There are 2 new articles, the first is by me and the second by Tabitha who contributed a Rant to issue 3.
I wanted to write something about the attraction of F1, but in actual fact I'm not enjoying it at the moment and I only like one driver (might as well be honest) As he just had a bad crash and I'm not going to watch the races for a few weeks - because he won't be in them - I don't even feel like a fan of F1 at all. I don't mean to see the bad parts, but driving round a racetrack at hundreds of miles an hour is dangerous however talented you are. And when you do crash, it's often not even your fault: debris on the track from other crashes leaves you with a puncture and you crash at 200-300 mph (or is it kph?) an hour. You can get on the podium with your wonderful race driving brother Michael Schumacher only to have all your points taken off you because your team put an illegal part on the car. Your team even slag you off in the press. That doesn't happen at Ferrari, maybe because Michael never makes mistakes, but still. He does make mistakes, they're just so few and far between, they're never mentioned.I admit I used to try and keep an eye on Ralf's car going round the track til I realised they hardly show him at all. Maybe they're just waiting for him to crash, they know he probably will, so they focus on him when he does something wrong. He's one of the drivers who has that stigma about him, although he has brilliant moments but he's not usually remembered for them. He's the driver who's had the gay rumours, although he's married with a son. It's easy to pick on Ralf Schumacher. He'll never be as good as his brother. 
As I write this his future is uncertain although he's supposed to be going to Toyota next year (this has now been confirmed) I hope they'll be behind him and they don't just want a Schumacher driving for them, then criticise him when they realise he obviously isn't Michael. If he'd ended up without a drive (as has happened to Jacques Villeneuve and might happen to David Coulthard next year - you're probably thinking who are they, but you start remembering their faces after a while) then I wouldn't have watched F1 ever again, or not until Ralf came back.I can't follow Michael Schumacher. He always wins (and thus makes F1 boring in some people's eyes) It would be too easy to follow Michael. He's always at the front. I can't imagine what being a fan of his is like. I suppose people like to be a fan of the best driver. All the effort of wondering where they'll finish is taken out of it then. With Ralf it usually seems to be about 7th doesn't it. Somewhere thereabouts (that's if he finishes) At first F1 seems too complicated, all the rules and regulations and all the different drivers and teams. After a while you start to understand the language. You also know at certain intervals Williams will slag Ralf off, without fail. He's never been good enough for them. Maybe he isn't good enough for them, maybe it's exactly that. It was only recently when a. they took his points off him (see above) and b. he crashed that I felt like I didn't want to watch it anymore. 
I'm well aware that many drivers have had terrible crashes (Frank Williams, Ralf's boss at BMW Williams, is in a wheelchair because of a crash he had) I know no driver is immune. Is that when Michael Schumacher will finish, when he has a big crash? It's not just a job, it's a life, but I wonder how it feels to be part of that bubble. To live nothing but Formula 1. Probably better than most people's lives, to be surrounded with people who are more like family to you. I know Michael's talked about it being that way. I don't keep up with what Michael says or does but I know he's proud of Ralf when he wins and worries about him when he crashes (and has to drive past the wreckage)Now there's a few weeks where Ralf won't participate in F1 as he's recovering from the crash. So I have a reason not to watch. I can't watch Williams test driver/Ralf's team mate/Ralf's brother and be happy for them if they do well. At the same time I'm dreading Ralf's return to the cockpit (is that what they call it?) All eyes will be on him, mine included. Dear God (and I feel like praying now) please let everything be ok. At least don't let him crash. I have never followed any sport before, except maybe watched rally car driving at the weekends when I was younger because my Dad liked to have it on. I think he just liked to see the crashes. He was obsessed with bikes and cars and had an absurd collection of vintage motorcycles. I wouldn't say I was dragged to bike shows with him, I enjoyed them. And the endless search for Austin 7 (vintage car) parts which was always a very long way away. Or the many occasions he'd buy a new bike. Most of them never worked. He never had time to do them up. Except for his lovingly restored BSA (I can't even remember what that stands for now) Bombing down the motorway in his red MG at scary speeds. No seatbelts, me and my brother would just sit at the back. He never got me on the back of his motorbike however hard he tried or however much he wanted to. I was scared of it. So instead my brother would put on the spare helmet and they'd go off to the seaside or wherever it was they went. And I'd be jealous. But no way was I getting on that thing. 
I'm no different than him with my Ralf Schumacher obsession. It's hardly the first time I've worried about someone I care about driving too bloody fast. I was brought up to believe an obsession with speed was OK. The smell of oil still brings back some distant memory of it being an urgent problem that had to be fixed. Except all that usually happens is you put some sand on it so it doesn't leave a mark on the driveway. I guess I didn't have an average upbringing. I had a father with a more obsessive personality than me. I mean, is spending thousands of pounds on bikes you're never really going to look at again normal? I don't know but that's what he did. More interesting than the average Father I admit.This article has taken a turn I never thought it was going to but in a way I've explained my own motorsport obsession to myself. It started a long time ago, before I ever understood the attraction of it. I have no idea when it will end... Please God don't let me inherit all those bikes one day. Just imagine finding out you've inherited a part share in a collection of vintage motorcycles. There has been rather a lot of praying in this article. I never understood why any kind of sport held such a religious fervour with people. I understand now. I almost forgot to mention my Dad's almost religious attraction to the Mods and Rockers and his tale of how he was once refused entry to a pub that banned Hells Angels (whom he had a strange fascination with, especially when a group of them would pass him on his bike) It's the whole romanticism of speed and danger that I have a problem with (remember James Dean) especially since Ralf could've been killed in the recent crash. So the fact that they're going to make the cars slower is a good thing. Maybe not for people who only watch F1 for the carnage. Maybe not for Ferrari who want to be as fast as possible - but I'm sure Michael would understand. End of my first and most probably last article about any kind of sport (written 29.6.04) I was an attractive child, or so it was held. I never thought I was pretty. I was too tall, too skinny, too gangly, very clumsy. I wore glasses. I was timid; always had my head in a book. I was called nerd, dweeb, teacher�s pet. I despised my own age-group, got on better with adults. When I was ten, I began to develop. I started wearing training bras. By the time I was thirteen, I was being chatted up by college-age males. For some reason, I seemed to be attractive to those of my own age, but older guys fell all over me. I, in turn, was (still am) attracted to older men. I don�t know where I get the idea that they are more mature or better, than males of my age, but I like to think they are. There�s something to be said about experience. When I turned eighteen, I began to indulge my curiosity about sex. I embarked on what I called The Sexual Research Project. I got a subscription to Playboy and quickly became bored with it. I started roaming adult stores. I rented and watched porn videos - all sorts. Nothing was off-limits. I became involved in S/M (as one, then the other - I can still switch back and forth). I found out what turns me on, and, more importantly, what turns me off. I read books, tried cybersex, interviewed people, experimented with my own body. When did I lose my virginity? That�s not important. What is important is that I�m not a fan of coitus. I�d rather foreplay, lots and lots of foreplay. Role play. Oral sex. Anything but penetration. My uncle ruined that for me. I am now twenty-six. The research ended around three years ago. I became bored with it. My sex life now? Fantastic. I cannot countenance anyone touching me. I write the occasional erotic piece, but I mostly think about it. I think about who attracts me, but it always boils down to what attracts me. I am attracted to detail: eyes, hands, lips, buttocks, that cute paunch above the organ, the organ itself. I use the term �the organ� embryologically: both sexes have the same thing in the earliest stages. Because of this, I don�t see much of a difference between the penis and the clitoris. I treat them the same. The bodies don�t matter: masculine female, feminine male. They�re all the same to me: objects. How can I be so cavalier about sex? I don�t equate it with love. One is physical, the other is mental. One is reality, the other is illusion. I don�t get the two mixed up. I find that life is less complicated that way. I was raised as a Jehovah�s Witness. Talk about sexual obsession and hang-ups disguised as religion. Frank discussion about sexuality is supposedly encouraged, but it�s always circumscribed with doctrine in scriptural clothing. I think that part of my attitude to sex is due to that. I think I was turned-off early but the curiosity remained, so I experimented. I must admit my manner was clinical -- very clinical. I retain that attitude now. Eroticism to me is an intellectual exercise, overseen by my brain and proofread by my libido. Perhaps another reason for my attitude is my dysthymia. I�ve had it (officially) since I was eleven. Depression precludes emotional involvement in everything, including �intimacy�. I�m a detached observer, though I have to admit that it isn�t all depression. Detachment from emotion is also part of my nature. I think the depression just exacerbates it. It�s also said to dampen the sex drive, but then again, so do certain antidepressants. If I had to admit it to myself, I�d say that I don�t have much of a sex drive anyway. I can talk about it, banter about it, but when it comes down to action� well. I�m gone. For someone who makes sex into a mental exercise, I can be very sensual. Touch, smell, flavor - yes, I can actually be pulled into that. It takes a lot to shut my mind off, and to get rid of my inner-outer critic. You may know her: �Look at the cobwebs on his ceiling. Does he have spiders? If I see one, I�ll scream. I�m never sleeping here again until he has the exterminator round!� I can touch and play forever. I can talk, whisper, tease, and growl. I can run my tongue along your body, nibble your love-handles, kiss your stomach. I ask you to touch me, run your body along mine. Then, when it�s all said and done? Get out. You don�t have to go home, but you can�t stay here. I like to think that I want the same thing as other people. The only difference is that I don�t limit my search. I am pansexual. I can be attracted to men, women, hell - transsexuals - if it were to happen that way. Who knows? I�ve long stopped trying to determine exactly who will take my breath away. If I ever go insane and fall in love� I don�t know who�ll be on the receiving end. I just don�t think that my someone has to be a man. It would be nice, but you never know: I could end up in a Stein-Toklas situation. And like it. See, now I�ve gone and done what I said I don�t do. I�ve gone and equated sex and love. Damn. |
