I gotta get to the bottom of a little technical glitch. Forgot my real camera this weekend, when we checked out San Jose’s first ever Grand Prix. Took some cell phone camera crappy shots, but they seem to have not posted and disappeared instead.

(I’m a sucker for checking out hype going on in my own backyard (as one can see from these old pics of Kerry pre-loser, the DNC post-Patriot Act, and the winners.)

Here’s all I gathered from the race — some chick won something, a French dude, who Paul Newman owns or something, won the Grand Prix (I heard the Marseilles and everything) and I can’t for the life of me figure out why racing is big among poor, white trash. Here’s the scene, people willing to pay a buck fifty times 10, as in $150 cash American or more, get to sit in big seats overlooking the track. These seats, as well as safety shit, like jersey barriers, fences, giant piles of tires, effectively block any view of the track at street level, where us simple folk dwell.

So, we, the poor and unwashed, amble around under fucking hot sun, herding around narrow fenced in areas, wearing earplugs against the roar of the engines we can’t see, peeking through gaps in the fence or raising our eyes toward jumbo TVs to see one car at a time go by too fast to see anything. And, we, again the meager, humble, waste of society, who are not worthy of grandstands, sweat and strain near the racetrack essence and pay $45 to at least be on the “right” side of the fence.

Fucking stupid without even stepping near the bleeding heart liberal dirtiness of a war for oil fueling the spectacle.