suck, squeeze, bang and blow
Men are particularly drawn to fast moving objects, noise polluting sounds and adrenalin rushing hotness–and I just summed-up an overview of what happened in this year’s Singapore Formula 1 Grand Prix.
It was a last minute gig when a fellow travel blogger and friend Lloyd shot me a holler that he will be here in Singapore to cover the event. So he tagged me along. I know I’m such a lucky bastard to score a $1,400 worth of event passes. It is the time of the year when the Singapore Land Transportation Authority closes a circuit of roads right in the middle of the city where the traffic congestion-phobic commuters thrive. So it is imperative to expect that complaints from local pedestrians will shoot up to its all time high record. Even higher than the government service taxes.
I drive a small chevy and I have to admit that it gives me a pumping rush of blood whenever I run above 100kmph in an open highway. But racing? Not my cuppa.
My dad is a big fan of vintage cars, my cousin’s are into drag racing, my friends are into motocross and I’m settled with Ringo (my first and only car). That’s why my memories of lazy Sunday afternoons in my parents house would include browsing through my dad’s car magazines thus making me looked like a brontosaurus staring on an iPad. Plus some boring family activities like slouching back to watch tv shows about cars, sporting events, car accessories and what not. My perfect siesta sedative!
I wasn’t compelled to travel and buy tickets to this kind of sporting events, I would rather spend the money buying holiday deals to my dream exotic destination. But this year, for some reason, I bit the bait lure and was surprised that I got a little excited.
Being a man, I guess the need for speed is an innate craving that should be considered in the Maslow’s Hierarchy. Take a speeding jet taking off the runway for example, it never failed putting me in a state of suspended animation–I guess that’s what I can call “orgasmic inertia.”
At the race finals and after stuffing up my ears with foam plugs, we sat on our assigned ledge seats under the incubating, egg hatching heat of halogen lights. The buzzing noise of the car engines flooded the open venue to a point of numbing your eardrums, It was louder than life. Everytime the cars pass in front of us, the split second momentum makes the crowd smile, and it made me smile too. Our heads were unconsciously following the speeding cars from left to right, I almost had a whiplash and neck strain due to the repetitive motion.. But why were we smiling? I don’t know either.
Schumacher… Schumacher… Schumacher… SHWOOOOSH!
Vettel… Vettel… Vettel… SHWOOOOSH!
(now repeat that X number of times for 2 straight hours)
I must admit, the fact that you are sitting in the audience ledge of evaporated beer-smelling crowd puts a plus point to one’s masculinity. Not to mention the hot usherettes like as if Jamie Chung got splashed with water and multiplied through mitosis, one may have even wondered if there was a hot Asian hooker exploded in the venue. The only neutralizing factor that prevented me from dying of testosterone overdose was the presence of Shakira, Charice, Miss Angola Universe, Kim Kardashian, those Korean pop twinks and (HELLO?!) Boy F***ing George is in the house! I just don’t understand though, why they put Boy George in the same event where Linkin’ Park is the closing act. The mother queen could have felt so violated.
People carrying flags, on crazy make-up and colorful hats are such a feast in the eye. I should have dressed up for this!
It was a pleasant surprise that at the end of it all and despite my inefficient unpreparedness, I had a blast. I guess the collective fun and partying mood happening all in one place helped the whole event to be successful. My favorite part was the post race, when we got an access to the race track where victorious fans kiss the fresh steaming asphalt and savor the scent of burnt rubber tires.
It converted me to appreciate racing events, after all, burning rubber due to fast friction is always a good thing. No pun intended.
Sebastian Vettel led every lap from pole position, despite a safety car period eliminating a 22 second lead that he had held. His ninth win of the season left only Jenson Button in championship contention, who was 124 points behind with five races remaining. That made this 24 year old natural blonde the sixth man in F-1 history to win 11 pole positions in one season.
Nose bleed? Google Translate it!
I found out that modern race car combustion uses the same air craft jet engine propulsion concept and it can be explained with four operative words—SUCK, SQUEEZE, BANG AND BLOW!
No wonder it feels so damn good!