Better Than Sex?

Beautiful sunny weekend here with plus degree temperatures that had the whole street come alive. Children on bikes and families talking with each other outside.

I was not the only one taking advantage of the warm weather to wash the winter grime from their cars. The Lincoln received a wash and vacuum as did "family truckster" Chrysler Town & Country. Took ages with extra fine steel wool to get the factory chrome rims clean of baked on brake dust. Ugh so much for my nails.

A weekend highlight was getting the 1977 Jaguar XJS out on Saturday. As the roads were dry I drove her to Oakville to help out at Genni's pub for a few hours.

The cool evening air meant I didn't have to worry about overheating issues (she runs great but I don't like where the temp gauge sits in hot weather. I want to upgrade to a bigger aluminium rad to avoid a summer traffic jam catastrophe.....the aluminum engine reacts fatally to overheating).

Anyway the V12 feels more like a jet turbine and makes me grin from ear to ear, blasting along in the fast lane then taking the off ramp at speed was an amazing feeling. This low mileage one owner car doesn't feel quite new but is darn close.

The XJS doesn't get the kudos or price of its seventies contemporaries, the Ferrari 400 or Lamborghini Espada but is easily their equal if not better.  I would go so far as comparing the XJS to the million dollar 1968-1973 Ferrari Daytona.

Pity mine is the colour of a seventies stove:

adult toy?

Ok prepare to get all misty eyed at this Jaguar sales film, I think I watched it twenty times in a row. Look for the famous number 44 racing XJS at 1:03 and Canadian cold weather testing at 2:25.

Hugs,

April

History of Speed or SPEED is History

On March 5, 2013, Fox Sports officially announced that it would re-launch Speed as Fox Sports 1. In corporate marketing speak that means the channel is history.  I don’t think I turned it on more than twice in the last few years.

After spending almost a decade making automotive television programs for the Charlotte based channel I can’t help feeling a degree of schadenfreude.

For someone obsessed by all things internal combustion the channel was pretty good back in the old Roger Werner, Speedvision days before being purchased by News Corp.

As an independent production company we lived or died by the decisions of Speed executives.  Each season we went through hell, left to wonder if our contract would be renewed. On a limited budget we created the best television possible, sometimes even creating something you might see on Britain’s Top Gear if they were having an off day.

We pitched killer ideas for new shows only to be met with blank stares of incomprehension, we would be asked to change it up but when we asked what they wanted they would say, “we don’t know but we will tell you if we see it.” No one at Speed was a car guy or gal.

In an effort to keep them happy we traveled to South Africa, France, Italy and Germany to capture new stories. We filmed inside Ferrari and Maserati  (I once owned a 3500 GT project car…or rather basket case but that is a tale for another time) we alternately froze and sweltered on racetracks across North America.

My real complaint is that the people running Speed were not car guys, in fact they had no idea about the topic their channel was dedicated to. In my many meetings and conference calls with Speed not one of the people I met with drove an interesting new car, raced, did their on wrenching or had a project car hidden in the garage. Plain Jane sedans and mini vans were the mainstay of Speeds parking lot.

Believe it or not I judged them even harsher then as I used cars as an emotional tool to block out the constant voices of transition in my head. Any man who did not have grease under his nails, spend all night in the garage working on a ground up restoration was beneath contempt. 

Could I have saved Speed if I was in charge of programming? Not sure but I would have made sure they had some real car shows.

True story:

On a spin off show we made for three seasons, the host reviewing an upmarket sport compact called it a real MILF car. We received a call from Speed after they saw the episode asking that we do not use obscure automotive terms that not all viewers might understand. 

Dispatches from the Front

It is amazing how a little sun can brighten ones mood. This winter has been a tough one, especially as we all got off so easy last year.

It was below freezing yesterday but the sun made it at least look like spring, birds were even singing. As the roads were dry I decided to charge the battery on the Thunderbird use my meager gas budget to pick up the children from school. No real difference in cost taking the T-Bird over the Lincoln as they are both powered by 460 cubic inch V8s.

The 73-76 T-Birds just seem to be smiling at you

The Thunderbird does seem to have a tighter torque converter and more responsive gearing so it is a blast to drive around town. The rear wheels want to break free at every traffic light when one has a heavy heel.

The rad might have a slight leak, so I am keeping my eye on that, I believe I have a spare from a 72 Mark IV tucked away somewhere. Free is good. 

The last two weeks have been busy pumping out a series of automotive business articles for Canadian AutoWorld, a dealer focused magazine.

The rest of the month is dedicated to a very difficult and time consuming edit project for an industry directory.

Certainly glad for the freelance work but my real goal remains a career position in marketing.

The Lincoln was in for an oil change, I usually do it myself but one it was too cold, two my friend had given me a coupon for a free service at a local garage. I arrived early and had a nice conversation with the shop owner. Lots of car magazines in the waiting room. He was a big MOPAR fan and we chatted about cars for ages, his quote, “You are a fascinating woman, I could talk to you all day.” And Is your husband into cars as well?”

Mark IV oil change, check out banana bike on wall! 

The seventies Stutz revival cars came up in conversation, wouldn’t you know it the magazine with my article on them was right in front of us sitting on top of a pile of Hot Rod magazines!  I so wanted to claim credit for the article but it had my old name on it.

Stutz Blackhawk prototype 

Speaking of names, my name change is all official right down to my drivers licence and health card. Passport next.

Good news from CAMH today that I am approved for surgery. Still very much hurry up and wait as their positive findings have to then be approved in turn by the Ministry of Health. Only then an appointment for surgery can be made.

Fingers crossed things move swiftly and smoothly as the T-Bird did yesterday afternoon.

Heard on the car radio last week, still sounds so clear and amazing for 1958.

Hugs,

April

PS. photo of me is from Sunday before I went grocery shopping, hate my massive forehead, which I try and hide most of the time, really want to get my hair line moved surgically.  

     

Diana Dors' 1959 Cadillac

 I always wanted to be a starlet….with apologies to Goodfellas.

I secretly idolized the blonde bombshells of the fifties, preferring Mamie Van Doren and Jayne Mansfield to the mainstream fascination with Ms. Monroe.

Then there was home grown Diana Dors. Like Jayne she had a thing for Cadillacs, a rarer trait in conservative Britain. Her most famous was her first, a 1955 series 62 baby blue convertible that she took with her to France. On the streets of London it caused a sensation, pastel and chrome, people ran after it having never seen something so cool.

I heard rumours she had a 1959 Cadillac like moi. One hire firm claimed to have a pink 59 Eldorado convertible that belonged to her. Seemed too good a story to be true, I had never seen any candid or publicity photos showing her with her over the top automotive counterpart. Last year I found a photo of her with just part of the rear fin visible, clearly a 59 but it could have been taken when she lived the States. Finally last night proof an official fan site. A 1959 series 62 convertible (not Eldorado), you can tell by the single row of teeth in the rear grill and Cadillac V and crest on the trunk lid it is not the very similar Eldorado model. The best part is the licence plate DD 200 !

It is a black and white picture…would it be too much to assume it was painted pink?

Extra:

Amazingly her house, Orchard Manor still stands much as it was in 1984 when she sadly died of cancer. Jayne’s pink palace was torn down. I hope Diana’s home survives and is not redeveloped. It is totally Hollywood and should be preserved as a historic site. http://www.dianadors.co.uk/orchard_manor_41.html

watch her bio pic here:

Hugs,

April

A Miraculous Journey

Reading The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane with my 10 year old.

The book is about the adventures of a china rabbit. But it is really about love.

I don’t think I have ever come across such a beautiful written story, which is all the more beautiful and a joy to read aloud.

Oh yes I cried and cried, once safely in my own room. I had trouble a few times carrying on reading, claiming I had some dust in my eye or perhaps I am getting a cold.  But such is the story that we gladly exceed story time by a few chapters.

At one point Edward is rescued and befriend by a tramp and his dog. The tramp whose name is Bull explains that he and his dog are lost. He did not mean lost in a geographic sense. That struck such a chord; I have felt so lost myself throughout my life but perhaps never more so than now.

Wishing you all happy endings….

photo Virgil and I

 Later that night, Jack came and sat next to Bull and asked if he could borrow the rabbit. Bull handed Edward over, and Jack sat with Edward upon his knee. He whispered in Edward’s ear.
“Helen,” Jack said, “and Jack Junior and Taffy — she’s the baby. Those are my kids’ names. They are all in North Carolina. You ever been to North Carolina? It’s a pretty state. That’s where they are. Helen. Jack Junior. Taffy. You remember their names, okay, Malone?”
After this, wherever Bull and Lucy and Edward went, some tramp would take Edward aside and whisper the names of his children in Edward’s ear. Betty. Ted. Nancy. William. Jimmy. Eileen. Skipper. Faith.
Edward knew what it was like to say over and over again the names of those you had left behind. He knew what it was like to miss someone. And so he listened. And in his listening, his heart opened wide and then wider still.
The rabbit stayed lost with Lucy and Bull for a long time. Almost seven years passed, and in that time, Edward became an excellent tramp: happy to be on the road, restless when he was still. The sound of the wheels on the train tracks became a music that soothed him. He could have ridden the rails forever. But one night, in a railroad yard in Memphis, as Bull and Lucy slept in an empty freight car and Edward kept watch, trouble arrived.

Takes One to Know One

No not a transsexual but someone who has suffered with depression.

I was at boarding school in England when Ant Mania was at its height, though being a proto rockabilly rebel I had no time for music that though interesting lacked ideological purity.

I recently came across Adam Ant’s new album and particularly like the cut Cool Zombie. Hooked I went back and listened to the songs that were a soundtrack to my last years in the UK. 

I also came across the documentary, “The Madness of Prince Charming”, despite the overly cute title it is a harrowing account of his depression, breakdowns and hospitalization.

The documentary struck a cord, like soldiers comparing notes on the same battle. I admire his fortitude to carry on.

And Oh Boy was he handsome back in the day!

Drafted

My good friend Genni is opening a British style pub in Oakville, Ontario. Named the Bouncing Bomb after the famous Dam busters raid the pub has a definite RAF theme with copious memorabilia and even a vintage air raid siren (no that is not a reference to me).

The pub is conveniently attached to the Trafalgar Brewery, a very successful producer of craft beers. The beer is supposed to be excellent but I wouldn’t know as I never acquired a taste for it, preferring Diet Pepsi.

I had lent a hand here and there painting and cleaning to get the pub up and running. I cannot overstate the huge task Genni took on single-handed to remodel the old bar.

Sunday she catered the brewery’s annual dinner, I was drafted to serve along with three other brave souls but spent most of the time as a plungeur, shades of  Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London (talk about rising to one’s level of competence). I don’t think I sat down till midnight. The dinner was a great success and the food and service received numerous compliments.

The push to get everything ready for the banquet really sped up the renovation schedule and the pub will unofficially open tomorrow with an official grand opening at the end of the month.

I will be making a return appearance tomorrow but this time I will behind the bar, really why hide the pub’s greatest asset in the kitchen LOL! My freelance writing and editing dance card has begun to fill up this month but some additional income is most welcome.  

Can't think of anyone better than George Formby to supply the musical selection for this post:

         well just one more:

Faggot & Freak / Law & Order

If you might recall dear constant reader, I have had some problems with one of my neighbors. I have worked hard to give him a wide berth and to avoid enraging him with my mere presence.

Last weekend he unleashed a string of disgusting sexual terms and mimed sexual acts while my youngest daughter and I were playing outside. He repeatedly mimed pulling down his pants and invited me to give him a blowjob. I was called a faggot and a freak in front of my child.

The next morning he accosted me in my driveway, me two inches from my face he berated me spewing the worst homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic (he is an equal opportunity bigot) spittle flecked rant one should ever have the misfortune to witness.

He bragged of having a police record for beating up “faggots” back in the day, I assume he is in his sixties. He also claims to have videos and photos of me doing “things. I believe this is called stalking.

Most amusingly he seems to have a fascination with the number of times I check the oil in my cars, a more solitary and quiet activity I cant imagine.   It is terrifying how quickly a situation with the potential for violence can escalate. I was scared to go out to my car to even go to the grocery store for fear of another incident. I do not fear him physically but nor did I wish to be seen as the “bad guy” for defending myself against an “old” man.

Yesterday morning I phoned the police, fearing that property damage and violence would be next on his agenda.

Despite some mix up with schedules a police officer did take a statement from me in the evening then cautioned my neighbor.  I will see if the visit from the police will have cooled his ardor but I am not confident. The officer discussed me laying charges and mentioned hate crime legislation. However, some sort of physical attack seems to be necessary before they would charge him with such an offense. I was not pleased with the officer mentioning I should remember he comes from a different generation. I didn’t realize that age was an excuse for violent bigotry.  

On the whole I try to avoid politics in this blog but I envy the more robust civil liberties of my neighbors to the south and their 2^nd. amendment. Even such self-defense products as mace and pepper spray are sadly illegal here.  In Canada it is safe to say that the accused has more rights than the victim.

I have been advised to call 911 if he sets foot on my property again.

 

Edge of Reality

 

 Not just an Elvis song. I am still recovering from the worst flu ever! Seriously folks I have never been so sick.

A week in bed has left me near stir crazy, insomnia, claustrophobia (my biggest fear). I wake up in the middle of the night feeling buried alive and on the edge of panic and insanity.

These feelings have come to follow me into daylight hours. I imagine this is what it is like to come close to experiencing a nervous breakdown.

I think the sickness left me too much time in my own head and all my worries and concerns have overwhelmed me producing feelings of being trapped. It has got to point where I fear going to sleep and stay up as late as possible to guarantee I will be unconscious as soon as my head hits the pillow. Even then I have to calm myself by breathing deeply and slowly while thinking happy thoughts.

Perhaps it is the bitter cold and bleak winter landscape is adding to my desperation.

 

I hope as I get better and do my best to address each issue, primary a lack of a “real” job I will be able to enjoy sleep again.