Since the last time I spoke with you, quite a bit has happened.  Lord Randall has made all right with the world.  Versus has poached the great blogging talents like it’s Roger Penske in an Andretti Store (namely Hobbson and the resurrected Jeff’s Name Ain’t IRL).  Robin Miller is the happiest man in the world.  The National Guard car will be driven by an ‘murican to the delight of the anti-redcoat lobby (but not me). Chevrolet will be back thanks to the $600 they just shafted me for brakes.  Lotus will also be back, but they have not shafted me recently.  Graham is going to be full-time next season with a pseudo-Ganassi team run by Jake “The Snake” Roberts.

In other words, all is well.

(As for me, life is busy…and good…but also busy)

Tonight’s most special of guests on Trackside with Curt Cavin and Kevin Lee (8-10 EDT at 1070thefan.com) is none other than the legendary Robin Miller.  Two will enter, but only one will leave.  Either way, Kevin Lee will have to clean up the mess…poor guy. Here’s hoping for a complete and total absence of decorum.

First, Tomas Scheckter and Alex Tagliani are not happy with each other.  Tomas is channeling the power of karma down upon Tags, and Tags is calling Tomas a girl, which is funny because they both finished behind two of the three girls.  In the end, though, both are having a bitchfest on internet, and what does that make them? 

NERDS.

Then Ryan Briscoe and wife Nicole Manske-Briscoe started up with Graham Rahal over twitter. It was all wah wah wah and I didn’t do nothing you did nothing and blahblahblah.  If you’ve been following this site, you pretty much know that the Son of ‘Stache gets preferential treatment around here sometimes.  Well, not today, Ryan, Nicole, and Graham, you were whining and arguing on the internet, and do you know what that makes you?

NERDS.

Seriously…When the American settlers were ticked off about shipping taxes overseas to the king, did they go and bicker on the internet?  NO.  They threw a bunch of tea in the Boston Harbor!

When Michael Spinks called Mike Tyson a sissy, did Tyson go and cry in 140 characters or less?  NO.  He knocked him the eff out in less than 140 seconds.

When AJ Foyt had his mother insulted by a lion, did he pull out his smartphone?  NO.  He proceeded to kill the lion with his bare hands, eat its flesh, and fire his grandson.

So come on, drivers.  You’re better than this.  Solve things like proper human beings, preferably with steel folding chairs in post race interviews, or at least Sam Hornish’s dad.

I was shocked to find out that they had basically poached half of the good ideas of the Delta Wing instead, while keeping some semblance of evolution to the car.

In a voted cast by Verizon Droid X phones, the committee approved this Delta Wing-inspired Dallara rip-off, err, plan 6 to 1, with the lone exception being Tony Purnell of Pi Research who voted "lol boobz".

Honestly, I had accepted that the Delta Wing wasn’t going to be the selection months ago, even if it was my preferred choice.  That said, I’m glad some of the truly great ideas of the Delta Wing concept are being transitioned, like cost-contained development and multiple-manufacturer development around a spec frame.

Really, though…Dallara?  I have nothing against Dallara, but a flashback to Marshall Pruett from February sure seems to imply that Barnhart had his heart set on Dallara…Were they in bed together this whole time?

Either way, I totally buy the Aero-kit/skin/whatever idea.  I’d rather see the development go towards something we can see instead of a set of springs covered by a towel.  I just hope the cost-cutting measures come to fruition.

And not just any cows, mind you, but sacred cows.

The IBJ has been given a lot of flak recently, possibly unfairly, for judging Lord Randall as a C, I presume on the classic A-through-F scale (why was E left out?).  I guess I think it’s premature to assign the guy any grade because he’s still got that new CEO smell.

Well, after releasing vague engine specs and forming a committee that will probably come to some sort of vague, inconclusive conclusion, because that’s what committees do, Lord Randall is finally doing something straightforward and 100% undeniably awesome by promising to kill cows.

Killing cows for entertainment is pretty metal, but I’ll have to see the performance before I decided if it’s 666, The Number of the Beast metal.  It’s at the very least 667, The Guy Across the Street from the Beast metal, if not 668, The Neighbor of the Beast metal.

I’ve only been at this blogging game for about three years. Coming in, I knew of three people who had been doing this thing before me.  Two of those were a college kid from the northeast and a freelance corn-dude (oh, and maybe everyone’s favorite source of sunshine,. She’d be #4 and I know she’d been working less-bloggy things longer).  The third person on the then existing and active stage, was Jeff from My Name is IRL.  By giving me a few links and using a few of my pictures every now and then, Jeff did as much to build this site as anyone.

You see, in my mind, there is a top tier of IndyCar sites that I care about…sites that are just pure sources of uniquity and brilliance.  Sites that are just flat-out better than mine.   Jeff’s has always been one of those.  Today, the IndyCar-centric blogosphere got a whole hell of a lot weaker.

I just wanted to write this to give an outward thanks to Jeff for his kindness.  I never got to meet him, but I still hope to one day.  As bloggers, we get treated far better than we should by track and league officials, and we owe him a ton for that.

God, I feel like the annoying kid from Shane.

First, Michael Andretti will be driving the two-seater on the parade laps with Marcus Mark of the Funky Bunch.  Yeah, he’s done other things since 1991, but I can’t really name anything else right now off the top of my head…well, other than Roller Girl.  He’s a superstar.

Also, they’ve gotten the last surviving joker (RIP Cesar Romero) to start the race.  That’s right, my boy Jack Nicholson will be in the house to drop the green flag and class the place up exponentially.  W, X, Y, and Z, oooh! Oooh!  OOOH!

Speaking of Jack, I sure as shi’ite feel like the Indian Chief at work this week.  Every time I walk past a drinking fountain, I’m tempted to pull it out of the wall and throw it through a window to escape.  Four more days!