Four weeks ago, I wrote to you. Now I need to catch up. Things have happened; America is becoming normal. I am almost used to it. Two nights ago, I drove a Lexus back from Sacramento. Driving on the right side did not phase me. It wasn't exactly normal either, but I am getting there.
Let me tell you about my study life:
I am taking four classes. Four classes is what most people take. Some take three and graduate in five years, or they take classes in the summer.
One of these classes is on pavement engineering, which in American means, how to design roads, landing strips and port docks. I am taking this class mainly because I have to. I have to do a certain amount of courses that relate to my degree, and since I have done most of what they offer, I am stuck with this course. But it's not that bad; the teacher is a nice man, who really believes in what he is teaching.
Another of these courses is entitled "Energy and Environmental Aspects of Transportation". Every time I talk about this course, I hear a compassionate sigh. But this is actually one of the most interesting course I have ever taken. It deals with the upcoming energy crises, and with the different courses we can take to prevent them. We had guest lectures on biodiesel, ethanol and the clean air act. The latter is a measure taken by Californian legislators to raise fuel economy standards, through a legal loophole at the federal level. Following the oil embargo of the 70's, the US introduced standards that required car manufacturers to meet certain fuel economy standards by 1985 (26 mpg for cars, and 20.9 mpg for light trucks, from about 14 and 10). The manufacturers complained loudly, but the law remained and the standards were met. Since 1985, powerful lobby groups and the rising popularity of light trucks (SUVs-4WD, and trucks-utes), have lowered the average fuel economy. Bush does not plan to act; so California decided to intervene, and has mandated a lowering of greenhouse gas emission by 30% in the next ten years. GHG emissions are directly related to fuel economy.
The guest lecturers had drafted the legislation; they told us they expected about 9 law suits from the car industry, and they showed us how they had prepared for them.
I am also taking a intermediate microeconomics class: i skipped the beginner class, but this is still a joke. Economists pretending to know maths. The teacher had trouble dividing 300 by 4. The class doesn't understand what indices are. But I reckoned that I'd need this basic knowledge, so I do it anyway.
And finally the most interesting of all my classes: marketing. Simply put, it is a fascinating topic taught by a mesmerising teacher. A teacher nice enough to give me a ride back home one night after talking to me for an hour on marketing decisions. And the guest lecturers he brings in! They have all gone through his classes and are very successful. Forget empty theories; this is about people who teach what they practice.
On the marking system:
They have midterms! all of them. What a surprise. It means that last week was rather annoying, with its host of tests and assignments due. And the tests are mainly about the readings, which means that I've had to buy the textbooks. I am back at school, which is what uni is called here anyway.
And midterms aren't exactly MIDterms either: they're more like THIRDterms. Yes there are two of them. Another set coming in only a few weeks,
And there, I have dealt with the study side of my American experience,
Albert
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Switching to Blogging
I have decided to switch. I am now a blogger and it will take me some time to get used to it. I've put my long emails in here because I wanted to use them. From now on, I'll try to be more consistent and less lengthy,
beware, it might not happen,
Albert
beware, it might not happen,
Albert
From wild party to wild party via LA
Hello again,
I left you a few weeks ago, on a Thursday, the day I test drove that wide range of cars. Much has happened since then, so read on if you are interested.
The following day, Thomas and I drove to Concord, Jimmy's hometown, where Jimmy's mother took care of us for a couple of nights. Concord stands half an hour away from San Francisco. Going there was a way to save accommodation and food expenses. On the Saturday we went to San Francisco, where we walked around the tourist circuit: SF is a very enjoyable town. It sits on a peninsula sandwiched between the bay and the ocean. Its location brings a frequent fog, that even in the worst of Summer, mellows the temperatures. Its two bridges, the bay and the golden gate are both understandably very famous: they are massive, and from an engineering point of view, they are avant-garde, if obsolete. The bay bridge spans several miles; it takes ten minutes to drive through it, and there is an island in its middle. The golden gate rises out of the fog, majestic in its stature. High-rises are concentrated in the financial district, a typical city centre. Around it though, San Fran sports townhouses lining steep streets. The neutral colours coupled with the homely look and the mild population density makes SF a very humane town. SF can be likened to a townhouse Paris (for the looks and the street feel), with a better weather and a better location, and, of course, better people. Ah its people. Yes, SF is a gay town, and so proud of it. But it's not just that; it's the town of the young and rich, the artists escaping LA, the writers seeking inspiration, the hippies keeping their tradition alive, and the others: the ones who put lifestyle over success. Opportunists, go to LA. Live in constant pollution, in swelling traffic, and dream on, while your body succumbs to frustration. But you who enjoy life, and see it as more of a celebration than a struggle, join your Franciscan community; they're waiting for you.
And all this from a day in the town? The place smells fresh, looks good, and feels energetic; hence the million or so tourists that come every week-end. I actually spent two days in SF. The second was at Dave Matthews Band concert for charity in golden gate park. DMB is a band whose success is hard to believe; their sound, while pleasant, is nothing exceptional; my neighbour in Perth played just as well. But they have embodied a whiplash movement; DMB came through at a time when only rap was made. They fulfilled the need for change and they have ridden the wave of their popularity, making more pleasant songs for ten years now.
I left Concord with a group of about twelve people, and with the rest of the bay area we converged onto SF. That day, there was a bicycle race (Lance Armstrong pulled out at the last moment), a baseball game, a football game and a concert. Trains were packed, roads became gigantic parking lots, occasionally moving, cable cars barely struggled up hills, and we made our way towards the park, slowly. People streamed towards the polo field; we walked past centenarian trees, down a wide grass clearing, us twelve, and the rest in their thousands. We entered the polo field, and made our way, a hundred meters or more from the stage, but only a third of the way down the field. The field and the stands surrounding it filled up. We sat down, laying our blankets, marking our territory, and joining the gigantic picnic/concert. A bit later, a group of exuberant gays sat next to us, and for the rest of the concert, they stripped, danced, and squealed like little girls.
Soon beer flowed, and weed invaded the stadium. 80,000 hippies waiting for the band to come out, basking in the sun, eating, getting drunk, getting stoned, laughing, relaxing, sleeping. The band came out three and a half hours after its schedule time, but no one cared; people stood, clapped, dance, enjoyed the music. The band jammed for almost three hours; Santana joined them, and he added his electric guitar to the violin and the rest. They jammed together. We cheered, we stood, we slept; mainly we enjoyed the whole feel, and let the atmosphere, more than the drugs, loosen our minds.
It took a long time to leave after the band finished. Buses were full, and we missed most of them. But we got back. Exhausted, Thomas and I drove back to Davis. This was on Sunday. On the Tuesday, international orientation started. I socialised for two days, before, bored with it, I stopped attending. Internationals come from all over to study here; some hope to transfer to Berkeley or UCLA, others do their PhD here. I have become a little bit more familiar with the place. Campus is huge, dwarfing any I have been to previously. And the buildings follow the trend. The ARC, activities and recreation centre, is a new building that stretches over 14000 square meters; it was recently finished and cost USD46.5 million dollars. All that money to sport. The civil engineering building is another example; four floors with four meter high ceilings. And brand new.
This was two weeks ago now. Last week, from Monday to Friday, I went to LA, to visit Lucien, a friend who had helped me last time I came to the States. I caught the train there; trains here are much more pleasant than the greyhound bus system. They're roomy and the people don't seem so ganglike. A couple of guys came up to me and we had long chats. The train doesn't go all the way into LA; I had to catch a bus from about two hours outside downtown LA. It took three quarter of an hour to go from the outskirts of LA to downtown LA, and that was travelling mostly on highways. Downtown LA is a fair way from the coast and LA's famous beaches.
LA looks like suburbia gone wrong; nice suburbs are heavily patrolled, the middle class gathers onto the thin fringe, and the rest, well it's better that they not know what they're living in: disguised poverty waving the flag proudly. A tourist here sees Hollywood and Beverly Hills and Bel Air and Malibu; that tourist is stunned, so stunned that, commuting between these points, he does not look to the side of the highways. That tourist leaves LA and spreads the word; go there, you'll love it, he says. Disneyland was hectic but so much fun, he might add. He might tell you about Venice beach, and its open gym, there right in front of everyone. What he won't tell you, is that a street removed from the beach, sandwiched between million-of-dollars home, there exists streets in which I felt like I was back in India; cables dangled from concrete boxes to concrete box, over dimly lit stinking streets. He won't know that, because the dream doesn't mention that.
The all-destroying dream. It is not the typical American dream. It is the dream of fame, that wicked dream. Ambition, I welcome. But that which happens there is wrong; it is the sacrifice of the self to ideal. Over ten million people live in the LA area. I wonder how many, of these, aspire to be writers, actors, directors and producers. No wonder the porn industry is centred around LA; girls failing in normal movies can still "make it" if they take their clothes off. Lucien, the man I was staying with, is a prime example: a bright man from the Ivory Coast who got a scholarship to study in the US, he is now 41 and still pursuing Music. I honestly believe he has talent. But is talent enough to make it in LA? And the strength of the dream is such that Music remains paramount; he is swimming upstream, along with the rest. And there is no one waiting at the top. A long road for a lonely stage.
Since then, I have come back and moved in to an American dorm. This is suitstyle accommodation. 3 rooms, five people, two bathrooms and a lounge. Apartments repeated around a pool in my case, and courts in others. A dining common in the middle, where all three meals are served, with a wide variety of food. This style is not typical: what you usually see on TV is hall-style dorms: people share a room and use a community bathroom at the end of the corridor on their floor. The latter type is a bit more social, and leads to crazy parties. Where I live is a bit more like Dead Man On Campus. Crazy parties happen in fraternities. A frat is a brotherhood set up for some bogus reason, intent on setting drinking records, and getting as many girls as they can. To do that, they live in run-down houses, buy a lot of alcohol and invite girls, the innocent ones, to share their drinks. The girls that stay don't remain innocent. To hide their real purpose, frat brothers invite "everybody". That is how I went to two of those parties.
I can safely say that they were the easiest place to get a girl that I have ever been to. They jump on everybody. And on people with accent, they swarm. A little bit sickening actually. All I have to do is say something, anything. Hello. You're ignorant. And I get the same response. Oh, I love your accent, ohhh (moan). And then it's a snowball effect. Girl after girl after girl.
If you think that is a good thing, think again. Imagine yourself in the same situation. You are in a noisy and dirty place; and they act so happy to see you, all of them. Even the ones you could never care for. It's a bit like the evening after Easter lunch; chocolate lost its appeal.
Classes have started. I am taking two managerial economics classes, mainly because I can. The campus have finally come to life; here roundabouts are a foreign concept, but the civil engineer in charge of Davis' roads is from Hungary, and she imported them. They replace all-way stops on campus, but since no one knows the rules, they are absolute chaos. I've seen a bus half-way through one stop, and let people to its right through.
Chaos happily replaces emptiness. The courses I take seem interesting enough so far; they are far more general than their Australian counterpart.
I think I have finally caught up. Today was my second day of class. I don't have many hours but I already have a few assignments.
Awaiting some news,
Albert
I left you a few weeks ago, on a Thursday, the day I test drove that wide range of cars. Much has happened since then, so read on if you are interested.
The following day, Thomas and I drove to Concord, Jimmy's hometown, where Jimmy's mother took care of us for a couple of nights. Concord stands half an hour away from San Francisco. Going there was a way to save accommodation and food expenses. On the Saturday we went to San Francisco, where we walked around the tourist circuit: SF is a very enjoyable town. It sits on a peninsula sandwiched between the bay and the ocean. Its location brings a frequent fog, that even in the worst of Summer, mellows the temperatures. Its two bridges, the bay and the golden gate are both understandably very famous: they are massive, and from an engineering point of view, they are avant-garde, if obsolete. The bay bridge spans several miles; it takes ten minutes to drive through it, and there is an island in its middle. The golden gate rises out of the fog, majestic in its stature. High-rises are concentrated in the financial district, a typical city centre. Around it though, San Fran sports townhouses lining steep streets. The neutral colours coupled with the homely look and the mild population density makes SF a very humane town. SF can be likened to a townhouse Paris (for the looks and the street feel), with a better weather and a better location, and, of course, better people. Ah its people. Yes, SF is a gay town, and so proud of it. But it's not just that; it's the town of the young and rich, the artists escaping LA, the writers seeking inspiration, the hippies keeping their tradition alive, and the others: the ones who put lifestyle over success. Opportunists, go to LA. Live in constant pollution, in swelling traffic, and dream on, while your body succumbs to frustration. But you who enjoy life, and see it as more of a celebration than a struggle, join your Franciscan community; they're waiting for you.
And all this from a day in the town? The place smells fresh, looks good, and feels energetic; hence the million or so tourists that come every week-end. I actually spent two days in SF. The second was at Dave Matthews Band concert for charity in golden gate park. DMB is a band whose success is hard to believe; their sound, while pleasant, is nothing exceptional; my neighbour in Perth played just as well. But they have embodied a whiplash movement; DMB came through at a time when only rap was made. They fulfilled the need for change and they have ridden the wave of their popularity, making more pleasant songs for ten years now.
I left Concord with a group of about twelve people, and with the rest of the bay area we converged onto SF. That day, there was a bicycle race (Lance Armstrong pulled out at the last moment), a baseball game, a football game and a concert. Trains were packed, roads became gigantic parking lots, occasionally moving, cable cars barely struggled up hills, and we made our way towards the park, slowly. People streamed towards the polo field; we walked past centenarian trees, down a wide grass clearing, us twelve, and the rest in their thousands. We entered the polo field, and made our way, a hundred meters or more from the stage, but only a third of the way down the field. The field and the stands surrounding it filled up. We sat down, laying our blankets, marking our territory, and joining the gigantic picnic/concert. A bit later, a group of exuberant gays sat next to us, and for the rest of the concert, they stripped, danced, and squealed like little girls.
Soon beer flowed, and weed invaded the stadium. 80,000 hippies waiting for the band to come out, basking in the sun, eating, getting drunk, getting stoned, laughing, relaxing, sleeping. The band came out three and a half hours after its schedule time, but no one cared; people stood, clapped, dance, enjoyed the music. The band jammed for almost three hours; Santana joined them, and he added his electric guitar to the violin and the rest. They jammed together. We cheered, we stood, we slept; mainly we enjoyed the whole feel, and let the atmosphere, more than the drugs, loosen our minds.
It took a long time to leave after the band finished. Buses were full, and we missed most of them. But we got back. Exhausted, Thomas and I drove back to Davis. This was on Sunday. On the Tuesday, international orientation started. I socialised for two days, before, bored with it, I stopped attending. Internationals come from all over to study here; some hope to transfer to Berkeley or UCLA, others do their PhD here. I have become a little bit more familiar with the place. Campus is huge, dwarfing any I have been to previously. And the buildings follow the trend. The ARC, activities and recreation centre, is a new building that stretches over 14000 square meters; it was recently finished and cost USD46.5 million dollars. All that money to sport. The civil engineering building is another example; four floors with four meter high ceilings. And brand new.
This was two weeks ago now. Last week, from Monday to Friday, I went to LA, to visit Lucien, a friend who had helped me last time I came to the States. I caught the train there; trains here are much more pleasant than the greyhound bus system. They're roomy and the people don't seem so ganglike. A couple of guys came up to me and we had long chats. The train doesn't go all the way into LA; I had to catch a bus from about two hours outside downtown LA. It took three quarter of an hour to go from the outskirts of LA to downtown LA, and that was travelling mostly on highways. Downtown LA is a fair way from the coast and LA's famous beaches.
LA looks like suburbia gone wrong; nice suburbs are heavily patrolled, the middle class gathers onto the thin fringe, and the rest, well it's better that they not know what they're living in: disguised poverty waving the flag proudly. A tourist here sees Hollywood and Beverly Hills and Bel Air and Malibu; that tourist is stunned, so stunned that, commuting between these points, he does not look to the side of the highways. That tourist leaves LA and spreads the word; go there, you'll love it, he says. Disneyland was hectic but so much fun, he might add. He might tell you about Venice beach, and its open gym, there right in front of everyone. What he won't tell you, is that a street removed from the beach, sandwiched between million-of-dollars home, there exists streets in which I felt like I was back in India; cables dangled from concrete boxes to concrete box, over dimly lit stinking streets. He won't know that, because the dream doesn't mention that.
The all-destroying dream. It is not the typical American dream. It is the dream of fame, that wicked dream. Ambition, I welcome. But that which happens there is wrong; it is the sacrifice of the self to ideal. Over ten million people live in the LA area. I wonder how many, of these, aspire to be writers, actors, directors and producers. No wonder the porn industry is centred around LA; girls failing in normal movies can still "make it" if they take their clothes off. Lucien, the man I was staying with, is a prime example: a bright man from the Ivory Coast who got a scholarship to study in the US, he is now 41 and still pursuing Music. I honestly believe he has talent. But is talent enough to make it in LA? And the strength of the dream is such that Music remains paramount; he is swimming upstream, along with the rest. And there is no one waiting at the top. A long road for a lonely stage.
Since then, I have come back and moved in to an American dorm. This is suitstyle accommodation. 3 rooms, five people, two bathrooms and a lounge. Apartments repeated around a pool in my case, and courts in others. A dining common in the middle, where all three meals are served, with a wide variety of food. This style is not typical: what you usually see on TV is hall-style dorms: people share a room and use a community bathroom at the end of the corridor on their floor. The latter type is a bit more social, and leads to crazy parties. Where I live is a bit more like Dead Man On Campus. Crazy parties happen in fraternities. A frat is a brotherhood set up for some bogus reason, intent on setting drinking records, and getting as many girls as they can. To do that, they live in run-down houses, buy a lot of alcohol and invite girls, the innocent ones, to share their drinks. The girls that stay don't remain innocent. To hide their real purpose, frat brothers invite "everybody". That is how I went to two of those parties.
I can safely say that they were the easiest place to get a girl that I have ever been to. They jump on everybody. And on people with accent, they swarm. A little bit sickening actually. All I have to do is say something, anything. Hello. You're ignorant. And I get the same response. Oh, I love your accent, ohhh (moan). And then it's a snowball effect. Girl after girl after girl.
If you think that is a good thing, think again. Imagine yourself in the same situation. You are in a noisy and dirty place; and they act so happy to see you, all of them. Even the ones you could never care for. It's a bit like the evening after Easter lunch; chocolate lost its appeal.
Classes have started. I am taking two managerial economics classes, mainly because I can. The campus have finally come to life; here roundabouts are a foreign concept, but the civil engineer in charge of Davis' roads is from Hungary, and she imported them. They replace all-way stops on campus, but since no one knows the rules, they are absolute chaos. I've seen a bus half-way through one stop, and let people to its right through.
Chaos happily replaces emptiness. The courses I take seem interesting enough so far; they are far more general than their Australian counterpart.
I think I have finally caught up. Today was my second day of class. I don't have many hours but I already have a few assignments.
Awaiting some news,
Albert
First set of news
Hello all,
right now, I am listening to Democracy by L Cohen. Sail on, sail on, oh mighty ship of state, he says, past the reefs of greed to the shores of need through the squalls of hate, democracy is coming to the
Back home, I didn’t really appreciate the song, but now I feel it and for the little I’ve seen, I start to understand it.
I caught the plane on Friday at
A couple of weeks, I contacted someone regarding a room they had advertised on some community listing. This person was going to go on exchange to
Jimmy (his name) spoke with a soft American accent; he did a lot of the speaking; I was tired. When I saw his car, I experienced my first real American moment. A 1966 Ford Mustang, purple, with a shiny body. As I was to learn in our three hours drive, through accordion traffic, the body doesn’t make the car. He was a lot more interested in the motor, and he told me much about it; all I got was that it had the power of a corvette, and made as much noise as a truck.
That first day in the
In the house, I awkwardly stood around, unsure of what I should do with my bags, before confidently walking towards another housemate and meeting her. I then went to campus, Jimmy driving. It is a very large and green campus. Roads crisscross it, but they are only for authorized vehicles and bicycles. There are bike circles: the local equivalent of roundabouts; an intersection unknown to Americans, and replaced by all-way stops. The buildings are modern and clean; they do not aspire to any type of aestheticism. My main interest in this first visit was finding out where North was, from a variety of points.
Jimmy also drove me through downtown
They say that
This was a tournament; buy in was set at three dollars; since I had never played I was invited in for free. Beers appeared, alcohol flowed, and the game was played. It took a long time for the first person to go out: more than two hours. Soon after, there were about six of us left. My chips at times stacked up and at others vanished into another’s pile. The joke was made that it would be funny were I to win. When they were only three of us left, the joke was not deemed funny anymore. When my pile reached enormous proportions, people looked strangely angry at me. They muttered to themselves, keeping their complaints to themselves. When I won, my hand was shook, I was congratulated, they left, but no one was really happy. I had won $18. The next day, the grudge was over, we all went for pizza, another game was played, I came second, and did not lose any money.
On food: well I have to say it, but mum was right. Americans eat very badly. Forget
Sunday was the day before this girl’s 21st birthday; stereotypes decided to all converge on the house. First in the name of a gay guy called Joey, and his fat but straight friend called Amy. Joey was indeed a very nice person; he is black (sort of), fit, has done a lot of Tae Kwan Do fights, and also very open about his sexuality. “This girl jumped on me at a party, and she started undoing my belt, and I said ‘What are you doing?’, ‘What are you doing!?’, ‘Stop that, I like boys’”. The birthday girl is a bisexual women’s studies major; she hates sexist jokes, and becomes aggressive at any hint of a challenge. The others vary, but they are mainly typical American men. The birthday girl, at someone’s request, had brought Edward Penishands, an interesting porn parody, that we all watched, mostly in fast forward. No one cared. The others then went out, since she was now twenty one, the legal drinking age.
Monday after the usual recuperative morning/afternoon, we headed out to
Tuesday and Wednesday I did things that I had to do with the campus to keep my visa valid. I also played basketball; a very different sports from any I am used to. Shepherding is allowed, and it changes the game dramatically. On Tuesday I was marking this player who started insulting people as soon as his team started losing. He seemed like a ghetto guy. Tattoos in street ball are very common; talk is rough, raplike.
Today, and Adrien will love this, I went to an autoshow: Autoshow, GM in motion. Amazing.
It was a different concept from usual shows: there were 50 or so vehicles available to drive on small race tracks. A driver after registering, gets in line when there is one, and drives the car on the track. With a couple of notable exceptions, the driver is alone. The show is held by General Motors, but competitors’ vehicles were also available. Thomas got invited to this show because he is with Visa. He is allowed to bring as many guests as he wants with his invite. Driving is free, food is free, drinks are free, entry is free. There is nothing to pay. The key is knowing about it.
Let me tell you about my new driving style. We first went into the passenger car section; there were cars like the Camry and its GM competitors, but also cars with bigger engines. I first drove a Chevrolet Grand Prix. I went around the track a little fast, a bit like I’d drive if I was in a hurry to get to class. I got out, spoke to Jimmy, and he reckoned that the track was good enough to test the vehicles. I drove a few others and found it pretty enjoyable. I then went in a car with Thomas driving and I understood what they meant; tyres squelched in the corners. That was driving a little harder. So slowly, as I worked my way up to the Corvette, I increased my driving speed. The Pontiac GTO was rather nice; it looks very similar to some Holden cars. I went on to Luxury cars, still waiting to drive the Corvette. BMW, Acura, Pontiav, Lexus, Saab: I all drove you, a little harder each time. I then went in line for the Corvette.
The Corvette, according to Thomas who has a lot of practical and theoretical knowledge, is a bit like a low-end Ferrari. Look it up. It’s a very nice looking vehicle, selling for only $50,000. It is mass-produced, hence the price. I could only drive it once, and that accompanied by a staff member. I’ll try to describe it. I got in and took in the luxury. Good seat, good vision, comfortable reach to the pedals. I drove it the starting line and I waited for the man in front to get further ahead. I had checked out the course. It went straight and then a small chicane followed by a hairpin turn, a straight, hairpin turn, hairpin turn, straight finish. I had calculated that I could go straight through the small chicane without hitting a cone.
On the starting line, I pushed down the pedal, and the car rushed forward. The cones were coming fast, really fast. Through the chicane in a split second, I broke hard, turned accelerated in the turn softly (which would come to a flooring acceleration with a normal car), accelerated hard, broke and turned, the car started sliding (yeah!), let go, it righted itself, and went on... What a ride! After it, I wished I had driven it harder, and to make amends, I drove every subsequent car to the max, except for one:
The Hummer. Adrien knows what it is. If you don’t, check it out. It’s an army vehicle, illegal in
This was in the afternoon; there were less people, so I drove a variety of cars. Many 4WD. Verdict: on a road, the BMW X5 is the best. It handles better that most lower cars. I was taking turns with it without breaking, my foot floored on the straights. (By the way, each section had different tracks.) For passenger cars, the GTO was very good. I had to go very fast to make it slide out. But there was a nice surprise: a Saab Wagon (2.3 something). I drove that thing many laps. No one wanted it but me. It doesn’t look good, but it’s a joy to drive. You start by accelerating and it feels like nothing much... until the turbo kicks in. It got to the point where I felt like I was in Gran Turisimo. Cones came fast; I was leaning forward, trying to take professional turns at the fastest speed possible (the answer to this, except in rally driving, is before the wheels slide out); my hands were constantly moving the steering wheel one way or the other; my foot stayed on the accelerator as much as possible. It was like a game, but a lot better.
I’ve played poker again; won $3 over the $2 buy in. Some people don’t think; they're really just giving me their money.
Tomorrow I am going to San Francisco. Sunday I am going to a concert there: Dave Matthews band,
until next time
Albert
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