terça-feira, 29 de junho de 2010
segunda-feira, 28 de junho de 2010
Costumo ouvir este som de vez em quando, geralmente quando acontece algumas coisas desagradáveis que me deixa desmotivado. A versão original é muito mais profunda e realista que a traduzida pelo Pedro Bial. Para os que não entendem inglês aconselho ler a legenda que, ainda que falha, reproduz em texto algumas destas pequenas regrinhas básicas.
Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young
quarta-feira, 23 de junho de 2010
terça-feira, 22 de junho de 2010
segunda-feira, 21 de junho de 2010
O cara é simplismente demais. Isso em 1986!
Rendezvous IV (Part 4)
sexta-feira, 18 de junho de 2010
quinta-feira, 17 de junho de 2010
Cansei de andar pelo lado de fora do muro para cortar caminho, mas ver pelo lado de dentro é a primeira vez. Amputaram Interlagos. Imagino o que seria o Anel Externo e a Indy andando lá...
Planeta Terra chamando, Planeta Terra chamando....
quarta-feira, 16 de junho de 2010
Quando a bomba de combustível de meu veículo apresentou problemas, logo no dia seguinte fui a uma loja de autopeças que sou cliente a tempos e comprei um modelo compatível da marca Gauss.
Após instalar a nova peça, vou percebendo algumas falhas que aos poucos vão diminuindo. Por três dias posso desfrutar do prazer de andar novamente com meu veículo até que após fazer compras no mercado com minha família, passo por problemas na injeção de combustível.
No dia seguinte, novamente é desmontado o tanque e constatado problemas na bomba de combustível. O motivo da falha foi simples: a bomba já estava demasiadamente usada além de ser de outra marca.
Peço ao gerente da loja que justifique a venda da peça usada como nova assim como a solução para todos os gastos decorridos até então. Chegamos a um acordo de cavalheiros e recebi uma nova peça Gauss para instalar no meu veículo.
Infelizmente a peça não funcionou como deveria apresentando problemas antes mesmo de sair da oficina. Por precaução, efetuamos todo tipo de testes para descartar qualquer tipo de problema elétrico com o veículo, além de instalar outra bomba usada compatível com o modelo para confirmar o diagnóstico.
Devolvo a bomba de combustível, peço meu dinheiro de volta e procuro o SAC da empresa Gauss para que tentem dar explicações sobre tudo que está ocorrendo, já que no meu entender, houve por duas vezes a tentativa de usar esta marca, ambas desastrosas.
Recebo uma resposta por e-mail, afirmando que a empresa se isenta de qualquer responsabilidade com seus distribuidores e que infelizmente só poderia fazer algo a partir do momento que a bomba de combustível retornasse a fábrica para uma análise criteriosa.
Em resumo: demonstram que não estão interessados em atender seus clientes como um ser que analisa os fatos e pode dar seu depoimento de satisfação a outros interessados no produto. Fazem mais do mesmo que estamos tão habituados.
Em nenhum momento estive interessado em ações judiciais ou indenizações pelos altos custos que tive no período de conserto. Isso é irrelevante perto do respeito que um cliente merece, seja ele atendido pela fábrica, cliente ou distribuidor, pois no final das contas somos nós consumidores finais que daremos o respaldo da marca adiante.
Eu alerto as pessoas que lêem este post, que tomem cuidado ao usar produtos desta empresa. Pode ser que tenham uma amarga experiência como eu tive, correndo o risco de ficar e pé em um lugar inóspito com toda sua família. Dê preferência a outras marcas mais conhecidas e distribuidores mais confiáveis para não ter o desaforo de uma resposta pronta como o que recebi da Gauss.
quarta-feira, 9 de junho de 2010
segunda-feira, 7 de junho de 2010
sexta-feira, 4 de junho de 2010
Resumidamente, é a máxima de quem nunca viu melado quando come se lambuza.
Dedico á meu grande amigo Kahoe que assim como eu, deve de certa forma se identificar com a história.
The Cars of the Parents are Visited Upon the Children - Side GlancesBy Peter Egan
A few months ago, I had the good fortune to fly into our California office from Wisconsin just as Editor-in-Chief Matt DeLorenzo and R&T contributor John Lamm were off to visit Jay Leno at his workshop/museum in Burbank.“Want to go along?” they asked.
Of course I did. So I jumped in the car, and off we went.
To a car buff, few things are more fun than visiting the famous Leno shop to see what Jay is up to. If he isn’t changing the oil in the gearbox of a 1925 Doble steam car, he’s working with his crew of craftsmen to graft a 1000-bhp rear-drive powertrain into a 1966 Olds Toronado.
Being in Leno’s shop always makes me think of that famous scene from The Wind in the Willows where Water Rat tells Mole, “Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing—absolutely nothing—half so much worth doing as simply messing around in boats.”
Substitute cars or motorcycles for “boats” and you’ve pretty much got the picture. There’s an atmosphere of relaxed fun in the place, and I’ve always come away curiously energized and inspired to spend more time messing around with cars—and to finish my own projects. Maybe it helps that Jay has two Lotus Elans and they both run.
On this latest visit, however, he was focused on the restoration of a much larger car—a 1966 7 Litre Ford Galaxie with a 4-speed manual transmission. A car almost exactly like the one his dad bought when Jay was in high school.
He told us a hilarious story (since detailed in his own column and on his website) about “helping” his dad spec out the car by surreptitiously having the Ford salesman check the boxes for the 7 Litre engine option and the “Muffler Delete” package, with only a pair of glass-packs to quiet the rumble.
His dad, of course, was not happy when the car was delivered. He thought there was “a hole in the muffler” and was dismayed when he stepped on the accelerator and the car spun its narrow bias-ply rear tires and went sideways. Leno says his father’s disdain for the car was relatively short-lived, as the Galaxie rusted out very quickly and finally met its end when Jay hit a tree and broke the car in half.
Here, of course, is the dream—helping to choose the performance options on your parents’ car during your high school years.
We were not all so lucky.
My own father was quite vigilant any time I was around during the car-purchasing process. He knew instinctively that any car or drivetrain I might prefer was not in his best interest, or in the interests of society as a whole.
When I tried to give my dad advice on which car to buy, his eyelids would droop into the half-closed position and he’d look at me with a kind of wary sadness, like a CIA bureau chief listening to the advice of a known Russian spy. If I told him we should meet under the big clock in Grand Central Station, he immediately knew that was the world’s most dangerous place to meet and would quickly suggest someplace else.
The worst example occurred when I wrecked my parents’ 1962 Fairlane (not my fault, I swear) and my dad decided to replace it with a 1966 Mustang. Nothing I could say—no pleading or appeal to his better angels—could sway him into ordering a car with a 289 V-8, 4-speed manual transmission, fastback body or GT package. Instead he ordered an ordinary coupe with a 200-cu.-in. six. The only semi-bright spot was the transmission—a 3-speed manual. He’d been so traumatized by a series of Dynaflow failures in our ’50s Buicks that he’d sworn never to own another car with an automatic transmission.
Once, when my dad was shopping for an inexpensive second car, I tried to steer him toward a really clean 1954 Ford 2-door with a V-8 and 3-speed manual, but he demurred because the car had chromed lug nuts and no hubcaps. He reasoned (correctly, as I was only too well aware) that the car had been owned by “some hot-rod kid who drove it hard.” So repelled was my father by the chromed lug nuts that he never even started the engine—which might, in any case, have drawn his attention to the twin glass-packs.
Instead we got a 1954 Ford station wagon, a fake woody in 2-tone cream and red. In retrospect, this was actually kind of a nice-looking wagon, but not an obvious answer to the searing question, “What would James Dean drive?”
Fortunately for the world supply of Teen Bliss, not everyone was as unsuccessful at parental guidance as I.
My Detroit friend, Richard Sharer, tells me he had a high school buddy with better luck. The guy’s mom had little interest in cars, but knew her son spent all his time reading car magazines and was therefore an expert in the latest developments in automotive technology. So when it came time to buy a new Pontiac Tempest in 1964, she miraculously turned the option checklist over to him.
And, after thoughtfully ruminating on his mom’s transportation needs, he decided to check the GTO option, rather than ordering an ordinary Tempest. Richard recalls the car was Nocturne Blue with a white vinyl top, and it had a 389 with a 4-barrel, exhaust splitters, a wooden steering wheel and deluxe wheel covers. The only compromise was an automatic transmission (which precluded the Tri-Power option), as his mom couldn’t drive a stick. She was apparently quite amazed at how fast the car was. Here, it seemed, was a son who had really done his homework.
I asked Richard if he, himself, had ever been able to influence his parents and he said, “No, my dad was a GM transmission engineer and knew exactly what he wanted. Luckily, he liked some pretty hot cars, so we had a few amazing first drives together where he got very heavily into the throttle.”
I think this is known as “the best of all possible worlds.”
After our Leno visit, I also asked John Lamm and Editor Matt DeLorenzo if they’d had any luck cultivating a taste for fine, high-performance automobiles in their own parents, and Matt said it was a somewhat moot point because there were six kids in the family and they needed a large sedan. His dad was a GM man, so they always had Oldsmobiles or Buicks with mid-size V-8s, “although one time he got an Opel Kadett wagon for some unknown reason—and that’s when I learned the joys of driving involved right and left turns and not just smoky burnouts.”
John Lamm’s story was a bit more tragic.
His dad was the president of the city council in Middleton, Wisconsin, and bought cars formerly driven by the police chief, so the family had a 1957 Ford Wagon with a Thunderbird V-8 and a 1956 Ford wagon with a Police Interceptor V-8. John was assured by a friend of his dad that the latter was “good for 120 mph.”
All set and ready to roll.
But—less than a month before John got his license—his dad suddenly traded both cars in on a couple of new Chevys, a wagon and a sedan, with 6-cylinder engines and automatics. John said, “They were nearly as slow as my mom’s ’52 Chevy with the automatic six. At the time I figured it was a plot, but in reality this probably saved my life.”
True enough, I guess, but it begs the terrible question as to whether a life with two 6-cylinder Chevys is worth saving. Especially when one is a wagon.
The station wagon, it seems, was the minivan of my own generation’s teenage years, a device purchased by parents specifically to suppress vanity and swagger in their children. Though, I must say, most wagons of the ’50s and ’60s had a lot more charisma than today’s ubiquitous minivan. Some of them had great looks and big honking engines. Like that Ford Police Interceptor John missed out on.
Looking back on it now, nearly all these stories seem to have two things in common: 1) Most parents—especially dads—do pretty much as they please, regardless of our expert advice; and 2) their decisions, for better or worse, have almost no effect on our enthusiasm. I have friends whose folks had great cars and others who spent our childhoods riding around in the dullest of sleds, and yet—to those of us born with the car gene—it doesn’t make any difference. We love cars and learn all about them, regardless. We can’t be stopped. To paraphrase John Lee Hooker, we got it in us, and it’s got to come out.
In fact, it sometimes seems the more frustrated you were in youth, the more likely you are to buy an exciting car when you finally get out on your own. Just human nature, I guess. Those years we spend driving our parents’ safe, dull cars can, in fact, be quite useful as a reflective interlude during which we carefully plot our revenge, so not all is lost.
Still, I have to say Jay Leno is my hero. The 7 Litre Package and Muffler Delete. What a guy.
My dad would have killed me if I’d quietly ordered a 289 for the Mustang.
Or maybe he wouldn’t have.
Most parents, after all, don’t literally murder their children over such things… It might have been worth the risk to find out.
Na prática, um feriado tão importante quanto o 7 de setembro ou 15 de novembro. Alías, quem tiver nascido depois de 1990 e souber explicar o mínimo que seja qualquer um dos três feriados nacionais sem pesquisar no Google, ganha um pirulito.
Nós neste dia fizemos uma pequena celebração de boas vindas com amigos próximos. À tarde fomos a uma festinha de 2 anos de João Pedro para conferir a decoração. A noite demos uma arrumada na casa por que no dia seguinte era dia "útil".
quarta-feira, 2 de junho de 2010
Ontem houve um acidente e ela cortou feio sua orelha com o brinco enganchado no chiqueirinho. Pena ter papai e mamãe só sabido e prestado socorro horas depois.