Author Archive for tmangan

Hot rods in Pleasanton

by  • March 27, 2004 • 9 Comments

The Goodguys Rod & Custom Association’s 22nd All-American Get-together is happening this weekend at the Alameda
County Fairgrounds in Pleasanton, which is just down the road from us. Thousands
of people and cars show up at a massive car show/swap meet/flea market. These
are some highlights.

This wacky yellow inflated guy zig-zags about at the entrance to the show.
I was there Saturday, the first day.

This old Ford has a beautiful paint job — though you can’t tell so much in
this photograph. I love the torpedo grille on this model.

My dad and I rebuilt a 1965 Ford Ranchero like this one. Ours wasn’t quite
as slick but we had the satisfaction of knowing we’d built it ourselves.

In California, people will make a stretch limo out of anything, including a
’57 Chevy.

Some folks are prone to getting carried away with the Stars and Stripes.

The ’55 Chevy Nomad was the coolest car ever manufactured in North America.
I strongly suspect this is not the factory paint job.

The grille makes this big ol’ Buick look like somebody’s crabby uncle.

A chopped-and-channeled ’51 Mercury with exquisite custom paint. This body
style was immortalized in the movie "Rebel Without a Cause," though
James Dean drove a ’49 Merc. My dad owned a snazzy ’50 Merc that he gave to
his brother, who promptly wrecked it.

No word on whether Jack Nicholson posed for this paint job.

I’m pretty sure this is a 1940 Mercury; I just love that robin-egg-blue color.
Seems like it ought to have Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall in the front seat.

There’s something vaguely pornograhic about all these cars having their hoods
open and their engines wagging in the breeze — this classy Jaguar seems a bit
shamed by the experience.

Cadillac’s tailfins got totally out of hand when the ’59s came out. Which makes
this model the second-coolest ever built in North America.

Remember how Bob Seger talked about doing the nasty in the back seat of his
’60 Chevy? Well, this is the back seat of a ’60 Chevy. It looks better without
fumbling teens practicing their Night Moves in it.

These dolls could well be possessed by the devil.

Think of "Time" by Pink Floyd. And ask yourself why the organizers
of these things think we all want to listen to classic rock over the intercom.

At least half the fun was checking out all the spare parts for sale, like these
speedometers.

$250 or best offer buys you this swell Continental kit. You must supply your
own Continental. (NOTE THIS IS NOT FOR SALE TODAY — this event was in 2004).

These are necessary because, you know, the car manufacturers have this strange
defect which causes them to install really sucky steering wheels.

At last, some collector cars that I can afford.

One guy was even selling these really snazzy antique gas pumps.

San Francisco scenes

by  • March 23, 2004 • 5 Comments

Today Melissa and I decided to do something usually reserved for tourists:
ride the cablecars in San Francisco and take pictures of the Golden Gate Bridge.
We had a couple other diversions too, as you’ll notice.

If you want to ride an uncrowded cablecar, take the California Street line.
It starts at the foot of Market Street, stops at Nob Hill and Chinatown, and
continues uphill to Van Ness Avenue, where you grab another car and ride it back
down.

Melissa gets settled in for the ride at the foot of California Street.

The cab drivers have to squeeze in between the cablecars and the curb. This
guy was about 12 inches from my knees when he passed.

Fares are 3 bucks for a one-way ticket, or 9 bucks for an all-day pass. We
opted for the latter. You hop on and the conductor comes along and collects
the fare.

The view out the back, looking down California Street. It’s a lot steeper than
it looks.

Here’s the Powell Street cablecar. It’s almost always packed to the gills because
it picks up a load of passengers down the hill at Fisherman’s Wharf. Good
luck getting on … we tried three times and they all were full.

It was sunny, breezy and cool — perfect sweater/jacket weather.

Here comes another one up the street.

This one does a better job of conveying how steep the street is. It’s no vacation
trying to walk these streets.

That’s the Transamerica Pyramid in the background.

The sun’s a blur at Grace Cathedral, high atop Nob Hill.

It’s an impressive edifice by any measure.

The hazards of getting your camera too close to the window.

After we tired of the cablecars, we stopped by sports bar where somebody in
a silly suit was handing out free baseballs.

Inside, a more sanely clad guy gave us these balls. They’re part of a contest
in which the winner gets to throw out the first pitch at a San Francisco Giants
game.

Toward the end of the afternoon we made our way over to the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s
majestic any time of day.

A ship passes on its way out to sea.

Even a softheaded liberal like yours truly appreciates a nice patriotic image.

Digital cameras take wonderful sunsets.

We traveled to Twin Peaks, high above the city, after sunset. The white line
down the middle is Market Street.

The view from my porch

by  • March 15, 2004 • 4 Comments

The wireless experience: I’m on the porch, kicking back in my lawn chair. I can see the tops of the trees decorating the apartment complex. The sky is that perfect color of blue you see only with 50 miles of the ocean. It’s breezy and warm, low 80s.

I’m listening to tunes streaming from my CPU in the other room. Bob Dylan growling something about love gone bad.

The beer is made by Gordon Biersch, a San Jose microbrewery. BG makes life worth living — in moderation of course. Surest way to ruin your appreciation for a good beer is to drink a lot of it. You need that taste you get when you haven’t had one in a week.

Just another reason why people move to California but never move back.

Did I mention I’m on vacation this week? Got three days to get my brain ready for this presentation I’m doing in Houston. Blogging for copy editors.

Maybe it’ll be nice in Houston but it won’t be this nice.

Sopranos are back

by  • March 7, 2004 • 2 Comments

I had to watch, and now I think: Christ are they going to be this sullen and bitchy all season long?

Can’t figure out if this scene was poignant or silly: Tony is trying to talk his shrink into going out with him, she’s having none of it. He presses her for a reason, she says, “I don’t like your values.”

Tony says “What don’t you like about my values?”

My brain is screaming: You’re a fucking mob boss and a murderer, Tony. What’ s to like about your values?

So far two Annoying Guest Wiseguys Who Must Be Killed By Season’s End have been introduced. We saw a few scenes with the wonderful Robert Loggia, but only snapshots of the totally happening Steve Buscemi. Both of these guys can act circles around the entire cast of the Sopranos … must be written into James Gandolfini’s contract that they won’t be allowed to upstage him.

But they’ll be dead by the end of the season anyway, so why get worked up?

All I can figure is I must’ve been an honest chump whose shoe store got bombed by the Gambino gang in a previous life, because as much as I enjoy the comedy, the irony, the interplay of the characters, etc, a little voice is hollering from the far reaches cranium:

“The Sopranos are Criminals and they Belong in Prison for Life!” They do not belong in a pricey home in a, uh, tony suburb; they do not deserve to have their lifestyle beamed into six million living rooms every Sunday night. They are scum who kill, steal and maim to get their way.

OK, I know it’s just a soap opera with a mafia setting … I know I’m supposed to be charmed by the best talent in cable TV … I know I’m supposed to be able to say, “look, mobsters have lives, too.”

How’d I get stuck with this brain, anyway? Because it’s saying, right now, “how about a TV show about the lives those bastards snuffed out?”

Please, somebody, give me another brain, one that can let this shit slide and let me enjoy the best show on TV.