My Life In Cars

A personal history project.
jalopnikupdates:

This is the LaFerrari: A 950 HP Hybrid Hypercar.
More info here: http://jalopnik.com/laferrari-is-this-it-451065608

jalopnikupdates:

This is the LaFerrari: A 950 HP Hybrid Hypercar.


More info here: http://jalopnik.com/laferrari-is-this-it-451065608

The new McLaren P1 will get 903 horsepower. Holy…

The new McLaren P1 will get 903 horsepower. Holy…

bmwusa:

Let’s help a young car enthusiast see his idea come to life. In this Jalopnik article, 4-year-old Eli concepts his dream car with the help of his Uncle. One of Eli’s stipulations? It has to be a BMW. Use Eli’s specs and show us your interpretation of this one-of-a-kind car. And don’t worry, we’re sketching one too. http://awe.sm/rcKA

bmwusa:

Let’s help a young car enthusiast see his idea come to life. In this Jalopnik article, 4-year-old Eli concepts his dream car with the help of his Uncle. One of Eli’s stipulations? It has to be a BMW. Use Eli’s specs and show us your interpretation of this one-of-a-kind car. And don’t worry, we’re sketching one too. http://awe.sm/rcKA

Need For Speed: Most Wanted: The Kotaku Review

kotakucom:

Need For Speed: Most Wanted is a video game shot out of a cannon.

It starts at a sprint and never stops for breath, hurtling forward with such momentum that it feels like it may rattle apart at any moment. Most Wanted is exhilarating, disorienting, maddening, cathartic, and hilarious, all in equal measure. It’s the most purely enjoyable racing game I’ve played in ages.

Read More

gawkercom:

President Obama comforts a woman in New Jersey whose marina was damaged by Hurricane Sandy.
As the Wall Street Journal’s Jeff Yang put it, “If enough people see it, this is the photo that singlehandedly re-elects Barack Obama.”
[Twitter via AP]

gawkercom:

President Obama comforts a woman in New Jersey whose marina was damaged by Hurricane Sandy.

As the Wall Street Journal’s Jeff Yang put it, “If enough people see it, this is the photo that singlehandedly re-elects Barack Obama.”

[Twitter via AP]

gawkercom:

From the AP:

The NYPD has released video of rooftop rescues on Staten Island of residents who were trapped due to rising waters. In all, five adults and one child were removed to safety. 

kotakucom:

My Insane Hurricane Sandy Video, As Seen on The Weather Channel

What you see above is an electrical fire in Queens, NY that I took last night at around 8pm. 

My dad and I walked outside to check the damage Hurricane Sandy had done to our neighborhood in Douglaston. Winds were very powerful, but nothing seemed too crazy. Not just yet.

Then we saw a transformer sparking just half a block up. We walked over until we were about 15-20 feet away from it, and I pulled out my iPhone to capture some video. I know, I know. It’s dangerous. But I’m a reporter and my dad is just too curious a creature.

Before we knew it, the transformer sparks set fire to the cable, burning its encasing and spreading rapidly. My father grabbed my arm and dragged me backwards to get us a safer distance away. The firework-like sparks that followed made me jump, and my father made his last pull for protection behind a nearby tree where I continued to film the second transformer sparking.

It was terrifying, to be sure, but it was also fascinating. As someone whose job it is to capture and share information, I felt a drive to record as much as I could. And my father’s reassuring presence made it easier for me to stand my ground. 

My video seems to have been making its rounds on the Internet—caught by BoingBoing and Buzzfeed—and even on cable’s The Weather Channel, which you can see an image of below thanks to Epic Games’ Dana Cowley.

Several hours later, my dad and I took a drive around the neighborhood. We stopped by where the electrical fire had taken place, and it still smelled like burnt plastic. A tree across the street from it had since been uprooted, pulling a hefty amount of grass out from around it. Driving further we saw more uprooted trees, and even several dislodged sidewalks. Amazingly, many people’s houses were safe from fallen trees. A few houses, though, and several cars were slammed into by trees. We saw downed electrical wires, and a few other sparking ones, as well. Several people walked around with flashlights. We drove by the dock that’s near my parents’ house and I tried to capture video of the flooding that had taken over the boardwalk, spilling into the street. I grew up in Douglaston, and so it was shocking to see this place transformed.

Things have since quieted down for now, and fortunately we only lost power once but my father managed to salvage it. (He’s an engineer, so he jumped one dead electrical phase to the remaining live one, and we now have power again—in case you were interested in how we did that.)

I promise I’ll stay safe with any future iPhone adventures, but there are some serious situations in NY that I feel need to be publicized. Everyone should stay inside and be safe.

—Tina Amini

My life in cars: 1978 Mercedes 300D

Rumble, rumble, rumble. The familiar intonation of a diesel engine putt-putting. Every time I hear an old Mercedes pulling up I’m suddenly reminded of the sticky sound of the faux leather interior on a humid day. The smell of diesel. The site of an emerald green brassiere.

To drive is to be a god. Not the God. Just a god. To move freely through space and time, temporarily unrestrained by the limits of our human form. Faster than a horse. Slower than a comet. Somewhere in between.

A suburban life is one spent in cars. It’s not a choice. You don’t tell your parents where to live, they tell you where to live. It’s all Ike’s fault. Wide alleys linking us in defense from an unsure enemy created a new foe: closeness.

To get close to someone in a suburb is to have a car. When the distances get greater so does the desire to decrease them, so we beg and plead and stretch our parent’s patience until they hand over the keys.

In my case it was a 1978 Mercedes 300D in a creamy dijon fading into dijonaise. Bought cheap, because cheap was all we could afford, off an old German woman who must have known my old German grandmother but I never understood how.

"You have to use ze green gas" she said.

I soon learned she meant the green-handled diesel pumps, of which there were only a few in my wooded shelter of a city. Cheaper than regular gasoline, sometimes.

Ample room in the back. Yet I never used it. Somehow making out in the front made more sense. In the school parking lot. Easy to get caught. But the good kids never get in trouble. The higher your GPA the larger the forcefield around you. No one told the troublemakers, but passing an AP test is the best kind of get-out-of-jail-free card.

Slow. Slow is good. Especially with a RWD car in the hands of a teenager who’d played too much Gran Turismo and Hang On and Virtua Racer and Tony Stewart OFF:ROAD at the community dance center because you can’t really dance to grunge music and this flannel shirt sort of itches. Let’s get out of here.

The heater didn’t work. A cruel joke for a German car. Doesn’t it get cold in Germany? It played tapes, so you played tapes. Shuggie Otis, given to me by a friend.

"This is real music, keep it as long as you like."

And I’d take the girls to school. Two of them. One had a boyfriend. A total shit, but she liked total shits so she had no interest in me beyond the car. Adopted. One of the first generations of Asian kids to grow up with religious white parents. Rebelled as much as she could while never getting into real trouble.

Weighed next to nothing, but I still dropped her once. It was the Vietnam War. Our little suburban version of it. Running across the stage. We had to have a white actress play the African American nurse. At least we had one Asian.

Then there was the other one. Smart. Lived in an apartment. Never on time. Always had an excuse. Also had no interest in me beyond the car. I try to remember why I was the one who took her to school every day. I can’t. Does management consulting now. Good money. She probably has her own car.

Rumble, rumble, rumble. How could a car be this loud and make so little power?

One day the old girl blew up on me. My dad and I (mostly my Dad) had been working on her. No coolant. Dry as a bone. I didn’t know. Made it to school no problem. Was driving back on one of those miserable, hot Texas days.

Why did I start to remove the radiator cap? I knew what was wrong, I knew that was wrong, but I did it anyway. Nearly shot through the hood. Stumbled into the bank, sweaty. They gave me some water, I put it in the car. Drove home like nothing happened.

Built like a German tank. How’d they keep losing wars?

It went to an old Lufthansa mechanic. He loved’em. Needed the parts, I think. Sad to think of it as gone. Aren’t there other kids out there who could benefit?

I don’t remember the last time I drove it. I wish I did. It was so smooth. It was luxury and style before I could really afford the former and before I’d acquired any of the later. A first car cooler than I was.

Photo Credit: 300TD.org