Yeah, I know you’re already saying, get on with it lad, we’re here for the scintillating racing news and not all of that Fluffy stuff you so cherish Mate. Nevertheless, I just had another interesting moment whilst ‘Oot ‘N Aboot ! (After posting that riveting Eleven Days in Thy Wilderness story on Monday...)
As I entered the local Sandwich pub, all I heard from behind the glass partition was: Call the Police??? WTF? So I ignored it, took off my Moose hat & gloves, unzipped my raincoat and stepped up to the counter, where a second woman immediately asked me: Do you know how to get to the High School? Oh that’s simple I said, standing there with my trusty white cane in hand, I thought I clearly explained the directions, which were take a left, go up the street approximately 11-blocks and it’ll be on the right; you cannot miss IT! To which she asked the Deli worker for a telephone book instead.
Hmm? How can a blind person be able to give such concise directions? I mean he can’t even see, right?
As the elderly lady stood there talking in an overly low toned voice that I wasn’t able to hear - and I’m supposed to have Super Powers; Shuhzamm! While the first female worker who’d been pining to phone the ‘Coppers instead now asked me if I wanted a cookie? Apparently because of my excessive delay? Before I finally said me? As this was almost as bad as the Flight Attendant who thought I could SEE ‘N read her lips when asking me if I wanted my 6-peanuts - before finally getting my attention on my way home from Phoenix by saying Excuse me Mr. Ducati! (As its funny how matter of fact everyone having vision is becoming these days...) Thus, after I declined my (FREE?) cookie; Uhmm-uhm-uhm, sprinkles! She finally asked me what I wanted and we politely side-stepped the senior citizen...
Now I’m not suggesting that this was the lady’s position upon my direction giving, nor am I intending to make fun of my elders, as lord knows I’ve spun some real doozies and always chuckle over how I can explain something perfect and the receiving party will interpret it 180-degrees backwards; kinda like when somebody tries telling me which way to turn when they’re facing me and hence I’ll need to do the opposite; but I digress...
Thus, I’ve decided to use this story to loosely tie-in with a fine ‘Kuhnadiun lass named Meesh’s latest story, which I found a ‘Wee bit disturbing! Otay, so Meesh might enjoy dropping ‘Juan or MORE “F-Bombs” in a story, which is just her preferred writing style, but, I enjoy her points-of-view for several reasons and thus was disappointed to hear her contemplating whether or not to attend another IndyCar race? (Of which I sincerely hope she’ll do...)
So for GAWD’s sake Man, get to the point you may be saying; Chirp-Chirp! Herroe? Is this thingy on??? Testing 1-2-3...
As I have realize a multitude “O things recently during my self-imposed Internetz Sabbatical; like Mother Speedway probably really doesn’t give a flying rip what I think - since the Indianapolis Motor Speedway has survived for 102-years now on her own...
And it’s a Dawg eat Dawg world out there, as I even recall getting mildly annoyed over IMS’s newest COO (Chief Operating Officer) Marc Koretzky dividing the IndyCar Fanbase into three distinct sections. The most coveted 18-34 male demographic, the “Y-Factor;” (or perhaps better - the Y chromosome!) Hmm? Cannot recall this segment, perhaps thee little people? Hey, I’m getting old-ER; Otay? And lastly, all of us ‘Ol Timer Diehard loyalists... Which I’ve spent many an afternoon discussing what happens to Indy Cars when we dry up ‘N blow away with thy Indiana Bureau Chief D. B. (Cooper?)
Thus, I’d like to think I’m not thought of as a basement dwelling CART Crybaby who comes up for daylight every sixth day, like that overly sardonic Chap named Tony over at Popoff Valve has so richly described in many a rant.
Whilst I’ll NOT name all of my Bloggaratzi Peeps, albeit we’ve lost one of the Great ‘Juans, not once but twice. As where are you Mr. Innucci?
As I liken to think of my eclectic Open Wheel Blogger Pals as constituents of my ‘lil Mayberryish haunt known as NoFendersville, which is a poorly disguised takeoff of Ye Mayor ‘O Hinchtown’s fine establishment...
And I know this probably won’t come out sounding right, or even possibly be correct - as I was gonna say that I only know of two Femme Fatale Bloggareesta’s which ironically both hail from Up North Eh! In some tiny metropolis known as Toronto
Whilst a fourth female scribe named Suzan all too infrequently pens us her thoughts over at Thee Oldest IndyCar blogger George’s Oil Pressure site.
Thus, I’m not sure of what the exact problema Meesh was experiencing prior to this past weekend’s St Pete outing, and I’m not gonna try delving into it, as Y’all can simply read her latest post here if so desired. Yet unfortunately it sounded a little bit like another female not being appreciated in the trenches? Of which I’m certainly not implying anything here; BUTT! I did find it amazing that women were NOT allowed into the Speedway
So hopefully Meesh will remain an active member of the Blogosphere - amongst her other racing activities; ‘cause like I said earlier, what happens when IndyCar loses the remaining Diehards... You know those left over Hard Core Aficionados from the 15-20 million LOST Souls (Fans) Randy Bernard sez that ‘lil trench war called The Split caused to go away!
So, in the immortal words of My Name is IRL: Have You Hugged A Blogger lately?
