"Man... I screwed up royally. If I ever get out of this situation alive, I promise I'll never lust for another import model again." As I attempted to strike a deal with the man up above, I continued to twist and turn through one-way streets under the cover of darkness, smack dab in the middle of North Philly. Those of you who live in the Philadelphia suburbs or neighboring cities have quickly learned the ethics of becoming "street smart," and know fully well which districts are deemed safe to drive though and which are considered a suicide run. I won't lie, I wasn't looking for a death wish or attempting to outdo my previous "disaster trip" to Philly in 2003--which consisted of witnessing a full-on street brawl (complete with stabbings) and having my precious laptop stolen from the hotel. So here I was, an Asian guy driving a bright red Oldsmobile Alero, completely lost, while Nadine Toyoda and Sarah Nakadate, two drifters from L.A., (who also happened to be promoting women in drifting for Yokohama) continually bounced up and down in the back seat dancing and screaming to Notorious BIG. Man... this is not good!
So what brought me back to the suburbs you ask? Work of course, but it was more than just attending HIN Philly that made me pack up my bags and catch the redeye. Perhaps it was looking forward to some good ol' Geno's Philly cheese steaks--drenched in cheese whiz--or taking the opportunity to visit some long-time friends whom I rarely see except on special occasions. Yes, it's work, but not really. If covering the best show cars the import scene has to offer while ogling at models in skin tight attire is considered work, well just shoot me now! (As long as it's not in North Philly.)
It's 3 P.M. on June 26th, the day of Hot Import Nights and already the entry line wraps around the interiors of the Pennsylvania Convention Center halls with well over a thousand enthusiasts, ready to witness an entourage of show cars, phat beats, stage performances, and models--all complements of HIN. Walking through the long rows of vehicles ranging from a fully decked out Subaru STi that is adorned with every JDM product conceivable, to a daily driven S2000 posting eye-popping numbers at 615 whp. It was apparent that cars from the East coast are more than just about neon lights and cute sticker schemes.
Ahh... the models and dancers. Always a treat for men and women alike; the HIN gogo dancers made their way across the stage as the smoking model/DJ Shannon spun the ones and twos. As the name "Sasha Singleton" was announced on the loudspeakers, the halls erupted into absolute pandemonium, and I watched men and pubescent boys literally sprint their way towards the stage as if on a mission to catch the last helicopter out of Saigon. Hey! I won't deny it. I can stand there for days in a trance-like state watching the booty shake (the only difference is I'm a professional in my line of work and it's my duty to capture booty shots and cleavage with a look of boredom on my face). Ha! That was until Sasha made eye contact with me. Okay made contact with my camera lens. But the lens is viewed through my eye so in that sense, she basically made eye contact with me.
Yeah... yeah, so I broke my promise of lusting when I made it out of North Philly in one piece, but I bet if you had Sasha Singleton making direct eye contact with you while shaking her assets, you'd break every promise you ever made. Including your marriage vows--yeah don't front you heathen!