A common consensus among automotive analysts (and most importantly customers) is Honda’s recent styling direction have been seen as too conservative. Still regarded as a builder of mechanically sound and liveable vehicles, Honda is being affected by the same pattern that Ford Motor Company encountered in the late 1920s with the Model T. An automobile must project a distinct character in order to be noticed in an active marketplace. While underwhelming in the styling department, the 2012 Honda CR-V crossover utility vehicle will have to benefit of a slick TV commercial officially making its debut during the 2012 Super Bowl.

One of the most coveted television advertising spots of the year, the championship game of the National Football League has only grown as marketing venue for major companies. With some ad spots costing up to 3.5 million dollars this year, these brief interruptions from the game action requires a strategic, memorable advertisement to grab viewer attention. When Honda purchased a 2012 Super Bowl spot for to show off the all-new Honda CR-V, the automaker’s dull image will be livened-up by the theme of the 1986 comedy “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”.

For the Honda commercial, Matthew Broderick reprises the adventure without necessarily continuing his famous movie character. Instead of playing the devilishly cunning Ferris Bueller, Broderick‘s “Day Off” with the Honda CR-V revolves around the actor playing hooky from a film executive. Though the Honda commercial relives many scenes from the original 1986 movie, the entire 2-minute, 25-second spot is a fresh piece of entertainment. Thanks to the direction of Todd Phillips (director/producer of Old School and the Hangover movies), Broderick and the Honda CR-V have wonderful comedic chemistry through this leaked Super Bowl commercial.

Beyond reviving the “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” adventure, the Honda advertisement presses the auto company’s new “Leap List”. The Leap List campaign is Honda’s attempt to encourage the Generation Y buyers to follow through with their aspiration. Of course, Honda intends for that the CR-V crossover vehicle will fill the criteria needed for extraordinary personal adventures.

In risk of giving away too much of this clever advertisement, I invite you to check out Honda’s Youtube link for a preview screening of the commercial. During the 2012 Super Bowl, football fans will see Matthew Broderick’s Day Off with the Honda CR-V in the fourth quarter of New England Patriot versus New York Giants.
Official 2012 Honda CR-V Game Day Commercial – “Matthew’s Day Off” Extended Version

Are you still reading this article? Please, read something else on Automoblog.net.

Information and photo source: American Honda Motor Company

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Automoblog main man Chris sent me an interesting email over the weekend. I looked at the pictures, and my first thought was of a guy who had a motorized barstool at a hot rod run I attended once, long ago. A non-gearhead friend of mine asked, in total shock, “Can you motorize something like that?”

“Of course! You can put a motor in anything!” How could I say anything else? You inhabit this machine world long enough, and that becomes far too apparent. Motorized barstools seemed to be just the beginning. Take a look at what some crazies in California have accomplished: Motorized, wheeled bumper cars. And, judging by the license plates, the Golden State has no problem licensing them for use on the public roadways.

On the one hand, the (un-attributed) accompanying text states that ” … a couple have been measured as capable of 160 MPH, which is terrifyingly fast in machines with such a short wheelbase.” Which is indeed terrifying, but not all that unthinkable, given that the bumper cars you see here are motivated by four cylinder Honda or Kawasaki 750s. The move to JDM plants was provoked by the original engines, two cylinder Harley Davidsons, ” … rattled like heck because of the two cylinder vibration … ” according to someone referred to simply as “Tom”.

We can only surmise that “Tom” is the mater, er, “mind” behind this craziness. There are allusions in the email that the bumper cars were recovered from some place called the Long Beach Pike amusement park located “in the outskirts of San Diego” and that “Tom” felt the old, disused bumper cars “needed a more dignified end than the trash heap.” On that I can agree. I’m a firm believer in keeping things based on their aesthetic value alone. If they have some artistic, cultural or motivational value, then so much the better.

I’m not really troubled by that, or even the (alarmingly successful) fact that they got license plates hung on them. That’s great. That’s part of the fine hot rod tradition that makes being an American gearhead so, well, I’ll go with unique and special, yeah, unique and special, that’s it.

What troubles me is the “engineering” that I can make out from the supplied photos. The craftsmanship looks top notch, and not just the body and paint, but the chassis tubes and shock and brake installs look rather well done. And yes, I’ll interject that simply adding brakes onto these guys gives me a certain amount of comfort. It shows that this “Tom” fellow is only certifiable, and not suicidal.

Anyway, is it just me, or does the roll-center and the center of gravity seem a tad high for something that has ” … been measured as capable of 160 MPH?” Sure, sure, that’s probably in a straight line, but I’d be hesitant to whip a quick u-ee in one of these guys doing 16 MPH, let alone something much faster. And although those brakes do seem rather nicely done, I’m sure that standing on the loud pedal for a block, whoa-ing one of these little critter up and hanging a 90 degree left would be an iffy proposition.

Then again, that is, in a lot of ways, the essence of hot rodding. Ever driven or ridden along in the passenger seat of a blown big block T Bucket? I have. And they are not the most directionally stable modes of transportation you can get. But that, as we all know, is what makes it “fun”.

And I bet, when all is said and done, that driving one of these down to the cruise in or swap meet or that appointment with your clinical psychologist is a whole lot of fun. I just wish I could have been at the DMV when “Tom” and his buddies brought these in to get them licensed.

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Do you remember the first time you fell in love? I do. She was a steel beauty straight out of Detroit. I wasn’t too keen on the color, a grandma green shade that my friends make fun of me for, but I wasn’t ashamed; ok- at first I was. My first love was a 1984 Buick Regal, 2-door, with a few hidden modifications. It was a hand me down that my parents had driven for a few years after they bought it from a friend of a friend. I’m not from a big car family, no mechanics or collectors, so she was a bit misunderstood.

When I started learning to drive I didn’t want to be seen going through my neighborhood in her, but once I was rid of a chaperon, I knew there had to be something more. I got my driver’s license on a cold December day in North Carolina. The streets, still patched with ice, were semi deserted, so on a back country road I opened her up for the first time, and she liked it. Tires skidded behind me, from the ice I’m sure, and I must admit I was scared! I had never driven fast or been in a car driven fast, and I felt a rush shoot through my body and slam my right foot down. I looked in the rear view and saw a black puff come from the exhaust as she cleared her throat. Her favorite roads had nice curves highlighted by long straight-aways.

The speedometer, like everything else in the interior was suited for a grandmother, oversized numbers that only went to 88 MPH. The pale green velour front bench that split so that people could get into the back kept me from sliding into the passenger seat in the curves. The radio was analog with a dial and 5 “preset” buttons that all tuned to the same station. She was an automatic; I couldn’t drive a manual yet. I had to be careful because she was automatic; if I hit the gas too hard with the brake down she stalled. I found that out trying to learn to do a burnout. The only frill was an ashtray that dutifully hid the butts of my covert rebellion. I didn’t doll her up with the exception a set of original steel hubcaps to cover the black steel wheels. I kept her as incognito as possible, just like I was.

As I sat at the red-light on a popular drag in my hometown on a sleepy Saturday night a comparable age Camaro pulled alongside me. A guy from my school sat behind the wheel and gave me the international “wanna race” face as he revved his engine. I gripped the leather wheel and just sat there. If I did the same she would leave me stranded, but I knew I she was up to his challenge; our first test. A lot of people would “drive hard” on this stretch, we didn’t call it street racing, that was illegal. The light snapped to green and the kid in the primer sport scar barked his tires as he jumped the line to best me. But I knew what my grandma sleeper could do. I just held my foot all the way to the floor as I felt the transmission wind and shift into the next gear as I sped up.

This stretch was popular because the lights would change green in succession and opened up a half mile of the 6 lane-street. There were six lights total from the start to the “finish line” next to the local parts house. The gear heads would stay parked there all night just to call winners and losers and dish out the proper insults when needed. I worked at McDonalds and hadn’t made it into their world yet.

We crossed under the second light. I was looking at him through his passenger window. He wasn’t happy at all. Four lights left. We stayed pretty close for a while, but my girl was a long liner; the more space she was given to run the faster she would get. When I went under the sixth light he was nearly two car lengths behind me. I screamed because no one could hear me.

My heart was racing so hard that I could hear the bass thumps in my ears. I never even saw the blue lights kick on after I crossed the line. The Camaro escaped down a side street headed for the safety of the unlit country side roads as I pulled over into an empty parking lot. An unfamiliar wave of anxiety hit; this time fueled by fear, embarrassment, and uncertainty. The treble heavy speakers blared out “Highway To Hell” as the officer approached my window. I sat paralyzed watching his silhouette grow in my mirror; all the while he was adjusting his hat. When he knocked on my window I was released from my spell and rolled down the glass that separated us, still looking straight ahead.

“Do you know how fast you were going, Mandie?” He knew my name. I looked up and saw a family friend under the hat. I started breathing again as I answered, “No, my speedo stops at 88…” He let out the hardiest laugh as he opened my door to let me out. He had clocked me at 102 miles per hour in my “grandma cruiser,” that’s what my friends called her. He popped the hood to take a look. I didn’t even know how to do that yet. We walked to the front as he made small talk trying to calm my nerves. He showed me how to release the massive steel hood and it flew up. A small light flickered to life as he inspected the chrome beast that hid under there. My eyes grew large as they reflected the shiny façade that manufactured all that power. He poked and shined his light and mumbled to himself.

“Mandie, did you get this car from David?” He asked me as he rested his hands on the lip of the hood above his head. “I think that’s where Dad got it…” I answered with all of the certainty of a 16 year old girl still coming down from the high of the race and the fear of the pull over. He knew the car. It had a 400 small block in the place of the factory 6 cylinder. The chrome 14” high hat hid her 4 barrel carburetor and HEI ignition. The polished valve covers covered oversized flat top pistons and a port and polished head. I had no idea at the time what he was saying and he knew it, so he simply said “That means you’ll go fast.” I already knew that!

He closed the hood and put the beast back under cover. He said he was going to tell my dad and I needed to slow down, but he wasn’t going to give me a ticket or impound my car. Then he came back to where I was still standing next to her in a shock of sorts and said, “Off the record, mighty fine job. I saw the whole thing.” My face flushed, I let out an uneasy laugh and patted to ole girl on her top. The crowd at the parts store saw him leave and me drive away scot-free. They found me every weekend trying to see if I was beatable, no one knowing what I was bringing to the game. They nicknamed my pea green machine “The Bitch.” I totaled her a few months later in a rematch against the Camaro, but her legend still races along that stretch of street and the stories usually start “remember that ole green Bitch that used to run out here?” That was my first love, still pretty unbeatable.

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So I bounced this to Main Man Chris the other day, mainly as a joke, and Chris did his own take on the might Moskvitch. But it got me to thinking about a lot of weird, Soviet related car stuff, and, more importantly, how it relates to being a gearhead in general.

But first, let’s get my take on our Soviet touchstone for this discussion. Behold, from the glorious workers paradise of Union of Soviet Socialist Republics: The Moskvitch-403 sedan.

First, there’s the ride itself, then, we need to look at the restoration (which, you have to admit, is really well done, and any self-respecting car guy would be proud to do work on this level), and then we need to see how (if?) this fits into the wide and beautiful spectrum of car enthusiasms.

Like I said, the Moskvitch-403 sedan. Now, I don’t know this model of Moskvitch firsthand, but the funny thing is, I do have some firsthand experience with Russian cars. And if this thing is like any of those hideous Ladas, Zils and such that I have dealt with, this Moskvitch will probably weigh in closer to an H1 Hummer than you’d think, be made out of steel that most other countries would use to make the hulls of ships from, be “powered” (and I’m using that term as loosely as I possibly can) by an engine that puts out less grunt than a starter-motor, and has all the fit, finish and detail quality of the tractor plant it was made in.

What can be told about the Moskvitch-403 is that it was a “transition model” that slotted into the production line-up between the Moskvitch 407 and Moskvitch 408. Yes. Yes I know. The number 403 does not come between the numbers 407 and 408. As a matter of fact, no numbers come between 407 and 408. Try to ignore that the way your typical Soviet citizen would ignore the headlines that razor blade production was up for the 15th consecutive quarter, but they still were using the same blade from 12 years ago.

Anyway, the stopgap Moskvitch-403 was produced from 1963 to 1965, with a shudder-inducing total 105,000 of them being “assembled”, to use the sources term. The technical innovations to note on the Moskvitch-403 is that it featured ” … hanging pedals, rather than a hole in the floor, a hydraulic clutch and new steering wheel! ”

And oh, that styling. 1963? Hell, it looks like a throw back to 1953, but why point out (again) that Russia has never really been a place known to be on the cutting edge of fashion design. It sort of seems like a cross between a Nash Metropolitan and a Triumph Herald. Not as bad or oddly proportioned as they could have made it. And that is both an achievement and a relief.

So, Soviet oddities aside, it seems that there was a gearhead in Russia that was able to obtain a Moskvitch-403 ” … from his old relative for free.” It was a literal Russian barn find, the mighty Moskvitch-403 was cooling its, er, jets in a shed for decades before the new owner tore into it.

And I really can’t fault the guy’s work at all. I’ve been around more automotive restoration projects than I can literally remember, and this guy has done a top-notch job. Sure, what he started with is a very good base that we all dream about getting. From the photos, it looks like all the pieces were there. All the chrome trim, the pressed alloy dash (or at least it looks like it’s some frighteningly flimsy pressed alloy to me; God knows it could be made out of drop-forged quarter-inch iron that was painted look like alloy), seats, dash bits and pieces, window cranks, it all seemed to be (mostly) there from the get go. Hell, it even had that luxurious rarity of having the windshield wipers still mounted.

What? You don’t know about the Soviets delicate economic balancing act concerning windshield wipers? Okay, this is a tangent, but it’s totally worth getting into. See, if you wanted to get a car in Soviet Union, you had to plunk down a deposit and get on a list. That’s not all that different from, oh, one of us buying the upcoming Ferrari FF. But that’s where the similarity ends. Then rather than waiting some months for your new pride and joy to arrive, you would literally have to wait for years. And I’ve heard of some people waiting for more than a decade to get their car. And let’s just say that almost any car the Soviets produced wasn’t worth waiting a New York minute for, let alone years and years. So if this is what it took to get a car, what do you think getting car parts was like?

It was an hellacious Kafka-esque nightmare, that’s what it was like. Say, for example, you needed to replace your wiper blades. Stand in line all morning to get the paperwork. Take all afternoon to fill out the paperwork. Spend the whole next morning standing in another line in another building to drop off the paperwork, and then wait for years and years and years to get your wiper blades.

So what do you do if you don’t want to go down that rabbit hole? Get out a wrench and steal your neighbor’s wiper blades. That’s what you do. What if you want to keep your wiper blades? Simple: Take them off and keep them in your glove box along with a wrench so you can re attach them when it starts to rain.

No, seriously. I’ve seen people do this with my own eyes. It’s like the starting procedure is: “Turn key, pump gas pedal, engage starter motor, attach wiper blades while car is warming up.” So seeing an old barn-find Moskvitch-403 sedan with a wiper actually attached? That’s pretty damn odd.

Now, extrapolate the windshield wiper thing out to literally every car part you might need for a restoration of a nearly 50-year-old car. And you thought rebuilding the differential and rear end on your Jaguar was a fool’s errand. Hell, when you’re done with all that blood, sweat and tears, you get a Jaguar. This guy had to go through more, and all he got was a Moskvitch-403 sedan.

And yet, here it is. Looking all fetching in its two-tone cream & dark red paint scheme. Same two-tone deal in the interior as well, and all the original plastic bits and bobs in the dash. Just were do you find radio knobs for something like this? I know guys in the Kaiser-Frazer Owners Club who would just shake their heads and walk away at the prospect of it, and these are guys that can find you trim pieces for a 1955 Manhattan by the end of the day (try it, it ain’t easy).

No doubt there is a factory outside of Irkutsk where they made the right hand radio knob (the left-hand knob was manufactured in a different plant outside of Minsk, and has a different fastening I’d bet) and they have 1,345,945 of them sitting in storage right next to the supply of stove knobs and missile targeting gyros.

So this guy had to deal with supply-chain problems that would make a member of the Hudson Hornet Club give up without trying, and this Moskvitch owner made it through.

That’s what really had me shaking my head in amazement. It isn’t so much the oddity of the car (there are plenty of odd and esoteric rides out there), and it wasn’t even what they guy had to go through. What really had me shaking my head was, if you discount the Moskvitch-403 sedan, and that this guy was literally 12 time zones away, he is just like us: A gearhead.

Only that hard to define but easy to recognize gearhead gene would cause someone to do something like fully restore a 1963 – 65 Moskvitch-403 sedan.

You know, you just know, that midway through this the owner was sitting in a bar somewhere outside St. Petersburg, knocking back another vodka with friends and having a conversation like:

“Ivan Antonovich, how goes restoration of Moskvitch?”

“Sergey Piotrvich, it goes well! Today I find heater control cluster from shop located in Chelobynsk-14! Soon I will have car running!”

This conversation continues on while Ivan’s long suffering wife bangs her head on the table before ordering another round.

To quote Pogo: “We have met the enemy, and he is us!”

Source & Photos: English Russia

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While most minivan commercials drone on about side-impact crash test ratings, extended warranties, and fuel economy, Toyota is taking a different approach with the 2011 Toyota Sienna. Actors Brian Huskey and Rachael Drummond gangsta rap their way around the all-new Sienna, “rollin’ with my posse in the HOV.” Too bad it’s an internet-only video. Check it out below:

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Any modifications made to your vehicle should be disclosed to your insurer – and whilst some modifications, such as the reduction of exhaust emissions, are positively welcomed, others, including cherry bomb exhausts, super wide wheels and body kits, are not. So before you go ahead and pimp your ride, check your policy and compare car insurance providers to ensure you get the best possible coverage.

Here’s our round up of some of the most bizarre modifications on the road:

Suped up

This is a classic example of trying to turn a relatively rubbish car into something it just isn’t i.e. cool.

Re-spray

A paint job is a quick way to personalize your car and if you’ve got the cash why not have it match your cap?

New wheels

The brand and wheels kind of contradict each other.

Change of use

Complete change of use is definitely something you should speak to your insurance company about…

Body kits

A personalized body kit taken to the extreme!

Extreme spoilers

I’m not sure if this is a ridiculous spoiler, or whether it’s just completely over stepped the mark? One thing is for sure, this is not a cool car!

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Well, guess what? You do need a reason, in fact you need three.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come to a four-way stop only to sit there for what seems like hours until one of us finally decides to go only to get honked at because I cut off someone who was trying to turn — someone who did not have their turn signal on.

Reason No. 1: To not get side-swiped, rear-ended, crashed into, hurt, bumped, scratched or impaled in any way.

Seems like a pretty good reason, no? And yet there are drivers who still think they are invincible and don’t need to use that nifty little blinking light their car is so graciously equipped with.

Reason No. 2: To be considerate.

If you really do think you’re invincible and can do whatever the hell you want on the road, then at least do so with a bit of a respect for others. Instead of causing your fellow road warriors to slam on their brakes unnecessarily or swerve out of the way as you drift over into their lane unannounced, turn the blinker on before you shoot over and show a little compassion.

Reason No. 3: To give your forearm some exercise.

Today’s society is all about being healthy, fit and toxin-free. From organic foods to all-natural household products, we’re all going green and doing better things for our bodies and our lives.

So, how about you give yourself a little exercise in the car while you drive. I know, I know, turning the wheel can be strenuous enough, but try moving your left arm down or up just a quarter of an inch every time you want to change the direction of your vehicle. I know, it seems like a lot, but just give a shot — your body will thank you and so will everyone else on the road.

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Many a teenage boy has asked just this question — and you might not think it’s relevant or even worth talking about. But it plays such an important role in car-buying situations that it must be discussed.

There’s no denying it; the curb appeal of a car is part of the buying process. And if it isn’t, then you clearly know nothing about cars and care very little about what the world thinks of you as a human being. Would you wake up and put a potato sack on to go to work? I didn’t think so.

So, how does one measure a car’s sex appeal? Well there are a few factors to consider:

- Pure exterior sex appeal

- Exhaust note

- Interior space/cleanliness

Think of your car as an extension of yourself. If you’re looking to purchase a brand new car, consider the fact that your ride truly is an extension of yourself and your personality. If, let’s say, you’re pulling up to your date’s house for the first time to pick her up; you may have already aced that first impression and landed the date, but now she gets to judge you all over again. And your broken down and rusting Yugo just won’t inspire lustful thoughts — trust me.

If you’re in the market for a brand new ride, let me instead suggest these models that are sure to get your motor running (and her’s too):

Subaru Impreza STI

As long as you’re not cruising around in a Subaru Outback (we all know what that means), then driving a Subie is just plain cool. And if you want to be even cooler and attractive, then make sure you cough up the cash for the STI. The brand new hatch version is just damn sexy. Rally-inspired and capable of handling anything the road throws its way, the Impreza STI doesn’t just convey thoughts of stability and control, but it also has undertones of wild behavior and mystery. And make sure to remove that blow-off valve silencer so you get a nice harmonious gasp from her and your Subie for every gear change.

Mazdaspeed3

Don’t be fooled by the insane-asylum grin on this auto. It might look giddy and silly, but it’s serious stuff behind the wheel. Driving the Mazdaspeed3 will get you looks no matter what you look like. The car attracts enough attention on its own, that you’d never have to get out of the car — just pop open the passenger-side door like a Venus fly trap and wait. Honestly. Everyone loves Mazda right now (as they should) and the 3 is so widely popular that not only will you be heralded for making the “smart” vehicle choice, but you’ll also be cool for choosing the top-end tuner model. And even though I use the word “tuner” grudgingly, that’s what it is. But it’s tasteful tuner, and that’s the difference. With a hot hatch design that’s perfect the way it is and an exhaust note that growl-y enough to garner attention from the right passersby, the Mazdaspeed3 is definitely a car that’ll get you laid.

Ford F-150

This might be a shock to some of you, but hear me out. A few years ago the most attention the Ford F-150 would have gotten you would be a few nods from the construction workers down the street. But Ford has done something interesting with the pick-up; they’ve manged to bring it out of the age of flannel shirts and hard hats and put it right up there in the suits and business-owner realm. Pick-ups are no longer hillbilly. Ford’s F-150 is so highly customizable that it’s possible to order an F-150 that, practicality-wise, would never survive as a workman’s ride. Take the King Ranch for example; would you really want your muddy work boots on the cream-colored carpeting? Or your oily tools on the deep brown, creamy leather seats in the back? I don’t think so. But would you want to have to help your date in her mini skirt up onto those buttery leather seats? Why yes, I think you would.

So, finding the right car is about more than fuel mileage, trunk space and gadgets. Finding the right ride could be your ticket to coupledom. Remember that.

What other reasonably priced car do you think will get you laid?

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Since the first automobile was rolled on the horse-trekked roadways, the usage of these four-wheel conveyances have been governed by laws. With over a century spent driving, some traffic and/or car-related laws have eventually be antiquated or just downright nutty. Among these, some of the earlier traffic laws remain on the books as remnants to the early days of the horseless carriage where only an elite few motorists could putter around in than-bazaar machines. As the automobile became a common and robust form of transportation, some laws of the roadways have faded into obscurity.

Supplying a brief example to some of the wildest automotive laws on the land, the following list catches the legal system spinning its wheels Keep in mind the following laws are for entertainment value only. Please be aware that this writer as well as Automoblog.net expects all motorists to abide to the set (not necessarily the presently listed) traffic laws accepted within their jurisdiction.

1. A car is the only item permitted inside of a garage

Place of Jurisdiction: Long Beach, California

Car culture in California has long been vibrant (and who can blame them for that!) but rewarding the automobile with its own room in the house is unique to the Long Beach area. In attempting to rationalize why such an ordinance would exist, possible thoughts of reducing fire and theft risks comes to mind. Perhaps another reason for the law could be to discourage rock bands from jamming in the garages.

2. When entering city limits in an automobile, you must alert the police

Place of Jurisdiction: Illinois State

A fragment leftover from when there were more police officers than motorists, law enforcement may be facing deeper pressing issues other than daily commuters alerting them of another vehicle in the city.

3. It is illegal for a woman to drive unless there’s a man in front of the vehicle waving a red flag to warn approaching motorists and pedestrians

Place of Jurisdiction: New Orleans, Louisiana, Memphis, Tennessee, Waynesboro, Virginia

A law which even than would constitute as an embarrassment to women, the man would probably feel extremely put out under a predicament such as running down the streets with a flag. However, to a man acting as a guide to his wife’s car would certainly be a deterrent to the escapades of a cheating husband.

Serious though, women have been licensed to drive vehicles in the United States since 1900 but it wasn’t until the deep latter part of the 20^th century that females were properly accepted on roads.

4. It’s illegal to wipe a car with used underwear

Place of Jurisdiction: San Francisco, California

As you can tell, while California remains an automotive friendly state, the region tops other states in stupid laws.In this case, we must remember that many laws have been created for a reason. However, this is one particular bylaw we would probably be thankful not to learn of its origin.

5. When approaching an intersection by car, a driver is required to signal crossing the street with the following procedure: Driver must exit the vehicle with a shotgun, look both ways and fire 3 shots into the air before proceeding back to their vehicle to cross the intersection

Place of Jurisdiction: Various regions including Wichita, Kansas, and the state of South Carolina

First and foremost, it’s important to state this traffic law is obsolete as modern firearm offenses would now supersede this practice. However, in days before traffic lights and signs, electric horns or turn signals were made automotive standard equipment, it was actually considered the law to use a shotgun in a way that would be judged as reckless in today’s traffic laws.

Similar laws can be found on the books in other regions. For example, when traveling down country roads in the state of Pennsylvania at night, it is required that a rocket must be fired into the air every mile. On top of that condition, the driver must wait 10 minutes before proceeding down the road.

Reference Source:www.dumblaws.com

Photo Source: Chris Nagy

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The Toyota t-shirt, if you’re wondering, is from Despair.com and is printed on a high-quality American Apparel shirt in sizes S-3XL. You can see it on that displeased-looking gentleman to the right. American Apparel shirts tend to run a bit small, so you might want to order a size larger if you’re chubby.

Contest starts immediately and runs until…I don’t know, I haven’t decided yet. Hurry up and enter in case I decide to end it soon.

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Audi just released a mysterious microsite and two funny videos dedicated to an Electricity Untamed theme, which hints at an all-new, electric sports car from the German brand. The website ElectricityUntamed.com scrolls through quite a few facts about electricity, and has a countdown timer in the upper-left, which will end during the Frankfurt Motor Show on September 15, 2009, indicating the new car will be unveiled then.

The dot-sketch you see above resembles a modified Audi R8 in more than a few ways, but that doesn’t mean it’s based off of the supercar. The car unveiled will most certainly be a sports car, and will definitely be impressive.

Check out the videos after the jump:

Mower:

Static Shock:

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There crazy heels were designed by illustrator Tim Cooper, possibly to be sold by Tonino on behalf of Lamborghini. Click on the image for a high-res version.

These stilettos are incredibly gaudy, and as much as I love Lamborghini, I simply couldn’t take anyone seriously who is wearing these. Plus, I think the signature Superleggera orange or green finish would look much cooler, albeit less fashionable. Regardless, I’m sure if they do go on sale, they will sell out no matter what the price, which would surely be ridiculously expensive.

Opel Agila heels

Yes, these shoes do actually exist. Shoes for an enthusiast car like the Lambo is one thing, but an Opel Agila? Give me a break. Well, these shoes were created as a promotional campaign for the car, and I don’t believe they’re actually for sale. Not that they would sell anyway.

NASCAR-themed footwear

If you or your husband owns a set of Truck Nutz, you may want to look into this NASCAR footwear.

40 million women are NASCAR fans, which makes it easy to believe that 77% of women feel that their sprit and attitude can make them beautiful. NASCAR footwear celebrates your spirit, your attitude and your beauty in a fun and sexy way.

This pseudo-racing organization has now broken into women’s footwear, bikinis (don’t get that picture into your head,) leather jackets, and other merch for the 40 million women who somehow like this “sport.”

The lime green monstrosities you see above started with a list price of $200 (ha!) and are currently on sale at Amazon.com for $40. Probably a statement to how many of these they sell.

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Sometime last year, a few Photoshop gurus got together and made some very funny “mini” versions of their favorite cars. The trend caught on, and soon lots of people were taking their favorite cars, and through the process of image manipulation, made them mini versions of themselves.

Below, you will find a photo gallery full of these micro machines, in all of their hilarious glory. If you have any you’d like to share, please leave a comment.

Just click on the image for a larger version:

If you’d like to learn how to do this yourself, you’ll need to get Adobe Photoshop or a very similar photo editing program and follow these instructions.

Thanks to CelSydney for some of these photos. Check out his Flickr set for more.

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I came across this yesterday at Dark Roasted Blend, which had this to say:

“Hwy 101 traffic south of Salinas, California, is attacked by the ignoble blobs of tangled matter, throwing themselves at cars but seemingly uninterested in humans.”

Really, that should say it all, but there so much auto-related weirdness here that it’s worth looking at a little more closely.

For starters, let’s take this piece by piece.

“Hwy 101 traffic south of Salinas, California.”

OK, for starters, there’s a whole bunch of car stuff right there. Hwy 101 is pretty much loathed by Southern Californians, mainly due to its age and congestion, but this is in central Cal. Specifically, by Salinas, California. And we all know what happened just off the 101 in Salinas, don’t we? That’s where Donald Turnupseed failed to use due care and caution and crossed in front of the 550 Porsche Spyder driven James Dean and his mechanic Rolf Wütherich. The two cars hit almost head on, Wütherich (who wasn’t wearing seatbelts) was ejected from the Spyder, and Dean was killed. Donald Turnupseed received a gashed forehead and bruised nose.

Dean’s last words were: “That guy’s gotta stop… He’ll see us.”

Yeah, how many times have I heard THAT before?

“… is attacked by the ignoble blobs of tangled matter, throwing themselves at cars but seemingly uninterested in humans.”

Well, hard to argue with the boys at DRB about that. For starters, these big agglomerations of tumbleweeds do lack a certain nobility. Not to mention the fact that they are huge, dark and it’s really hard to tell the mass of something like that. Sure, if you look closely and think about it, they can’t have that much heft behind them, and if you were to hit one, there probably won’t be anything big & solid enough to damage your car (probably). But still, suppose you were coming back from vacation with an SUV packed with cranky kids and souvenirs and one of this things popped out from the front of an 18-wheeler. How do you think your average American driver would react? Probably swerve wildly in a blind panic and take out a couple of cars in the adjoining lanes, would be my guess. But I’m pessimist amount most drivers in this country.

The “… throwing themselves at cars but seemingly uninterested in humans,” is funny, but I have seen semis pull over to clean the tumbleweed gunk out of their radiators, since it CAN build up and block airflow.

But this whole thing looks like a great start to a B-grade horror movie. “When Tumbleweeds Attack!” “Day of The Tumbleweeds!” Where’s that Romero fella at? This would be right up his alley … let’s just keep it away from Michael Bay. He’s hopeless.

Source: Dark Roasted Blend

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My face went slack and my skin grayed a little as I simultaneously turn the key and depressed the clutch peddle.

Like most modern cars with a manual transmission, the 1994 Mazda Miata R-Package has an interlock switch under the clutch peddle. This prevents you from doing something so basically bone-headed that it’s an insult they even HAVE a switch for it: Start the car while it’s in gear.

About an inch from the stop (and also the switch) there was a slight catch, and then the pedal went slack at the same time the starter engaged.

I backed off, but too late, and there was this embarrassing lurch-SCREEECH! and I gobbled up about 10 of the 16 inches between my front bumper and the file cabinet that contains about 5 years worth of Road & Track magazines.

The car sat silently. I pumped the clutch, and it felt like I was kicking air through a straw … which in effect, I was doing.

Emergency brake on. In gear. Release hood. Hop out. Clutch reservoir: DRY!!!!

NO!

Sweet Jesus, how did THAT happen?!

Mazda Miatas all have hydraulic clutches, a vastly superior mechanical setup to a cable-actuated clutch (apart from the added weight and complexity). Much better peddle feel.

But I also know about what it’s like when “things” happen with sports cars. I grew up in a British car family. Triumphs. MGs. Healeys. Shoot, my dad, who’s pushing 90, STILL has a Sunbeam Tiger.

When old car nuts talk about the adventure of driving, say, a 65 Spridget, most of those people have never been in one when you had the presumption to turn on the “heater” fan whilst the headlamps were in operation. In late February. In some God-forsaken place like Beaverton, Oregon. At 2.30. In a drizzle.

I haven’t. But my brothers, cousins, and most of their friends from High School did.

And let me tell you, even being AROUND at 4.30 in the Ay-Em when they finally make it home? Bad scene, man.

So, as I stared at the bone-dry master cylinder reservoir, I could only think of one thing: Drop everything you’re doing and fix the problem NOW!

I top it off with clutch juice. Pump the system to life. Let the car idle as I back it out of the garage. Clutch, shift. Clutch, shift. Clutch, shift. Clutch, shift. Clutch, shift. Clutch, shift. Clutch, shift. Clutch, shift. Clutch, shift. Clutch, shift. Clutch, shift. Put it in neutral. Emergency brake on. Pop hood. Get out. Check level in master cylinder … which is OK. Right on the full line.

Go for drive around the block. Pull into driveway. Put it in neutral. Emergency brake on. Pop hood. Get out. Check level in master cylinder … which is OK. Right on the full line.

Shut off car.

“How the hell did I do that?”

Look under car. Nothing dripping. Good. Go check drip tray sitting in garage. OK, just looks like oil.

This can mean only one thing: The rear main seal, which had been leaking, has probably dripped enough oil onto the rubber clutch line. Which is now starting to go.

I had this vision of myself, bombing across The Golden Gate Bridge, pulling away from the toll booths, going to grab fifth when FOOSH the line blows completely, and I’ve got a 130 HP rock grinder in my right hand.

To the phones! Ring-ring. “Hello, this is Matt.” “Hey Matt, Tony.” “What’s up?” “You now that real main seal?” “Yeah?” “Time to take care of it.” “OK. Bring it in Monday.” “Will do.”

Monday, mid-morning, I sit amongst a mile long line of gray, beige or blue buildings lining both sides of the street. Chopper shops, body and fender guys, German this, Italian that.

Matt rolls up (the only mechanic I’ve known who is NOT a morning person). “So, the rear main seal?” “Sadly, yes.” “No prob.” SCHREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH goes the roll up door. “GAH! Why don’t you fix that?! You’re a mechanic.” “Yeah, I’ve been up and down ladders 15 times. Still don’t know where it’s binding. So Rear main?” “Yeah, and also the clutch slave.” “Oh?”

And I tell Matt my tale of woe. No prob. They’re going to be in/near there anyway, and the part is cheap.

“OK. Thursday?” I ask. “Nah. Probably end of Tuesday. Wednesday at the latest.” “Great. Well, no rush. Take your time.” “OK. I’ll call.”

Monday afternoon. BBBDDDDDDDDDDDtttttttttttDDDDDDDDttttttttttDDDDDDDDDDDTTTTTTTTTTTT!!! rattles my cell phone.

“Hey Tony, Matt.” “Hey Matt.” “Yeah, it was the slave.” “OK.” “Found something else though … ” ” … Yeah?” “Yeah. The oil was also getting onto your heater hoses.” “Both?” “Yeah. Send and return. They got big bulges in them. I-” “Pull’em! Don’t even screw around. Mazdas have a knack for cheap hoses. The last thing I need is dumping scalding hot coolant onto my feet.” “OK. Will do. Call you when it’s done.” “OK, talk with you.”

See, I KNOW how bad “things” can get with dispositifs mécaniques. Modern cars are a blessing in comparison to what was. Still, mechanical things can, and do, break.

Best to stay on top of “things”.

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