Orlando is a strange place. If you took every major theme park you can imagine and crammed it all next to a Disney-something (Land, World, whatever), you'd have the cultural mecca that is Florida's entertainment capital. Slap some stucco on a few one-story buildings, and it would probably resemble my homeland, Orange County, California. Oh wait, Orlando is in Orange County-the Florida version-and the Convention Center is right smack in the middle of it. So, feeling like I just stepped off of an airplane that did a 360 and landed back in the same place, I headed over to Hot Import Nights more bewildered and confused than I've ever been.
As soon as I stepped inside, however, I knew everything was going to be just fine. The lights went down, the music throttled up, and things started to make more sense. What I really want to understand, though, is how the person who made it to the corner of the stage where I was shooting photos managed to birdle their stomach contents out, 1) Without me noticing before I stepped in it, and 2) Despite the fact that it was a dry show. Maybe go a little easier on the Pepsi Blues next time, Chuckie!
Besides that, Hot Import Nights was a great time, and I definitely recommend going if you haven't had a chance yet. Girls everywhere you glance, cars you can't afford, and the constant thump of electronica make it all one gigantic party that'll blow your mind-twice. I'm still recovering from it, but that's mostly due to the fact that I met a multitude of gorgeous women and not a single one even asked me for a business card. Oh well, I guess that means I'll just have to save my swoops for the next HIN! Caw, Caw!
Ladies, please phone the author of this story.
All right, it's time to play Catch the Molotov Cocktail!
NX's new bottle warmer was very impressive.
OK, big smile! Ready?
This looks safe.
Do we really need to say anything for a laugh?
Oh my God-is that, like, barf?
Jonny wears those shirts all the time. Trust us, you girls look a lot better.
It's raining men!