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!!??
The day before this photograph was taken, Richard Petty won the Capitol City 500 at Richmond Fairgrounds Raceway. Benny Parsons, the only other driver to finish on the lead lap, came in second in the #72 King’s Row Fireplace Chevrolet. In third, Richie Panch slogged home 7 laps down in the #92 Tuxedo Plumbing Chevrolet. Only 12 of the 27 cars were even running at the end of the race. The top Billboard hit on that terrible day was “(You’re) Having My Baby” by Paul Anka. And as for me, I was recently out of college and was living in Appleton, Wisconsin, and struggling with the upheaval, both family and economically, of the recession which brought down my Dad’s home building business ((it was not a pleasant situation, and I really don’t want to look back on it or elaborate)). The Green Bay Packers were a week away from beginning a 6-8 season with an opening day 32-17 loss to the Vike-Queens at Lambeau. One of the few good things I can think of to come from 1974 was the origins of The Talking Heads…when David Byrne and Chris Frantz started a band call The Artistics at the Rhode Island School of Art & Design.
In any case, I was less than 2 short years away from my initial encounter with the fine folks pictured above which occurred at Minicon 11, April 16-18, 1976 at the Leamington Hotel where I had the honour of meeting and talking with one of my all-time favourite SF Writers from the Golden Age, the late Edmund Hamilton…author of such great stories as “Thundering Worlds”; “The Man Who Evolved” & “The Monster God of Marmurth”. It was a wonderful evening that remains warm in my memory to this very day. And though the years have stumbled away and I’ve not seen these wonderful people in years, I could right now walk back into that world as if no time had passed and nothing had ever happened. Fandom, after all, is truly a way of life, forever.
But what I really wanted to rave about here was Everton’s 1-0 loss to Liverpool this morning at Ansfield. Yaarrgghh!! They gave up an easy header by Kuyt and Anichebe whiffed (or rather, double-clutched) on a centering pass that could have hit Donovan for a header right in front of the net. Grrrr. Also, I picked Manchester City to Win at Hull ((forgetting, of course that seminal album by The Housemartins, Hull 4 London 0….but since it was focking Manchester, I thought….)) Hull held serve at home, 2-1. *grump*
I’m just doing awful with my soccer picks this month at Streak for the Cash on ESPN.
Danica Patrick made her stock car debut today at the Lucas Oil Slick Mist 200 today at Daytona. She finished 6th, and brought that sled home in one piece. And…wow!! She really impressed me and a lot of other race fans. NONE of the beandogs she was racing with could have raced their first IRL race as well Danica raced her first stockcar race ((with the notable exception of maybe Nelsonho Piquet who finished the race 27th…13 laps down)). Some boob, mid-race, I don’t remember who, nudged her…got her loose, and she brought that #7 GoDaddy Chevrolet around and never hit the wall, plowed through the infield and back on the track. ((edit: The aforementioned boob was none other than the aforementioned Nelsinho Piquet)). There is no doubt any more that she can handle a stock car as skillfully as she can handle an Indy car. It’s really a shame that she wasn’t racing today with the big boys because she very likely would have finished better than 6th ((okay, maybe not…but you get my point, yes?)). At the end, a lot of the drivers around her didn’t seem to get the concept of drafting and Superspeedway racing in general. Danica had a fast car and she handled it well. It would have been nice if she could have been racing with people who knew what the hell they were doing. She can only get better, and will, and then LOOK THE FOCK OUT!!
Now Danica was not the only woman racing this afternoon. As I mentioned in a previous post, Milka Duno and Leilani Munter (who both got sucked up in the first Big One on lap 6 and finished the race 43rd and 39th respectively); Alli Owens, and Jennefer Jo Cobb were also teeing it off today. Owens and Cobb have a lot of stock car experience, and to be honest, I figured that Owens would finish the race higher than Danica. Owens was in the top 3 for most of the race but got caught up in a later wreck and finished 23rd, 2 laps down. Cobb finished on the lead lap in 17th. Jill George got tagged in a wreck on lap 25, but no worries, her husband is also a chiropractor…she’ll be good to go. And thank the good sweet screamin’ Jesus that The Two Whores did not qualify for the race.
But as for their Uncle….
Derrike Cope was allowed to be qualified for the Bud Shootout tonight, by virtue of his improbable 1990 win at the Daytona 500. He was also, for reasons that are unfathomable to me, actually allowed to start the race as well. It comes as no surprise, of course, that by lap 15, Derrike’s NASCAR Simulator developed some “trouble”. So it, and Derrike, went, into the oblivion they so richly deserve. I really, honestly don’t know why he even bothers anymore. If you can’t even get yourself a sled to get you through 80 laps, don’t bother taking up space you go nowhere glory whore.
As for the rest of lads in the Bud Shootout, well…it was That Lout Kevin Harvick who braved illness to take the checkers, albeit under caution as That Bug-Eyed Goof ran out of talent somehow and collected a bunch of drivers right at the end, including his teammates, The Carl, and Queen For A Day…Wisconsin’s Very Own, Matt Kenseth, in his first race in the oddly disconcerting purple #17 Crown Royal Ford. They finished 16th 17th 18th and each of them 2 laps down. For the most part, was a fun race to watch…but the Roushketeers need to work on their teamwork. If Harvick can smile after, perhaps, shitting in his firesuit and puking in his helmet ((although this IS apocryphal and speculative)), then maybe the Roushketeers…and I’m mainly talking to YOU, The Carl, to YOU, ya Bug-Eyed Goof, could maybe find some team spirit for the real deal next Sunday, and so?
Dignity and humility sometimes vanishes from where we’d least expect it. Certain sports have a tight culture and tradition that reaches back hundreds of years and in many way defines the soul of the society from which it springs. Sumo Wrestling is one such sport and it’s traditions are deeply woven in the soul and psyche of Japanese culture. There are 6 Grand Sumo Tournaments each season. And for the last 8 years, the reigning Yokozuna has been Asashoryu, a veritable beast of sumo wrestler, from Mongolia. He has dominated the sport for the last 8 years like no other sumo wrestler in the recent history of the sport. But…
Asashoryu, unlike the foreign Yokozuna who’ve preceded him, such as American’s Akebono and Musashimaru, has not respected the traditions of the sport. He’s been very much the Ochocinco and TO of Sumo Wrestling. And now, his boorish behavior has gotten the best on him as after his smashing 13-2 domination of the January Grand Sumo Bashou at the Ryogoku Kokugikan in Tokyo Asashoryo retired.
But unlike the Yokozuna before him, Asashoryu’s retirement was one more of disgrace. He punched a bartender in a drunken stupor recentlyand that, coupled with a host of other ongoing acts of boorish jackassery over the years, led to the obvious retirement. Now all that said, his accomplishments in sumo are legendary. But unlike Akebono and Musishimaru, he was an utter hillbilly redneck trailer trash jackass. I feel a bit sorry, in a way, for the other Yokozuna left behind, fellow Mongolian Hakuho. He has been a model of decorum, unlike his fellow contryman.
And in related news, my man from Chelsea, John Terry, has been stripped of the Captaincy of the English World Cup team due his womanizing of team-mates WAGs. Not much more than a tempest in a teapot, but it provides the English Tabloids and Football Bloogs with grist for the mill. I do think Terry took that moeing a meadow thing a little bit too literally, in metaphorical sense. At least there weren’t any goats involved. But now, Terry’s teamate, Ashley Cole has an excuse to offer the coppers the next time he’s nicked for speeding: “I was just trying to get ‘ome before John Terry gets there.” Ba-ding! Anyway, I would think the sensible replacement for John Terry would be Man U’s Wayne Rooney. As much as I don’t really care for Man U and I hope they always end up 2nd in the table to Chelsea, ya gotta respect Rooney. He’s real footballer.What more can I say that could be said about that. Yes?
And with that, I must gafiate. At least for the night.
Hopefully, perhaps, some filk-singing will lull me to sleep. And when I sleep, I will dream of a perfect fannish world.