More Top Gear? Yes, Please.

As I may have mentioned before, I have mono. Thankfully I’m at the tail end of it all but there was a period of about three weeks when I was so bad water was difficult to drink. I didn’t care what was going on in the world. Howler monkeys and dandelions could have rained down to take over and I wouldn’t have carried less. All I wanted to do was sleep and watch Top Gear.

And that’s exactly what I did. For the least two months I’ve barely missed an episode on BBC America. Most of the time I don’t even know what Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond, and James May are talking about. I’m not really a car person. But I dreamt I was.

Let me explain. Between naps I’d wake up in time for the show and then fall right back asleep when it was over. Repeat enough times – and take enough prescription cough medicine – and strange things start to happen. Things such as dreaming of Clarkson teaching me how to drive a supercar or James May explaining how something very important works and, my personal favorite, drag racing with Hammond.

One day I woke up and it took me a second to realize I wasn’t participation in one of the Top Gear’s signature challenges (I believe we were racing across a desert). Then I thought “damn, I wish I could be one of their challenges” and then I think I went back to sleep.

Now that my befogged head has started to clear I’ve started to think how that might work. I don’t just want to learn how to drive like a professional driver on a closed course. I want to learn the intricacies of an engine and the subtle nuances between ultra-luxury cars. Who better to teach me all this then three blokes who’ve been yammering on about cars longer than I’ve had my actual license?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a complete novice. My first car was a 1989 Ford Bronco II. Rubbish. My second, and current, is a 1991 Jeep Cherokee Laredo. I love it. It has no cup holders and the speedometer tells me it can only go 85 mph. For me that’s probably a good thing and it worked well for Dr. Brown. Between these two cars I learned how to check engine fluids and tire pressure. Theoretically I even know how to change a tire. But that’s pretty much it.

Terms like horse power or under-steer are logical enough to figure out but I want to know more. How, for example, does one calculate horse power? Why do some cars have better traction and others send drivers flying around the track like the Tea Cup ride at Disney?

Auto shop wasn’t offered at my high school. Well, if it was I didn’t know about it. If I could have enrolled in such a class I would have. I remember when I was four years old I received a 1957 Chevy Bel-Air Convertible in the form a Barbie car. I fell in love. And when I was six the movers lost our TV but somehow the remote made it to our new house. My parents let me take the now useless gadget apart and I fell in love again. To this day I’m fascinated by both cars and how stuff works.

True, there are plenty of books on the subject and I have a car so I could learn on my own. But let’s face it; my Jeep is not the Sistine Chapel of engineering.

In all honesty I think a challenge like this is a brilliant idea. It’s something completely different from anything Top Gear has ever done. Though, it does mean I’d have to move to England, a place I’ve always wanted to visit, for a period of time and live in the landscapes that inspired Turner and Whistler. Madness! But it also means a female presence on the often politically controversial show, at least for a (very) short period of time. And May, Clarkson, and Hammond get to look like geniuses while I get to expand my knowledge. Win – win.

How hard could it be?

I Built A House. Sort Of. (Reprise)

After watching the premier of the Hurston family episode on “Extreme Makeover” I just wanted to say a little something.

I cannot believe how fortunate I am I have taken part in helping, even in the smallest of ways, to build a house for such a deserving family. In this case deserving isn’t even an adequate word. Normally I get teary watching a regular episode – alright, I’ve balled my eyes out a couple of times – but this time was different.

This time I had a general idea, design wise, how the house would look completed and even watched a blurry grand reveal on-line. In effect I’d already seen an all-inclusive preview that would ordinarily spoil the TV viewing experience. But still, even with the editing and behind-the-scenes action, I hadn’t imagined the impact on the family. Or the impact the Hurston’s will have on many more worthy people.

Every single bit counts.

I Built A House. Sort Of.

Sunday night at 8 o’clock, 7 o’clock Central, a special edition of “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” airs featuring the Hurston family. Why is it special? Simple, I helped build the house.

Okay, okay. I didn’t actually contribute to the physical construction of the building. Minor detail. I merely spent one shift volunteering and I can honestly say it was one of the best days I’ve ever spent almost breaking my back. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I should probably start at the beginning.

Last December an article ran in Florida Today announcing the show’s up and coming arrival to the Space Coast and hunt for local skilled and unskilled volunteers. After reading the paper two thoughts came to mind: (1) I can do that and (2) Does that mean I might end up on TV? Yikes.

Stage fright aside, I went to the website given in the article and signed my ‘unskilled’ self up for a shift. Then I waited and waited for my confirmation email. Turns out coordinating an effort such as, oh, building a house in seven days is kind of a like setting up an elaborate domino design so everything can fall precisely on queue. It takes loads of time to organize. Finally the email arrived in my inbox with the date, time, and location making me feel like I was entrusted with some secret mission.

On my assigned morning I got up before even the most enthusiastic barista. I drove up to Cocoa, past the check-in site and then found again, signed some forms, put on my snazzy new XL blue volunteer’s shirt and waited for the bus, hard-hat in hand, to take us to the build site. I had no clue what was awaiting me. The bus was clean so I took that as a good sign.

After a short bus ride through a maze of streets with the occasional house featuring a couple of horses in the back yard we got there and get to work. For six hours I unloaded scaffolding, relocated lumber and hauled away about 8,000,000 pounds of garbage from in and around the house. At some point I forgot all about the cameras.

Exhausted and desperate for a big juicy cheese burger I finished spilling sawdust all over myself and walked over to the catering tent. Sadly there were no cheese burgers. But the chicken was yummy and the rice was the best I’ve tasted. I sat outside to eat in the shade when I looked around and realized I was picnicking in the middle of a film set.

On television “Extreme Makeover” never accurately demonstrates to their viewers what a huge sacrifice filming has on the neighborhood. Down the street catering tents are pitched on someone’s front lawn. Another generous family transformed their yard into some kind of RV lot. It’s like walking out your front door and onto the set of “Desperate Housewives”. Nevertheless, it’s only for a week and grass grows back.

On my way home I contemplated how I spent my day. At first it didn’t seem like such a big deal. All I did was dump discarded drywall into a colossal dumpster until it reached maximum capacity and avoided using a Port-O-Potty. When I thought about what we did as a team, however, I got a little choked up.

Thousands of people came out over the course of a week, not just to make a TV show, but to change the lives of a deserving family. I’ve never met the Hurstons and I gather most of the volunteers were in the same boat. We were all just cogs in the machine. Some of us played bigger parts than others but we got the job done. And, I believe, ahead of schedule.

No. 1

Round about the end of last year I started thinking I must be one of the only people left on the planet without a blog. Of course I’m not. It only seems that way because these days it’s easy enough for your average Joe (or Josephine) to blog about fishing or their cat Fluffy just for the sake of writing about fishing or Fluffy. And then there are the folks who just want to share their opinions. They all seem to have blogs, too. Provided they have an internet connection.

Well, I’m pretty sure I fit in the latter group. Under the best of intentions I had planned on starting this blog in January. As you may have figured out, it’s already February.

Here’s what happened: I got mono. You know that thing teenagers get when they spend more time making-out than doing their homework. And, yes, I was paying attention that day in health class so I know kissing isn’t the sole manner of contracting mono but I’m a bit of a germaphobia and therefore thought I was safe. Wrong!

For most of January I was asleep. Or coughing. Or trying to sleep but couldn’t because I was coughing. Now, I’m not one to run to the doctor at the first sign of a runny nose. I’m already contradicting myself but I think you’re immune system benefits in the long run if a few germs sneak by. However, two weeks into the cold from Hell I caved and saw the doctor only to hear there was nothing to do but rest and wait it out.

So here I am, still waiting it out. And starting my blog.

Problem is I’m not really sure where this blog is heading. Eventually, I hope, this blog will level out into something that resembles well written thoughts on interesting subjects. But no matter what I write I urge you not to take anything too seriously, in spite of the title of this blog. Actually, the title was – shall we say – borrowed from the Phil Collins album. Why Phil Collins? Why not? It fits. Well, at least in my mind.

I also hope this damn mono goes away soon, never to be heard from again. No, seriously. Mono is possibly the most boring illness on Earth and the only things that’s brought me joy in the last few weeks has been Top Gear (more on that later) and pudding.

After that little rant I’ll just say this bit more. Blogging is perhaps one of the greatest products of the internet. Writing for pleasure gets lost after you finish school. Filling out paper work and the occasional “thank you” note takes its place. People get busy and forget what they miss. I’ve miss writing and I look forward to joining this part of the 21st century.

However, I still refuse to Twitter.