Make turbocharged engines great again

As a car enthusiasts I am predisposed to prefer naturally-aspirated engines over the equivalent turbocharged units. Having owned cars with both atmospheric and force induction, I greatly prefer the crisp response and melodic sounds of natural-aspiration, and I want that linear power push all the way towards the rev-limiter. Turbocharged engines with their huge torque plateaus and agonizing lag isn’t nearly as rewarding.

There’s an obvious headwind against our love of engines unencumbered with turbos: the entire automotive industry is heading the opposite direction. Due to ever stringent emission standards, automakers are gravitating heavily towards turbocharging to achieve the best of both worlds: sheer power when needed, but small-engine fuel economy it isn’t. It seems most manufacturers these days have got a two-liter turbocharged four-cylinder serving duty in their respective portfolio, replacing venerable naturally-aspirated V6s. In turn, turbocharged six-cylinders are occupying spots previously held by lumbering V8s.

Not even the revered and beloved sports car segment, massively low-volume it may be, is immune to the encroachment of turbochargers. The latest range of the iconic Porsche 911 is entirely motivated by turbocharged engines, save for the exclusive GT3. Similarly over at Ferrari, there’s but one model left that’s naturally-aspirated (812 Superfast). The legendary BMW M3 have lost its traditional atmospheric song for one whole generation already.

Perhaps instead of the #savethemanual campaign, petrol-heads should instead focus on saving the NA motor.

I’m not strictly against turbocharging; I think their power-per-liter possibilities are tremendous, and the mountainous shove once turbos are properly lit is rivaled only by electric cars. The crux of my issue with turbo engines is the utter lack of aural sensation: the typical mill in modern cars is muffled and sounds like a vacuum cleaner. Sound is an integral ingredient to the driving experience, otherwise we’d all be driving Tesla cars.

It isn’t like turbocharged engines can’t be made to sound exciting; we all grew up with WRC and those monster turbo machines masquerading as rally cars. The whooshes and hisses, the pops and bangs, and the ethereal whine of the turbo as it builds pressure: where have all this gone? Why have auto manufacturers engineered out these innate aural qualities of turbocharging? It doesn’t have to sound so sterile and benign; let me hear that it’s indeed got a turbo hanging off the exhaust manifold!

A turbo 911 Carrera that sounds like a group stage rally car is a delicious prospect indeed, one I’d readily hand my money over to.

And to think some people just go bowling.

Minimalist versus the utilitarian

Back in my early twenties there was a time I was quite fascinated with minimalism. Growing up my family was decidedly poor so it wasn’t like I had a lot of stuff anyways, but the idea of having as little worldly possessions as possible appealed greatly to me then. Computer technology have allowed us to digitize practically everything; items that would otherwise take up massive amounts of space like books and CD collections can now all be stored on our devices.

The iconic image of Steve Jobs sitting in his living room with nothing but the bare essentials, an utter lack of furniture save for an extraordinarily ornate lamp. That picture was the primary inspiration back then for me to begin decluttering my life: physical books were tossed out in favor of digital, old CDs and cassettes got converted to MP3s (wish I had kept those, honestly), and reams of accumulated car magazines put into the recycling bin.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) it never got beyond that - I love material things far too much. The brief flirtation with minimalism was merely a motivation to basically clean up my room, which in hindsight I don’t suppose it’s a negative. Indeed I do tend to accumulate a myriad of items and knickknacks over time, figurines and ornaments that provide inspiration for my artistic endeavors. For example up on my shelves are a few vinyl albums on display, even though I don’t have a record player. Physical books, too, have returned in my favors in recent years, and those simply pile up after having read them, and aren’t likely to be read again.

A year ago I performed the KonMari Method of cleaning to all my belongings, and 10 full-size trash bags later my living space was renewed and refreshed. Fast-forward to the present and the accumulation creep has returned. I’ve done well to not purchase any new clothing, but the amount of books have increased exponentially, and various souvenirs from trips have materialized on the shelves. It’s all maintained neat and tidy, though from a perspective of utility it’s highly wanting.

Rather than minimalist, my philosophy when it comes to things material is centered on utility: does it serve a purpose, and will I use it regularly. That ethos helps greatly limit my frivolous spending, though conversely I use it somewhat dubiously as justification for always upgrading to the latest and greatest iPhone. It’s a device I most frequently use, therefore it’s worth the relatively extravagant sum to get it.

So with that in mind, can I then for example force myself to donate away books I’ve already read, instead of them lining up my shelves? After all their utilitarian purpose is served and gone, and the reclaimed space would be quite lovely.

That’s going to be tough.

All the curves at the all the right places.

What if I hit the lottery?

I seldom play the lottery because rationality informs me the odds of winning are vanishingly minimal, and the money would otherwise be better served in an investment account. That’s precisely what I’ve been doing; volatility in the equities market these past few weeks notwithstanding. Investing in stocks is sort of like gambling: none of it is guaranteed, so in that way I don’t feel the need to buy lottery tickets or frequent Las Vegas casinos.

In the rare times when the lottery jackpot reaches stratospheric heights like last evening’s $1.6 billion in the Mega Millions, I'm inclined to buy in at the minimum. The odds haven’t changed of course, but the prize incentive is increased so dramatically that it’d feel rather stupid to not at least throw my hat into the proverbial ring. After all, the hockey great Wayne Gretzky once said, "you miss 100% of the shots you don't take". $40 million is life-changing indeed, but $1.6 billion is another life.

It’s always fun exercise to dream about exactly what you will do with that amount of money. I reckon the dopamine hit alone is worth squandering the two dollars required for one ticket. Plenty of people would probably quit their jobs, buy property somewhere to live, and follow their true passions. I’m certainly amongst that camp: if I hit the lottery I’d be a vagabonding photographer, with a focus on driving cars in spectacular locations, and write about it all on this website.

The question is, would I need to win a jackpot to do that?

Answer is a decided no. It doesn’t take an enormous sum to travel and write; get good enough I might even be decently paid for it. What the hypothetical lottery winning provides is absolute freedom: freedom from the obligations of a normal person. People aren’t keen to quit their jobs to chase a passion because they’ve got others dependent on their regular paychecks, be that a spouse, children, or a mortgage.

I currently have none of those obligations, and quite a bit saved up in the bank (again, last couple of weeks’ stock market notwithstanding). So what’s stopping me from going after my passion?

Just me.

I don’t suppose any of this is OSHA approved.

Got tickets to Hamilton. Again.

The beloved musical sensation Hamilton is returning to San Francisco in 2019. Having the pleasure of seeing it when the tour first made its way to our neck of the woods back in 2017, I can only say its very well worth the hype. So much so that the group I went will be seeing the musical again next year. As a person who doesn’t like to do things a second time once I’ve already experience it (unless it’s traveling to Asia), spending proper money to see Hamilton once more is rare occasion indeed.

Tickets for the 2019 tour went on sale to the general public yesterday. Instead of allowing tens of thousands of customers crash its ticketing website at once, the fine folks at SHN implements a virtual waiting room. You are quarantined as soon as you visit the website, and once the clock strikes time for business, you get assigned a wait number like a grocery store counter; when your number is front of queue you’ll be then taken to the actual ticketing site for purchasing. It’s a brilliant system, far superior to the ‘website crash then click refresh a million times and pray you’ll get in’ format that I’m sadly accustomed to.

My friends and I of course went the route of divide and conquer: we each logged-on to SHN, and whoever was furthest ahead in the line was tasked to the do the buying. Each of us could also have respectively used multiple devices to try for a better number amongst ourselves - I was home at the time so I personally had four opportunities, but that strategy seemed a bit on the wrong side of ethical. We were lucky too that we got done within an hour and a half after tickets went on sale at 10am. Others I saw waited nearly six hours before they were let into the system.

Nevertheless I ended up with the third highest wait number within our group of four, so unfortunately I was unable to earn points on my credit card.

Obviously, maximizing credit points is, uh, not the point; we are locked in for a second viewing of Hamilton next May, and this time we got better seats as well - no longer up on the balcony with the peasants. I guess in the span of two years our respective financial situations have all improved to such that we can easily spend over two hundred dollars on a musical we’ve already seen. A prime example of being a coastal elite that’s been so maligned in the media.

There’s lot going on between now and next May so it’s nothing to be excited about yet, but it’s something splendid to look forward to.

I’m decidedly not fond of waiting in lines, even virtual ones.

Farewell to my first car

A petrol-head’s first car is something special indeed. It’s your first moments of absolute freedom, the feeling of possibilities, the ability to take off and go anywhere. Upon getting your first car, the world is your absolute oyster; just grab the keys and go.

My own first vehicle was a 2006 Toyota Corolla sedan. It wasn’t anything remotely sporting or fun-to-drive, but back then I couldn’t care less. I’ve been dreaming of driving ever since I reached my teens; 16 seems so incredibly far away when I found out early on that was the minimum age to attain a driver license. Some things don’t change: the wait to purchase a Porsche 911 next year have been at certain times excruciating.

I indeed may have gotten my license at 16, but the Toyota Corolla did no materialize until college, a generous gift from the parents. The reason we elected to buy the typical compact sedan was because insurance was going to be astronomical on anything fast, and I had zero income to support that. Nevertheless, I adored the Corolla; it was equipped with the five-speed manual, upon which I learned the intricacies of driving stick-shift, and thankfully the clutch was super forgiving.

Fast forward to post college, and I itched for something quicker on the feet. In came a 2013 Subaru WRX STI, bought with my own money this time, and the Corolla got bequeathed to my younger brother. He also cut his teeth in learning the manual gearbox with that car, and suffice it to say the clutch did not last much longer. I was glad the car stayed in the family, because in some distant future I had intentions of getting it back (no doubt my brother will upgrade at first opportunity), keep up on maintenance, and driving it from time to time for nostalgia.

Unfortunately that was not meant to be. A few weeks ago the Corolla’s notoriously weak C59 transmission completely shattered its third and fourth gear. My father was commuting on the car, so a reliable fix was needed very quickly. To fix the gearbox would cost roughly the same as the entire worth of the car, so instead we chose to lease a new Hyundai Tucson, and the Corolla got put out to the pasture.

A salesperson at the dealership my brother worked at bought the entire car for spare parts. Must be nice.

In an ideal world where I have a garage with proper space, I would’ve kept the Corolla and simply worked on it myself bit by bit. Being the first car I ever owned it was somewhat sad to see it disappear into the ether as a parts car for someone else’s revival project. Circumstances prevented me from being one of those car enthusiasts that kept their ur-auto in perpetuity because it was indeed something significant, even if the car in a vacuum, isn’t.

I think the next order of business after buying the 911 would be leasing a warehouse somewhere far and cheap; a place where I can work on cars at leisure. Hashtag goals.

Circa 2017, when the Corolla last looked as I had intended.

The pivot to video

I very much enjoy writing. Writing on this blog everyday is never a chore, though as with anything in life there are good days and there are bad days. Sometimes the lines flow one right after another, and sometimes the words just can’t seem to materialize and form together cogently, but still I must solider through. The goal is consistency, a daily habit I shouldn’t skip unless there’s truly compelling reasons to (like being debilitatingly sick).

I don’t ever concern over the amount of views this website is getting, and I wouldn’t care if the number is zero. Not once have I clicked on the analytics tab on the Squarespace console; I write (and take pictures) for myself, and if there’s some of you out there that happens to enjoy the content I put out, that’s simply icing on the cake. This isn’t some hopeful launching pad to a freelance career, but rather a genuine gesture at putting myself out there to the (Internet) world.

Of course it’d be incredibly nice to get paid to write and do photography, but that is not that endgame here.

As an avid viewer of Youtube, I’ve been noticing more and more people doing the “pivot” to video. It’s assumed that no one like to read anymore (if periodical circulation is any indication), and vivid visual media is where the money’s at. The barrier to entry is certainly minimal; anyone can start a vlog channel with their smartphone or laptop. With enough hustle and charisma, money from Google AdSense will start rolling in massively.

And there’s plenty of people chasing those AdSense dollars. Within the automotive genre alone are seemingly hundreds of Youtube channels with a bloke, a car, and a camera putting out videos everyday. Due to sheer volume of output, the production value is not that great; the content can be best described as disposable. You can tell their ultimate goal is monetization because in every video they’d pander the audience to click ‘thumbs up’ and subscribe.

Not everyone is like that obviously. Some truly do it for the art and passion, where view counts don’t matter at all. A particular automotive channel I highly respect is SavageGeese.

Far be it for me to criticize people for thinking only in dollars and cents; it doesn’t interest me how another person choose to make a living, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my business, or harm society. When the time comes for me to produce video content, the ethos will be the same as my writing and photography: for the enjoyment of creating art, and sharing a piece of myself with the world.

And yet the floor still sparkles.

Quality is worth paying for

I’m in the camp of hobbyist photographers who seldom do actual prints. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that the initial investment to procure the necessary equipment is relatively enormous. Why spend thousands on proper photo printer and paper when I can put that towards a new lens instead? Therefore the scant few times I needed to print something out, I outsource to the typical online printing platform (I use Mpix).

Tangent: now that Apple have shuttered their printing service, I’ll need to find another place to print my annual photo Calendars.

I recently went on a family trip, and we took a rather lovely group photo together. Figured it’d be wonderful to hang in the living room, I went on Mpix to order a framed 8x10 print. Even without going too crazy on the options (standard mat board and glass, cheapest frame material), the total price for the single photograph came to around $50, not including shipping. For some reason, I was surprised at how expensive this is.

Me, a photographer, can’t appreciate that a custom framed print ought to cost more than, say, 10 dollars. For shame; I should to be banished from ever selling prints of my own.

Perhaps the low prices of online retailers like Amazon have indoctrinated me to expect things to not cost a lot of money. It has certainly done so to the price of shipping, as in there shouldn’t be any. Adding to my frustration with the price of the print was that I had to pay another 13 dollars to have it delivered. I’ve been so acclimatized to not paying for shipping - and items arriving within two business days guaranteed - that honestly I had second thoughts about completing the purchase, on principle.

As I’ve written before: free shipping is not free, because there is no free lunch.

So I did end up buying the framed photo, because items of quality and craftsmanship are worth paying for. As an artist myself, that is the kind of sentiment I hope everybody carries with them. A race to the price bottom hurts everyone: ask musicians for their thoughts on streaming services. We must fight against the desensitization of online shopping and easy price comparisons, because more often than not, we indeed get what we pay for.

Now this is my kind of tranquil living.