Gran Turismo Crack
So Cake Woman bought me a PS2 for my birthday, and the Keathlys bought me Gran Turismo 4 to go with it. It took me a few days to get in to it, but last night when I saw that the next to the last stage of the International A License was the famed Nordschleife of the Nürburgring. I went to bed last night all atwitter after running through 3 minutes of the track. I understand that the average reader of my blog doesn’t care about the crisp graphics, the exacting physics, the graffiti on the 170 turns in the racetrack, but holy crap I did.
Cake Woman asked me what was up with me — I was being overly affectionate and bouncing around the apartment even before I had my coffee. I guess that I was just about to enjoy my birthday presents to their fullest — I knew that after she left for work I would be hitting the couch and making that perfect nine and one half minute run of the ring. It only took me ten tries — with breaks to do the dishes and make some marinade for chicken.
Yes. I am a dork. I don’t care. I promise that I will post tips on bicycle commuting next.
Hmm. I don’t suppose that’s any better.
Hey! Videos!
Some BMW
Porsche vs. Motorcycle. Wow. Motorcyclists are insane. This video made me feel a little ill, and my hands got all sweaty.
So this guy is all “hey, I’m gonna put a motorcycle engine into a Mini. When he’s really caning it, it sounds like the car is going to explode.
I love race games. Besides LoZ, they’re the only things that hold my attention long enough to kick ass.
My favorite is Burnout, though. You’re *supposed* to smash into the other cars! Hooray!
It’s awful after I’ve spent two days playing burnout, and then I get into my own car and I have a hard time not putting the pedal all the way down and just… hoping things turn out okay.
I would love race games if I could just learn to fucking control the car so it doesn’t fly off the road. I always over correct.
Maybe I need a Jesse lesson.
I have two clocks in my apartment, and one is set to Tokyo time so I know when to go drift racing.
Yeah, but can you do it in less than 10 minutes in a diesel S-type jag? Sabine can…
IT’S ALWAYS DRIFT TIME
NOS!