Prelude to Project PANDORA
The farce continues. This afternoon's meeting lasted hours, far longer than I'd anticipated, and turned into a promotional work effort, preparing materials to attract new members to the club at a pair of upcoming "welcome back to campus" events (like Festifall, for the Wolverines in the audience). The Most Dangerous Game and your humble narrator worked side by side for hours, but always in the company of others; I was mightily impressive as always, by turns funny and a fount of knowledge, but never found the chance to have a private word with her. I continue to be plagued by the two persistent fellows mentioned in the previous "Prelude to Project PANDORA" post, one week hence. When at last we headed outside toward the parking structure, we were accompanied by a fellow who always wears one of several patterned Trilbys; once at the structure, I headed down the stairs to Lumi, they headed up toward their motor cars. Curses, foiled again!

I'd have more to say, but I vented much of my frustration earlier in an I.M. chat with Skeeter. At this stage, I don't know what more to do but wait and watch for an opportunity to present itself, and start taking steps to create such an opportunity. As Skeeter rightly pointed out, The Most Dangerous Game certainly isn't doing anything to help me create an opportunity. Doom seems increasingly likely, but the asking has always been the singularly important part of this undertaking, her acceptance a dearly wished for but distant second. Also, let me address a fear that exits in my head, even if not in yours, that I am right there, flirting on the edge of being a sad sack. Instead of looking for wisdom in "Withered Hope" by They Might Be Giants, I'll repeat what I typed earlier today: "Well, if she thinks she's calling the shots she's sorely mistaken. I'll walk away from this in thirty seconds flat and never look back."

I want to take her out, I freely admit I want to kiss her and feel her touch, but I don't need this. I'm Mike Wilson, I'm The Last Angry Man, and this is but a prelude to Project PANDORA.

This Week in Motorsport
The verdict on my first American Le Mans Series race, the Road Race Showcase from Road America: not quite as much fun as the incomparable 24 Heures du Mans or a Formula One grand prix, but loads more interesting than a moribund IndyCar race. I really like Le Mans-style racing, with multiple classes of vehicles competing on the same track, the lightning-fast Le Mans Prototypes having to navigate around the still-quite-speedy Grand Tourers. I am going to make an effort to watch at least two of the three races remaining on the '09 A.L.M.S. calendar: the Grand Prix of Mosport (Ontario) in less than a fortnight's time and the Petit Le Mans (Georgia) in late September.

One interesting development from the Road Race Showcase: without a moment's hesitation or contemplation, I rooted for Corvette Racing in the GT2 class. Not as much a digression as might be supposed: The L.A.W. and Brother-in-L.A.W. visited this past weekend. On Sunday, I helped my father erect a booth at the Genesee County Fairgrounds, a task I thought would be more physically demanding and dirty than it turned out to be (the ease of construction surprised him as well); so, before the drive out to the fairgrounds I changed into an old grubby T-shirt, in this case a Detroit Lions shirt that I used to wear as a fan, but now use mostly for lawn mowing. Upon our return to the house, Brother-in-L.A.W. took note of my shirt and mentioned the results of an N.F.L. pre-season game. He knew that I'd quit the Lions and asked if I'd adopted a new team. I told him I hadn't, in part because I have no idea what criteria I might use to make such a selection. My sports allegiances are all firmly rooted in geography: the valiant Michigan Wolverines—across the broad spectrum of sport, the goonish (thanks to the rueful return of the monster Bertuzzi) Detroit Red Wings, and for purely civic reasons, the Detroit Pistons and Detroit Tigers. Brother-in-L.A.W. echoed my confusion over how else to choose a one's own team; a transplanted New Englander, he still roots for the Patriots. Though he intends to spend the whole of his working life in Washington, D.C. (and I do not know if he and The L.A.W. would move, or to where, upon their retirement), he just can't make the leap to supporting the Redskins.

So, for what reason did I immediately and unquestioningly support Corvette Racing? Geography, guys and gals, geography. For good or for ill, you can't spell Michigan without G.M., and the Corvette Racing team is based in southern Oakland County, suburban Detroit depending on how broadly one defines the term. It was a completely instinctual reaction, rooting for the Corvettes against the B.M.W.s of Rahal Letterman Racing and Porsches of Flying Lizard Motorsports, et alii. My family was rootless for most of the twentieth century, few children remaining in the same state as their parents, but I intend to make the twenty-first century different. I'm a son of the Mitten, I mean to stay, and I believe in the mystique of the Chevrolet Corvette. (And the cool skull logo, "Jake," incorporating the famous Corvette crossed flags for the eye sockets.)





But what, if any, bearing will this unexpected but hardly surprising loyalty to Corvette Racing have on my attitude toward Team US F1's entrance onto the Formula One grid for the 2010 campaign? I am unsure. Yes, Team US F1 will be a principally American effort, but there are Americans aplenty in the A.L.M.S. and only Corvette Racing received my enthusiastic support. Both David Letterman and Bobby Rahal are Americans, but I desperately wanted their B.M.W.s to fail; only a few minutes ago did I learn that their racing team is based in suburban Columbus, Ohio, so unless I am possessed of heretofore unknown psychic powers, the Buckeye Connection played no part in my judgments. Perhaps it was because the other competitive GT2 teams all drove German cars, but I didn't notice any affection for the Fords and Dodges, only the Corvettes. Of course, I'll naturally gravitate toward General Motors in a field lousy with my countrymen, but Team US F1 will be the only U.S.-based F1 team, and if things go to plan will field the only American F1 drivers.

So, will that be enough for team US F1 to win my loyalty? In fairness, that can't be fairly adjudged beforehand; I had not anticipated that I would take so quickly to Corvette Racing, loyalty being an intense emotion the occurrence of which the mind cannot hope to predict with any great accuracy. At this point, I feel no inclination to even pick an F1 team to be my own, in part because like Brother-in-L.A.W. I still have no idea what would be the right criteria for such a choice, but mostly because I can see nothing vile in rooting for the entire field, may the best match-of-man-and-machine win.

The Summer of Crime
As a society, we would be well-served by the resurgence of shame: Armadillolink.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Starting Line, "Up & Go" from Say It Like You Mean It (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Ampersand!

"Here it goes, and this won't take long,
Just let me dedicate a song,
To a girl who turned this boy to stone.
And you know who you are,
Here's a hint, she doesn't have a car,
Or the time to be in love with me."