2nd Annual Worst and Best Driver Awards

"People leave their manners at home when they get behind the wheel"... my Mom.

Last year I published a list of the best and worst drivers in Baja Georgia and it caused such a ruckus I've decided to do it again.  Nothing scientific about these rankings, they're just observations from my experiences in traffic here in Baja, Georgia colored by my own prejudice and bigotry and so, as such, there is no margin of error in these rankings, they are the 100% accurate opinions of a single observer, me.  Of course, there are exceptions to every rule but for the most part, the rankings below are spot-on accurate.

Now, I could also talk about the drivers in South Florida where I journey occasionally, but down there they've got this weird species known as Snow Birds who completely skew the bell curve so I'm just gonna leave it alone.   And then, I also spend some time in North Carolina, but my impressions there are so favorable that I suspect that to them, I'm the Snow Bird and that their courtesy is driven by them just trying to get the hell out of my way.  So, I'm going to stick to what I know, Baja Georgia, for these rankings but I would be anxious to hear your thoughts regarding the drivers in your area of domicile.

At any rate, here they are:   The Worst & Best Driver Awards 2012.

6.  Most Worst Discourteous Drivers - Black Women

Black women of all ages.  Need a break in traffic?  Forget it.  Need for them to close up the eight car spaces between them and the car ahead so that you can pull around them to make a turn?  Forget it.  Black women won't give you a second thought, regardless of your color or sex.  And it's deliberate.  It isn't that they don't notice you, they do, but in this Age of Entitlement they are just flat obstinate.

I suppose they are entitled to a little anger in-so-far-as most of them have been abandoned by their men to raise their brood by themselves and they work their asses off to still live in near poverty, but that doesn't give them the right to take it out on everyone else.  As courteous drivers go, black women suck.

5.  Next Most Worst Discourteous Drivers - Youth

Youth of all colors and creed.  Most likely to cut you off.  Most likely to flip you off.  Most likely to deafen you with that noise they call music.  Most likely to sit through half a light while fucking with their cell phones.  Snotty little assholes.

4.  Next Most Worst Discourteous Drivers -  Anyone who drives an expensive German car.

The last to give you a break but the first to get out of your way if you show any aggressive driving behavior at all.  Don't want to scratch their precious metal in a collision with the hoy poloi I suppose.

3.  Happy Median Sometimes Yes, Sometimes No, Drivers -  Everyone Else.

2.  Next to Best Most Courteous Drivers - Older White Women

Older white women are usually just cruising through life not wishing anyone any harm and are pretty much oblivious to the world around them, but should through some strange happenstance they actually notice that you need some room, they are happy to extend the courtesy.  Usually accompanied by a nice smile.  Then they simply go about doing whatever it is they where doing while causing a collision between two other drivers who are trying to avoid them as they casually make a left turn from the far right lane at the next light. 

1.  The Best Most Courteous Drivers -  Good Old Boys In Pickups

Doesn't matter color or creed, good old boys in pickup trucks are by far the most likely to extend courtesy in traffic, by far the most likely to stop and help out when you have car trouble.  And the best part, they give you a friendly wave while doing it.

I can't figure out how it is that they are so considerate of other people in traffic while at the same time being pro-war, pro-guns, pro-death penalty, pro-fuck the poor, anti-gay, anti-art, anti-environment, anti-anything that can be even remotely considered anti-American, especially them foreign Ragheads.  But that's the way it is.


It's a strange, strange world in which we live.

Only believe half of what you see... but which half?

Reported in the Huffpost this morning:

"She may look every bit the part of a beauty queen, but Jenna Talackova has lost her chance for the crown because she was born a biological male.

The 23-year-old Miss Universe Canada finalist was disqualified from the competition after it was discovered she had undergone sexual reassignment surgery, reports CTV."

Jeepers, creepers!  What the hell is going on around here?  This kind of stuff makes it easy to understand regressive politicians and why they want to return to the "good old days."   But, you know, I got to thinking about that and was reminded of a story from my past.

I was a recruit in Uncle Sam's Air Force and stationed at Ramstein, AFB, West Germany.  Upon the occasion of my birthday, which coincidentally came around shortly after assuming my post at the air base, the old Sarge and a couple of senior airmen decided to take me out and introduce me to the town, or rather, to every G.I. bar in the town.  It was their avowed goal to get me "screwed, blewed, and tattooed."

It seemed like we were well on the path to any or all of the above when an incident happened I will never forget.

After about the third of fourth bar and who knows how many beers, we landed in a place where absinth was the drink de jour.  Let me tell you something, after a couple of those babies the whole world takes on a different shade of pale and the girl who delivered them to me was definitely close kin to Venus di Milo.  For some reason (probably cash from my "buddies") she took a real interest in me and demonstrated same by favoring me with an infamous lap dance.

Things were progressing pretty much as you would expect from a young, horny G.I. and a bar whore when suddenly my exploratory hands discovered something in a region of her anatomy totally unexpected.  No transgender here, the real freakin' McCoy!

I let out a yell, sprang to my feet, sending the "girl" sprawling across the floor, and fled the scene.  I could hear my buddies laughing from out in the street.  I guess from their perspective it was a howl.  From my perspective, lesson learned in only believe half of what you see.

As Hoke said to Miss Daisey.... "Things ain't changed all that much."

Just Foolin' Around

Some time ago I became fascinated by HDR (High Dynamic Range) photography.  I had been a regular visitor to Scotty Graham's site, Last Flight Out Photography, for quite a while and he turned me on to Blame The Monkey, which features some stunning HDR images complete with instructions on how to do it.

Basically, HDR boils down to taking several images of the same scene at widely varying exposures (giving you extreme shadow/highlight details) and then blending them together for a high definition photograph.  After that, you jump into a photo editing program such as Photoshop to create whatever it is you are going to create.  To do it right, you really need a powerful camera, one capable of pulling in all of the shadow/highlight details, which I don't have.  But, I decided to put my aging Nikon digital to work just to see what might result.  Here are a few samples.  

I know I've got a way to go, but the journey sure is fun.  Now, if I can just figure out how to get my hands on one of those high-end cameras...

They Expect You To Pay For This Stuff?

Arrrggghh it's been a frustrating morning.  Lots to do.  A lot of it needs to be done online.  Turn on the computer early this morning and get an on-screen message... Your Comcast Account is past due.  To avoid service interruption make a payment immediately.  Too late.  It's already interrupted.

Don't you just hate it when they do that?  What the hell?  They expect you to pay for this stuff?  Lost a good hour of productivity and the cable TV isn't on yet.  Don't know how they expect me to take an afternoon nap without a good Western to sleep through.

Oh well, at least there is some justice in this world.

What Memories Are Made Of

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away I was once a young soldier serving in Uncle Sam's Air Force and stationed at Ramstein Air Force Base in what was then, West Germany.  As hard as it is to believe these 50 years later, the Cold War was in full swing, the Soviet Union was a genuine threat, and I served, along with hundreds of thousands of other Americans, in an occupation army.  WWII was still very much in evidence.  Shell pocked buildings and war-time destruction were commonplace.  There were still areas of Germany where little children would run up to you begging for loose change or candy, but for the most part, the Marshall Plan had done its job and Western Europe was back on its economic feet and life had pretty much returned to normal.

As luck would have it, I ended up in a cush job as a base photographer and my 3-year tour of duty was pretty much spent in an 8 to 5 job with lots of time off and money in my pocket.  Not a whole lot of money mind you, but certainly more than most civilians.  Also as luck would have it, after about six months in the country I bought a car.  A wonderful little Fiat 500 Abarth.  It wasn't much more than a go-kart with a body but it was just as much fun to drive as a go-kart and got something like 40 miles to the gallon of gas which cost me 11 cents a gallon (on base)(gas was over $2 a gallon on the economy).  No sooner had I gotten the car than the next piece of luck fell into place.

An airman who had served out his term and was about to rotate home befriended me so that I could chauffeur him around to his favorite saloon, which was located in a small hamlet not far from the air base.  He would buy me beer for my trouble and introduced me to his friends, all of whom were German.  He would go to Nuenkirchen because there were very few Americans there and no GI bars.  He spoke fluent Deutsch and hung with the locals.  It was there that I met two young friends and we became inseparable.  But that's another story.

This story is about the reason, when given the choice, I chose to serve my country in Germany rather than Bermuda... my love of European auto racing, or more succinctly, my love of Ferraris.  No sooner had I gotten my little Fiat than a journey to the Nurbergring beckoned.  Nestled in the hills of the Black Forest region, the Nurbergring was the most challenging, and dangerous race course in a world of dangerous race courses, but a wonderful place to visit.

In my last post I reported that this year's Amelia Island Concours de Elegance featured the 50th anniversary of the Ferrari GTO.  Seeing those cars brought back a rush of memories, for I was there to see them race and photograph them lo those many years ago and the memories and photos are still fresh.  With your indulgence, I'll share a couple with you.

The red beauty at speed, Nurbergring 1963.  The red beauty at rest, Amelia Island Concours 2012.

Ferraris weren't the only thing running that day.  The Shelby Daytona Coupe.  Same car, different number.  Dan Gurney at the wheel.

What $50 million looks like.  There were only 33 GTO's manufactured, and 17 of them were at the Concours.

This car has a special meaning to me and my good buddies who were visiting over the weekend of the Concours.  This was the car that Sir Stirling Moss drove to victory in the GT class at the first Daytona Continental in 1962 (later became the 24hrs of Daytona).  We were there to see it.

The prettiest fanny this side of Marilyn Monroe.

However, sometimes the real beauty lies under the bonnet.  The famous Ferrari V12 with Webber six-pack.  None other like it.

Alright guys, this will be the last car post for a while.  Hope you enjoyed it.

Of Old Friends and $2 Million Cars

This past weekend was the 17th Annual Amelia Island Concours de Elegance, one of the nation's premier classic auto shows.  I believe I have attended every one except one and for the past 7 or 8 years it has become an annual pilgrimage for my old buddy Punch.  But this year was special, for this year the show celebrated the 50th anniversary of the Ferrari GTO, one of the most celebrated, sought after, and expensive cars in the world.  This occasion was enough to lure another of my oldest and dearest friends into town which made it really special to me, for Mel, Punch and I go all the way back to High School marching band and a lifelong love of Formula 1 and international sports car competition.  We were cheering for folks like Juan Fangio, Sterling Moss, Phil Hill, Dan Guerney and Wolfgang Von Tripps when everyone else we knew were cheering for folks like Fireball Roberts, Junior Johnson and Cale Yarborough.

As we were all sitting around the dinner table enjoying martinis and conversation I was reminded of a photo shoot I once did with another old friend, Neil, who is a crackerjack architectural photographer and hopeless gearhead.  I dug through the closet and found the photos to share with the group and now, with you. 

Neil had befriended an exotic car mechanic locally who cared for a stable of rare automobiles for a wealthy attorney.  The attorney owned a one-off Ferrari GTO and wanted it professionally photographed.  The mechanic suggested Neil and he got the gig.  At the time, I was working part-time for Neil as his lighting assistant and second critical eye.  When Neil asked if I wanted to come out over the weekend to help with the GTO shoot, well... suffice it to say I got there before he got there and was rewarded with 15 minutes alone with the car.  Of course, I sat in it.  Worked the clutch and the famous Ferrari gear gate.  My heart was racing as a lifetime dream was partially fulfilled, I was sitting in a Ferrari GTO.

Mr. C and the sexiest car on earth.  As I mentioned, this was a custom one-of-a-kind body by Pininfarina, without question the world's quintessential automobile designer.  This car was valued at $2 million at the time, early 90's.

A couple of the studio contact prints.  I don't know the exact age of the car, but GTO's were produced between 1962 and 1964.  When the shoot was finished, the mechanic drove the car outside, where the shot of me with the car above was taken.  He offered to take Neil and I for a spin.  I couldn't believe my good luck.  The rest of a lifelong dream about to come to pass.  Just the sound of this thing made my willy tingle, a ride might cause outright orgasm.  Neil got in first and as the mechanic shifted into gear and started to pull away, the car lost power.  After a quick inspection, the mechanic declared it was a throttle linkage problem that couldn't be fixed on the spot.  Aaaarrrggghhh!  I was heartbroken, but not surprised.  It is, after all, a Ferrari.

Mr. C, photo lighting professional and critical eye, hard at work.  You know what?  I loved every minute of it.

Ho Hum

It's early Friday morning.  Big weekend ahead.  Old school chums coming to town to go to the Amelia Island Concours de Elegance.  Should be great fun.  Need to write a new post but... neh.  No energy for it.  Totally uninspired.

Searching through the computer scrapyard for something interesting I ran across a file that I have been gathering for some time.  It's a collection of newspaper clippings.  Seems like the perfect time to trot some of it out.

 Happy Friday!

Dr. Charleston, MD, BSA

I have noticed that several of my blogging friends complain about their weight and how much they need to lose.  Visions of grueling hours at the gym come immediately to mind.  Not to worry friends, Dr. Charleston is here to help.

This is actually real advice, gained from recent experience with writing a grant and developing a program for the local Arboretum called Healthy Trails.  It turns out that maintaining your weight isn't nearly as big a deal as previously thought.  All you have to do is walk.

Taking 10,000 steps a day is all that is required for the average person to maintain their weight.  A combination of 10,000 steps a day and a good diet and you will lose weight.  There's also the added benefit of a 57% reduction in your chance of a heart attack, and a 67% reduction in your chance of developing diabetes.  Don't believe me?  Google 10,000 steps and see what you get.

Now, before you shy away from the astronomical sum of 10,000 steps, you should know that the average office worker takes between 4,000-5,000 steps a day in their everyday activities.  Adding another 5,000 steps only requires about an additional 30-minutes of walking each day. 

Here's the deal.  For whatever reason, most people react negatively to the thought of walking a prescribed number of miles or minutes each day.  Perhaps it's because you think you have to do it all within a specific block of time.  But research shows that you don't have to do all of your exercise at once, in fact, it's actually better for you to do it over the period of an entire day.

Here's what you do.  Buy yourself a pedometer.  You can get one cheap most anywhere.  Put the pedometer on first thing in the morning and don't take it off until you go to bed at night.  You can keep track of how many steps you take during the day as you work towards your goal of 10,000.  You will find that you will begin to take extra steps, take the stairs, walk the long way back to the office at lunch, walk around the block in the evening, do a bunch of little things to reach your 10,000 step goal.  Soon, these little things become habit and you will begin living a healthy lifestyle of walking.

Don't try to eat the whole elephant.  If you're healthy and 10,000 steps is no big deal, go for 20,000.  If 10,000 steps is a challenge, start small and work your way up.  The thing is, get the pedometer.  Being able to refer to it throughout the day is an incredible incentive and actually fun.

Rx 

Dr. Charleston, MD, BSA

Marilyn Monroe and The Termites of Sin

When telling people about my blog, I often get quizzical looks or an outright "What?" from them at the mention of the name, Termites of Sin.  Here locally, there is a long-running band named The Crawfish of Love and people often think that I'm simply trying to one-up or ape them but indeed, that is not the case, for the Termites of Sin, and my use of the term, preceded the Crawfish by a long shot. The origins of this marvelous name comes from one of my favorite films, The Seven-Year Itch.


Those familiar with the film will know that the story is of a married man in New York who has sent his wife and son away to vacation in the mountains for the summer.  He meets and befriends a beautiful blonde who is house-sitting the apartment above.  As only Marilyn Monroe can, the ditzy blonde takes refuge in his air-conditioned space (in the age before central air-conditioning) as innocently and voluptuously as possible, causing our single-for-the-summer hero's imagination to run wild with thoughts of nights of adulterous abandon.

Based on the George Axelrod Broadway play of the same name, the Billy Wilder script is a classic and a perfect vehicle for Marilyn who plays the girl with more physical assets than brains.  In one scene she tells him that she had previously lived in a women's club and discloses why she was asked to leave:

"I hated it. You had to be in by one o'clock or they locked the doors. Now I can stay out all night if I want to. I was really glad when they kicked me out, I mean when they practically asked me to leave...It was so silly. I posed for this picture and when it was published in U.S. Camera, they got all upset...It was one of these 'artistic' pictures...it was on the beach with some driftwood. It got Honorable Mention...It was called Textures, because you could see three different kinds of texture: the driftwood, the sand and me. I got $25 dollars an hour, and it took hours and hours. You'd be surprised."

After an attempt to seduce her with an evening of martinis and Rachmaninoff fails, our hero, Sherman, is flustered, upset, and thinks he is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  The next day at work he goes to his boss, Mr. Brady, to ask for a two week vacation so he can join his wife and child in the country and finds him in his executive bathroom shaving and happy as a lark for having been out all night playing cards with the boys as his wife and child are gone for the summer as well.  

Sherman imagines he has been transformed into Dorian Gray as Mr. Brady gleefully tells his life story of summers of vice, lust, and corruption... "the story of a young man, on the surface clear-eyed and healthy, just like you Sherman, but underneath, ah, dry rot and the termites of sin and depravity, gnawing at his soul."

I still laugh at this film every time I see it, along with another of my Marilyn Monroe favorites, Bus Stop.  They just don't make them like that anymore.

P.S.  Famous acting coach and founder of The Actor's Studio, Lee Strasberg, said that next to Marlon Brando, Marilyn was the most talented actor he ever worked with.