Whose Shake Is This!!?

It’s not really the destination that’s important. It’s the journey. So going nowhere is not always a bad thing. Because no matter WHERE you arrive, well…there you are. And along the way, what you have uncovered, discovered, lived and relived determines where you arrive and when, but more importantly, who you are when you arrive there.

So many people get this all backwards and confused. This is not some hippy love-generation psuedo-zen nonsense. ((Although it used to be)) It’s honest philosophy that has been lost in the time-management business motivation and other euphemistic instant gratification psycho-babble. The journey is forgotten, an after-thought, and a mere means to a mostly mean end. As long as the journey is over with quickly along the unrelenting fascism of the Interstate, that seems to be all that matters.Fire up that GPS and get there NOW.

And there you are. But who are you when you get there?  And where are you really when all is said and done?

It’s all fine to have a destination in mind. That’s well and good. But HOW you get there…that’s the key that’s missing most often. The irony of all this is that most people, without realizing it, wind up going nowhere FAST, or somewhere FAST. But all was a blur, and where they arrive is more blurry than they realize. The only people who should be going nowhere FAST are Matt Kenseth, Tony Stewart, Dale Earnhardt Jr, Lewis Hamilton, Sebastian Vettel, Danica Patrick and the rest. Motorports is the ultimate metaphor of going nowhere fast. Although they all have the same destination in mind, Victory Lane, getting to Victory Lane is all about the journey.

A journey does NOT have to have a destination. The journey can be and of itself its own destination. So with that thought in mind, let’s go nowhere and see where we end up.

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The more we know, the more we seem to forget. Even, and especially, if it’s the things we love the most. It seems ironic and counter-intuitive, but the more knowledge and passion we have, the more capacity we have to overlook something, be it minuscule or essential. I’m constantly forgetting the names of the main characters in the anime shows that I love…if you were to ask me right now to rattle off the names of the characters in Arakawa Under The Bridge or Angel Beats or ef-a tale of memories, I know I would miss quite a few of them. It’s the same lapse we have when we forget an essential birthday or anniversary…not that we actually forget it, but we are off by a day or two. So this week I suppose I will try to remember here, (some of) what I have forgotten over the past several weeks.

But before I forget and rush headlong into the tidal wave of more rhetoric, there is THIS:

Mexico 2   France 0

Ha Ha ha!! Take THAT ya cack-suckin’ cheatin’  fackin’ Frenchies!!  HA HA HA!!! All hail Javier Hernandez  whose goal in the 55th minute and Cuauhtemoc Blanco whose penalty kick at the 62 minute mark sent the fackin’ Frenchies packing.

¡¡Jodimos el Frenchies!! ¡¡¡¡HA HA HA!!!!

¡¡Cagomos en la leche de tu puta madre, Frenchies!! ¡¡¡¡HA HA HA!!!!

¡¡Los Africanos le joderán el culo, Frenchies!! ¡¡¡¡HA HA HA!!!!

I certainly didn’t want to forget about THAT!! And I know all of Ireland was cheering along with me. But I know I’m forgetting something….

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DAMN the damned ability of Jimmie Johnson and the evil mechanations of Chad Knaus!!

The top of the lineup for this evening’s Subway Fresh Fit 600 from Phoenix is full of WTF?  I mean that sincerely. A.J. Allmendinger will tee it off first alongside Scott Speed. In the next row, Sam Hornish Jr and Marcus Ambrose tee off 3rd and 4th respective. I mean really…WTF??  These guys are no back markers, mind you, but really…what the shit. This is like a Final Four of all mid-majors duking it out (pun not intended). This is like a Final Four of Butler, Weber State, UTEP and Siena or something. Who the hell are these guys and what the hell are they doing here?

Well, I hope it lasts. But I have my doubts. The next 4 out are Junior, Logano, Montoya and Truex. And lurking back in 16th on the starting grid, using the same chassis ((that would be Chassis No. 540 for those of you keeping score at home)) he used to win at Phoenix last fall is Jimmie Johnson who is currently at the top the of the table 14 points up on The Biff, and 16 points up on Matt Kenseth, who would be in the lead if naught for the petulance of That Homo Jeff Gordon.

Obviously, these mid-markers will not be there at the end even though Allmendinger DID have a fast 2nd practice speed. It pains me to say this, but the odds on favourite to win this tonight is Jimmie Johnson. He holds the record for most wins at Phoenix. I hate the thought of that. The same dull tedious shite at the top of the table. I suppose fans of Sunderland and Blackburn are right sick as well of Chelsea, Arsenal and Man U always at the top of the table.

Now Junior qualified well, and the Busch boys, especially Kurt usually fare well here. Kyle won last night’s Nationwide race despite being black-flagged. Mark Martin won last spring’s race here and has 2 career wins at Phoenix. Jeff Burton does well here and I’m still on the bandwagon. So there is some measure of hope for us who would like to see the excellence of Jimmie Johnson’s damned ability cut down to size, or, rather see a different form of excellent arise from the ashes of our boredom. Will this happen? Or will our hopes be dashed again.

By the time you will most likely read this, you will already know the answer. I wonder if there is anything you don’t already know!

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The Gundam always wins!

It’s not like I’m going to tell you what happens in some current, new anime show that I happen to be watching at the moment that most of you who will be reading this will never be watching at ANY moment. I could regale you with my latest take on everything that happens in episode 11 of So-Ra-No-Wo-To, or episode 1 of Gundam Unicorn, and it won’t significantly spoil yer day. Even though you should, you probably wont be watching these shows anytime soon.  Also, since I’m writing this on Saturday, by the time most of you even get around to reading this, tomorrow’s race at Martinsville will be in the books, along with the name of the winner, and the post-mortem analysis of the new spoiler will raging in earnest. As for tomorrow’s Goody’s Fast Pain Relief 500 at Martinsville, I’m jumping on the Jeff Burton bandwagon. There’s my spoiler for ya. Jeff Burton wins at Martinsville.

Anyway, I can’t wait to see the spoiler in action the next time the lads race at Bristol. Bristol with the COT and the wing as become a more tedious and miniature version of Talladega with less wreckage and mayhem than in the past. Not at all the 43 rabid chihuahuas in a teapot that it used to be. The race last Sunday was set to come down to the wire, but…the evil machinations of Chad Knaus spoiled the day for for everyone as he called for 4 tires when Matt and Kurt and the rest of the leaders took 2. That was the call that won Jimmie Johnson his 50th race and his first at Bristol. On the final restart he cruised by the field and left Smoke, Kurt, The Biff and Matt in his dust. Damn, now THAT spoiled it for me, yes? I got cheated out of a shot of Crown Royal and a bottle of Miller Lite ((and a damn fine pilsner it is.))

But speaking of spoiling someones day….

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Motorsports are different in Europe.

Motorsports are different in Europe. AS are many things sporting, or sportif. Formula 1 vs. NASCAR. It sort of makes me wonder what it would be like if NASCAR actually staged a race in Europe. Hah! I could see it all now….instead of a race at Watkins Glen or Sears Point ((I refuse to call it Infineon)), they could have a race at Hockenheim or better yet, Spa-Francorchamps. Junior Nation and its legion of lugs with the number 3 shaved into their hairy backs could descend upon Belgium and they could still drink actual Budweiser, and the younger one’s with the number 8 tattooed on the left shoulder or right ass cheek could quaf ((that’s the Euro-word for beer pong, I think)) it’s EuroWife-Beater counterpart Stella Artois. Picture this…Montoya and Speed return to the scenes of their triumphs and crimes and they could dust it up with Robbie Gordon, Marcus Ambrose, Smoke and that homo Jeff Gordon in Curve Paul Frere. Montoya had a third place podium finish at Spa in 2002 ((although I imagine he’d much rather race at Hockenheim where he topped the podium with a win at the 2003 German Gran Prix)). Yes I’d be all for a move of this sort to internationalize NASCAR. It would be a far better use of what talents, such as they are, that Brian France and Mike Helton have at their disposal, than playing spider/ant games with The Carl and Brad Kesolowski.

Which brings me to Sebastian Vettel, and the secret life thereof. Vettel as I mentioned last week, teed off from the pole in the opening Bahrain Gran Prix last Sunday. (( What I didn’t mention last week is his new hair style. He’s grown it out and he now looks like a high school kid from Chilton Wisconsin waiting to pick up his prom date. And I will not mention that this week, either)). He’s the lead driver on the Red Bull team this season and the Red Bull Renaults are incredibly fast….they are also incredible unreliable from a durability standpoint. By lap 34 , Vettel’s Renault was losing power, and Felipe Massa and his teammate Fernando Alonso made the pass. And Vettel’s chances at a podium were dashed when Lewis Hamilton zipped past himlater for a third place podium finish. Anyway, it’s the secret life of Sebastian Vettel that got me thinking about NASCAR racing in Europe. For example, the favourite sports and pastimes of European drivers are vastly different from their NASCAR counterparts. Not many hunters and fishermen is what I’m trying to say. Sebastian Vettel’s ideal non-race Sunday morning is a big breakfast followed by a spirited game of badminton. Yes, you read that right.

Now I don’t think even Jeff Gordon is homo enough to include badminton his routine. Though the big breakfast part I’m sure we’d all agree with. But….badminton? Well…as I think about it…maybe badminton would not be such a bad idea after all. It might serve to ease the tensions between Brad and The Carl….let them smack the bird around a bit. Ditto The Carl and That Lout Kevin Harvick. Let’s put all this manly and quasi-manly posturing aside for bit, yes? I think racing in Europe would do wonders for NASCAR. Children by the millions all over Europe would flock to the loud, stinky louts from America, and the wonder and the horror of it all. The money wasted by transporting the Roushketeers and The Busch Brothers and all the rest over to Spa ((or Hockenheim)) would be made back many times over…it could be the second biggest NASCAR cash grab since The Coming Of Danica Patrick.

That. And the badminton!! The next time The Carl or Brad or That Lout Kevin Harvick or Hamlin, or god forbid, David Gillillilland, decide for spurious and notional reasons to extract some petty revenge, they might just think twice about doing that if they knew they’d be forced to play badminton.

Then again, losing at badminton might rankle The Carl even further. God forbid that, yes?

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“According to THIS book, someday you will publish a photo of us on the Internet.”

Sometimes I just get caught up in my own format. It becomes a trap from which I can barely escape. Hopefully, by recognizing that and bringing it to light, I can indeed effect an escape. Format. Perhaps I should explain, and as always, I will try not to allow the facts to get in the way of the truth.

I’ve been using a format for my blog that primarily involves a synergy and/or a resonance with current anime shows that I have been watching. As y’all should have guessed by now, I stay on top of all the new shows. And I use screencaps from those shows for various expositional or comedic effects, or both. Also, I will sometimes dredge up an older show and go off on that. Format. Yes. Now the concept of format actually comes from my old SF Fanzine publishing days back in the late 70′s and into the 80′s when I lived in Minneapolis and published a Hogu Award nominated fanzine INTERGALACTIC STARBARN and also published zines for the two local APAs (Amatuer Press Associations, for those among you who are mundane — hee!), MINNEAPA  ((used various titles there, also published quite few zines ananomously there under the nom de plume of Mark Heifer)), and one for STIPPLE-APA, titled ZINE. I also published a zine, entitled MY ZINE TITLE for the Chicago fandom’s local APA, WINDYAPA….although my first zine published there was entitled The Johnny Callison Show which was written live from the Convention Suite of Minicon 17 on Saturday evening April 18, 1981, and then published in WINDYAPA #6.

Format. Typeface, Masthead, Colophon, Comments and the layout thereof. I would use a format for each of my apa-zines and try and stick to it consistently. It was a small little obsession that was, to varying degrees, shared with my fellow fans. It would prompt such comments, like my comment to Robin Beal in WINDYAPA 11 ((which btw features my cover drawing of myself and fellow Minneapolis fan, Mike Wood (the late Mike Wood, beloved by all in Minn-Stf and longtime editor of MINNEAPA) arriving in Chicago…Mike flying in in the guise of a wood-duck, and me sky-skiing over downtown Chicago being towed being a Northwest (Bozo)Orieinted Airlines DC-10)): “Well by golly, this format is a real wicked drug. [Hi Gretchen.] I like yours. real easy to read.”

Now am I clear about FORMAT!!??

Okay…onward!!

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Like approximately 200 million other people world wide, I watched the FIFA World Cup 2010 Final Draw Show. And given the somewhat wacky and borderline surrealistic nature of the draw itself, it’s probably just as well that I watched the entire thing in Spanish on Univision at Taqueria Maldonado’s in Green Bay, Wisconsin. There was some spectacular entertainment that I happened to miss, like performances by Johnny Clegg and Angelique Kijou, but it was the Draw itself that was just about as strange as any sports program I’ve ever seen. (Note to NBA Commisioner David Stern: your NBA Draft Lottery Selection Show could take a page of out FIFA this book here.)

The stage for the draw was more like a set of for a big wacky game show. I’ll get to the hosts in a minute. Here comes the parade of contestants. What FIFA did, and actually it was pretty cool, was to use some of the top South African (and in one case, Ethiopian) athletes to do the actual picking for the draw. The athletes so honoured were:  Olympic 10,000 metre gold medalist Haile Gebrsellassie from Ethiopia; South African cricketer Makhaya Ntini who was the first black to play for the South African cricket team; SA rugger John Smit who I originally thought was a soccer player from the Uruguay team; Matthew Booth from the South African men’s soccer team—when Matthew Booth was introduced and walked out, I thought at first it was Peter Garrett from Midnight Oil; and finally, South African women’s soccer star, Simphewe Dludlu, who wore a stunning mustard yellow evening dress and was completely bald. Since I was watching this in Spanish on a rather low-fidelity TV, I’ve gathered most of this info after the fact.

And now the hosts of the show.  FIFA Secretary-General Jerome Valke could easily have passed for former NFL Commisioner Paul Tagliabue (a poor-man’s Paul Tagliabue, but none the less…). And then there was his congenial co-host….a stunning blonde in a red dress….and as I’m watching and eating my tacos de lengua, it dawns on me that she is not there just for eye candy…she’s….Actress Charlize Theron!! How the hell did SHE get thrown into this?? And then I realized, later, that she’s from South Africa as well.

But wait, there’s more! While I was marveling at the odd collection of folks on the stage, and wondering why the hell Peter Garrett from Midnight Oil was a part of this….none other than David Freaking Beckham strolls onto the stage looking more like a contestant from a reality show. Yes, THAT David Beckham, and he’s got a focking FAUX-HAWK to boot. Why not a fahking hockey mullet, dude!!? Okay, now there’s David Beckham, Peter Garrett, a stunning bald short black woman in terrific gold/mustard dress, a soccer player from Uruguay, two African athletes, one dressed in a suit and the other dressed like a waiter at a Sun City resort, Charlize Theron, and a poor-man’s Paul Tagliabue. So let the games begin!

The Revolutionary War and the War of 1812 reenactments begin now!

Alright, on the set for the draw are a whole bunch of pots filled with little soccer balls filled with slips of paper.  One of the athletes draws one ball for the country name, and another, in this case Beckham, draws one for where the country will be seeded in the group stage. The first 8 teams, who were the top 8 teams in the world ranking have been selected and placed in their respective groups. England is at the top of Group C. Haile Gebreselassie selected USA as for Group C.  And Beckham just drew the ball containing C2, which means USA will be playing England and is probably thinking “Well bloody hell….Landon Donovan is gonna get a chance to kick my ass…”  And everyone else is thinking, “Ha ha ha American Pig Dogs!! Beckham is gonna kick YOUR ass.”

And as for the cheating Frenchies….

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It is inevitable, inexorable. It’s not even going to be close. Jimmie Johnson will take it all, including the cake and the frosting. There is almost no real point in watching NASCAR anymore this season since we already know who is going to win. All else is hopeless and hapless and nearly as balls-on thrilling as last Sunday’s 6-3 Cleveland vs. Buffalo beatdown by the shores of Lake Erie.

Now ofcourse, Junior Nation will keep somewhat tuned in for any heroic adventures their intrepid hero might encounter, such as a top 15 finish. And yeh yeh yeh, I’ll be rooting for Kenseth to win out and all that as a fuck you toNASCAR for the Chase. But really now, NASCAR will be in a real ratings slump if this goes on.

This has become the most boring Chase of all time.

And since tonight’s race is at Lowe’s Motor Speedway, short of making Jimmie Johnson race in reverse on flat tires, who do YOU think is going to win tonight’s NASCAR Banking 500 only from Bank of America at Charlotte? Ne?

But…that’s not all…

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I’m a little late with my recap/editorial/take on the AAA 400 at Dover last Saturday. Then again, I also have not caught up on my anime viewing either. I have several episodes of Bakemonogatari, Needless, and Haruhi to watch. So that says more about me, I suppose, than the race at Dover.  The race was a thriller, as I recall. It was most unfortunate that Mark Martin didn’t catch Jimmie Johnson, and more unfortunate still that Matt Kenseth didn’t run them both down for win number 3.

And fock Jimmie Johnson and his damned ability!! Damn his eye!! Damn his sweep of Dover this year!! Damn his second place in the points a mere 10 points behind the old man Mark Martin!! Damn him to hell and then some!!

And that goes DOUBLE for the Evil Machinations of Chad Knaus!! Damn his prowess on the War Wagon!! Damn his envelope-pushing quasi-cheating ways!! Damn his tactics and strategy!! Damn him to hell and back, and once more for good measure!!

But…there is a twist to this little story….

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It all came down to one night, one race. The final race for the Chase. The Chevy Rock N Roll 400 at Richmond International Speedway. It was a mighty and terrible race with the blood of giants coursing through the veins of some of the drivers while from others the blood of giants spilled across raceway as the checkered flag fell and hushed the terrible roar.

And it was over almost as suddenly as it began. 26 races all came down to one mighty earthshaking night. There was an encore for Denny Hamlin who won, at last, on his home track. For him, it was better than if he’d won the Daytona 500. He’s been hard to pin down this season so far…it wasn’t until just before his win at Pocono that I even realized he was solidly in the Chase. If the blood of giants has been coursing through his veins this season, it has been, for the most part, the micronized kind.

Another driver however, who’s had the blood of giants running through his veins his entire career, ended the race in a pool of that blood.

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