May 16, 2009


A Porsche By Any Other Name


Some of you had started to believe I was lying about the Porsche stuff.

Ha. It's finally running today. Here's the link for all you cheap-os that don't want to pick up a copy of the Star (or steal one from a neighbouring table at Tim's later today), but the pics are worth it. There's a tryp-tich (sp?) of my face as I accelerated from zero to a billion miles an hour.

Awesome day. Awesome cars. Somebody has to do it...

3 Comments:

Blogger OmemeeOzzie said...

Too bad there was not audio from that moment... I imagine some colourful dialogue...

May 16, 2009 12:52 PM  
Blogger Lorraine said...

I screamed. Very loudly.

Stef (my instructor for the day) was an amazingly patient Belgian, whom I sure ran home after that event thinking all Canadian women are nuts.

May 16, 2009 12:54 PM  
Blogger Chris Brown (not the felon) said...

Again... dare I say it... I have you beat. Oh sure, your fancy schmancy Porsches are nice and shiney, and sure they may be faster and furiouser than the event I was at, but age, quite obviously, did indeed supersede beauty. September 23, 1963 was a beautiful autumn day. Very little wind, sunny skies. The music blared from the two speakers nailed to the telephone poles. Twenty five of us had been invited to the exclusive testing of a new and exciting automobile. Twenty eight shiny yellow Volkswagen Beatles were lined up (there were three spares in case of... shall we say... an incident) and we all ran to pick our favourite colour.

Yellow (you're obviously not paying attention. I already told you they were ALL yellow.)

I hopped in mine and put the pedal to the metal. Literally. They were pedal cars and I was in my glory. My blonde locks flowed in the breeze of the open air, as I mashed left, then right, then left pedal to the mat. The music blared. The boys got high on Children's Niquil and the girls lined up for ages at the soother booths that had been set up for those whose teeth had picked that inopportune time to cut through the gums.

It was Bugstock and we were young and foolish. Halfway through the event the music stopped and we were handed pillows and blankets. Nap time (did you get a nap time? I think not.) The girls (of all things) napped. The boys spent the time far more productively trying to figure out how to coerce the girls into entering a wet diaper contest. The day ended in disaster when Larry Vernec (who had the hots for Connie Bagshaw (for obvious reasons)) ran off the road while attempting to drive with his feet. The wheels, no longer having any motivational force, locked up and he went over the rail, down the ravine and wound up with a bloody nose and a wet diaper. He won the contest but lost his dignity. We were all piled on the bus under the dour and watchful eye of Miss Blundy, who "Tch tch tch'd" all the way back to nursery school.

In another 30 or 40 years I think I'll try the Porsche thing. It may cause me to enter my own wet diaper competition, but who will know?

Or care.

May 16, 2009 3:49 PM  

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