Buffoons, bass and balls

Many a night I see a neon bullet shoot past my living room window, come to a violent stop at the end of the street (you can almost hear the baseball caps swivel to the front of their heads), and, after the briefest of moments, fart its way up the road towards downtown, all accompanied by throbbing bass.\nOn first seeing one of these vehicles when I moved to this town, the absurdity made me assume it was a rare event, and I reveled in it. After six months in Bloomington, I have become jaded with the noise and visual pollution of these vehicles that seem to cruise insistently around town.\nSitting outside one of the local establishments along Kirkwood one Saturday night, conversation at our table was being repeatedly interrupted by these thumping-mobiles. They seemed to come in definite and uncannily regular waves. To explain it, a friend offered an interesting piece of Bloomington trivia.\nHearsay has it that back in the dark-ages, Kirkwood Ave. was becoming a black spot for congestion on Friday and Saturday nights. So much so, that the council was forced to take out its magic-markers and highlight a circuit encompassing popular scenes of Bloomington nightlife. At a specific time, participating cars accumulate at a designated meeting point (possibly in a parking lot near the court house) and then spew out in a conga across town: Kirkwood, of course, being the main feature of the tour (well, let's face it, that is where all the best posing and 'purving' -- to use Australian colloquialism -- can be done).\nMy attempts to investigate this rumor further lost momentum when Web searches on "car enthusiasts" in "Bloomington, Indiana" brought up Hoosier Mental Health Life. But I am content knowing nothing better lubricates the exchange of conjecture than the atmosphere of a bar; governments have been toppled by less (possibly another unsubstantiated rumor).\nI can understand the obsession some people have for their cars and cruising along Main Sreet to show them off is just a small part of it. But these vehicles on Kirkwood (and at the end of my street) -- the ones fitted with neon protruding axles making the car look as if it was travelling on two enormous rolling pins (à la "the Flintstones"), a body so low that a raised crack in the street constitutes a major obstacle, or spoilers and other racing modifications on a vehicle that would otherwise struggle to drive up an incline when more than two people are in the car -- are silly. They are caricatures of the hot-rod.\nI can also appreciate the purr of a powerful engine or driving on a hot summer's night with the windows down and music up. But the racket emanating from both the exhaust and from inside these cars is nauseating. Many sound like spluttering lawnmowers and the bass will make the ears of any unfortunate person who happens to pull along side bleed.\nA small part of me almost wants to applaud the balls it must take to be so extravagantly and publicly ridiculous (the operative word being almost). There is nothing wrong with flamboyance, but this is a look-at-me mentality that goes beyond exhibitionism. \nDo you remember that kid at school who always tried to be the center of attention by being as loud and repugnant as possible? \nIt seems they don't grow out of it after all.