Motorcycle racing on Daytona Beach in 1949. Sweet.
But it needs a soundtrack. Let us eschew all the trite tunes. No Steppenwolves need apply. We need something just as sweet, for a world that has passed away gently in that goodnight.
I heard a rumor the winner speaks English, but I don’t believe (or understand) a word of it.
You know, the Fourth of July just ain’t cutting it anymore. It’s getting so you can’t even buy boxes of explosives by the side of the road on your way home from South Of The Border from a guy named Mitch who wears an eyepatch, collects Nazi memorabilia, and is missing three fingers on his left hand anymore. The country’s going to hell, I’m telling you. Sparklers are for finishing school picnics. We need something with a whiff of petard on it. We may have to go international at this point.
Great Balls of Fire! I’ve found it. No, really; it’s called Great Balls of Fire – Bolas de Fuego.
Save your pennies for a trip to El Salvador next August 31st. According to this magnificent Flickr set by Rodolfo Villeda, it has other attractions as well.
You’ve got to learn to use the breakdown lane and the sidewalks, and cut through all the gas station parking lots on the corners, if you’re going to have a shot at stardom.