city lights lay out before us and your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder

by mg at 09:25 PM on May 31, 2005

To give you an idea about the kind of “writer’s” block I’ve been suffering recently, take the case of one Miss Danica Patrick.

Danica is the female driver in this weekend’s Indianapolis 500. This has been a big story the past couple days, for a variety of reason. She isn’t the first female driver, but she is certainly the best combination of skill (in her rookie year she is currently ranked 9th overall) and wholesome hotness. In the olden days, I would have pounced on the Danica Patrick story like, well, like a lot of guys watching the Indy 500 would have liked to pounce on Danica Patrick.

But, here it is several days later, and I haven’t pounced on the Danica story at all. I’ve been about as ready to pounce as Bob Dole was ready pounce on Libby in the pre-little blue pill days. What is odd is that the problem hasn’t been figuring out something, anything, to say about it. Rather, the problem with Danica is that I’ve got so many ways to take her, I can’t pick just one.

First off, I could make the very obvious comment about a female driver and the fact that her racecar is really an example of the world’s largest, most expensive, and fastest vibrator. Going 200 mph, those cars must be shaking like Kathryn Hepburn, Pope John Paul, and Michael J. Fox doing something really shakey. I’d imagine that win or lose Danica steps out of her car at the end of a race with a huge grin and the need for a cigarette and some cuddling. The only thing that could possibly remove the sexuality of the car would be the fact her team is funded by David Letterman.

Or I could take they story in the political way, saying how great it is to finally have a woman be as competitive as a man in a major sport. Of course, I’d have to believe that racing was a sport. If sitting for hours without moving, going to bathroom, or interacting with any other human beings was a sport then I spent Memorial Day doing the triathlon.

Of course, I could get deeper into the charges of the male drivers that Danica has an unfair physical advantage. A lighter car is a faster car and at 5’2’ and 100 lbs (get that girl a sandwich!) Danica has a 50lb advantage on even the smallest of the men. If I decided to take this tract I’d probably get all indignant and huffy, like I am wont to do. I would likely say something along the lines of: “Excuse me, but in what kind of sport do physical attributes represent an UN-fair advantage? I’d like to be a professional basketball player, but all those players have an unfair height advantage over me. Shaq has like 2 feet on me even if I were standing on my tippy toes. The NBA should have his legs cut off at the knee so that he and I will be the same height and everything will be fair. “ And etc.

But, I am just not decisive enough to make that kind of decision and run with it. I do know, however, that in the old days I’d have been most likely to write something about how the oddly hot factor of Danica Patrick. Now, people have been punditing about her for a week or so now and more than a few have pointed out that she is attractive. But, it always seems to be in contrast to the rest of the women in Indy racing (none), the cavalcade of losers that make up the pool of male Indy drivers, or the inbred masses that attend the races.

I feel safe in saying that I’m the first person to publicly state that Danica Patrick is oddly hot in her own right. Even when she isn’t all dressed up and airbrushed for an FHM spread, and just hanging out at the track in her boob constraining uniform, there is something about her that makes me jealous of the vibrating power of her Indy car.

Man, I wish I could figure out what to write about her.