged 427 putting down a conservative 462hp with 800ft lbs of torque. Repeat those numbers then apply them to something with a curb weight of 2300lbs. 0-60 was a mind shattering 3 seconds (in 1965!). Carrol deemed it the Cobra to end all Cobras.

Carol and Bill Cosby were good friends at the time. Consequently as a direct result of Carrol's hate of Ferrari and Cosby's love of the prancing horse Cosby ended up with one of the Super Snakes. Shortly after taking delivery the car was returned to Carol as recounted below. That car eventually went off a cliff, killing its owner. Carrol's personal car sold at auction for $5.5 million in 2007.

On Leno

Fluid Dress from Charlie Bucket on Vimeo.

This speaks volumes about Bill Gates and his commitment to doing something with his money instead of just creating more. From the Microsoft shareholder meeting today a shareholder "asked Chairman Bill Gates why he was selling his shares and donating proceeds to the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation instead of removing his shares from the corporate balance sheet to boost the stock price.". 


His response was "I think the thrust of the question is, 'Are the current grantees of the foundation more deserving than turning the money over to Microsoft shareholders?' I guess I've made the decision that that wealth is going to go to the foundation rather than being some reduction in shares outstanding for Microsoft.". 


This from
 shareholders who got a 23% increase in dividends this year....in this economy...
Now granted, I don't profess to be any sort of genius when it comes to finances. Look at my "car problem" for more detail on this. But I can tell you that we as a society have allot to learn when it comes to sustainability. And I am not talking about shitty recycled forks or acid rain generating cars (see "Toyota Prius"). I am talking about sustaining society as a whole, soup to nuts. People taking care of other people. Remember all that "fellow man" business, yeah turns out it was important. The more we as a society collectively ignore what we have trouble understanding, seeing or confronting the larger the issues will become. Be that homelessness or drinking water, energy or disease, money or food, it will take us all to better everyone. Long story short, even if I am completely incorrect on his motivations I like to at least think that Bill Gates gives a shit and isn't afraid to lend hand to something other than his own bottom line. 


http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/microsoft/2013451325_microsoft17.html?syndication=rss

Houston Votes Out Red Light Cameras [Infrastructure]: "

A Houston, Texas ballot measure designed to keep 70 red light cameras in place failed last night, despite support from police/fire unions and a political action committee backed by $1.65 million in spending by the corporation running the cameras. More »

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