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"I Got A Dirt Track Date... Eliminations Start At Eight" ...the only missing factor to the equation would have been Southern Culture on the Skids on the loudspeakers. Or Link Wray's "Rumble." Something with a primal thump, and stabs of twang. It was the Demolition Derby. If there is anything that has at it's core the concept "America," it's gotta be county fairs. Highly respected presence of fire, police and rescue volunteers... tons of deep-fried breading and sugar... the freedom to render unrecognizable the cars our parents owned. Naive, probably. But the lights, the smells, the noise... and every kind of people in one place, without the necessity of metal detectors or helicopter support makes it easier to appreciate. Guilty, as charged. I have listened to the Clash's "I'm So Bored With The USA." And taken it to heart. And the Gang Of Four's funk socialism. I harbor no illusions of prefection... right now, somewhere in the world, someone is being forcibly deprived of their rights, or life, with some connection to our influence. And not only for the "good of the nation." There's plenty of wealthy and powerful control freaks running things, that would vaporize if the truth came to light. But I suppose the world enforces it's own status quo. And they ain't fucking with the "daarby." If this evening's feature attraction told nothing else... if you're looking for a safe ride, buy a Chrysler product. First, the early versions looked more stylish (in a baroque way); second, you can thrash you equilibruim and bodywork for over two hours and still be running at the end of Satan's parkinglot at Anti-Christmastime. What a mess they make. Boys. AND girls. For some reason, we just love to take things apart, or break them. The Gladitorial spirit, maybe. It boils down to peeled fenders, jets of motor oil and steam, thunderous slapping pistons, then silence. And the circle of recycling begins when it's all over. Trivial... wasteful... tribal... yes, all of those things. But maybe not pointless. I think, better to push that envelope, sate the emotions... rather than the more anti-social kind. Oh, there was plenty of butt-scratching as well. Mullets. Glow-in-the-dark rave crap. Grease. Grrls in capri-length sweatpants with "Bootylicious" screened across the ass. Beerguts, beet-red faces, and Harley-Davidson logos. And tolerance. Different colored skin. Old hippies and mountain folk. The curvy young. Everybody having fun, at once. But, there should be some drama. Like a challenger in next year's event... in a Volvo station wagon. Hear me out. Let Volvo know you're gonna test their product in the ultimate test of safety and endurance. Paint a big "THOR" graphic on the sides. "Demolition Man" on the roof. And play Scandinavian Apollo Creed to the locals' Rocky. Sounds like a concept to me. And see if Detroit can just walk away with survival, next time. Got to get my hands on a digital camera. The pictures say a thousand words. Dirt Track Date... in twelve months? |
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