Initial D, fin

Not a lot of people know this, but Initial D is one of my all-time favorite anime out there.  Easily in my top ten, quite possibly in my top five.  I’ll be the first to say that it’s far from high quality in terms of plot, progression or quality of animation, but when the day is over, there isn’t any other anime that I’ve revisited the status of availability over the span of 18 years, to make sure that I’m caught up to all the episodes.

That’s longer than my interest in Ranma 1/2, Rurouni Kenshin, Kare Kano, Kodomo no Omocha or Neon Genesis Evangelion, all other series that I could say would be up in my top ten.  Not many of them had nearly the longevity of Initial D, much less a variety of movies, OVA and live-action adaptations made for them, in spite of them probably being considered bigger traditional classics.

I recently finished watching the series after I discovered that the Fifth and the Final Stage seasons were available; after the cheesy way that the Fourth Stage had concluded, I was eager to see if the series could get back some of the gearhead excitement that defined the series as a whole.

To no real surprise, the last two seasons were by no means blockbusters, as the series in general is nothing really complex – dudes who love driving cars and racing, racing against other dudes who love driving cars and racing.  The only things that really change are the competitors to the Project D team, and occasionally the course does too.  At first blush, it’s hard to imagine the types of cars that are losing to a Toyota Corolla AE86 or an RX-7 FD3S, but the show surprisingly takes the initiative to explain and justify the mechanics to how such can happen.

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Have Lexus drivers passed BMW for biggest assholes?

For the better part of the last two decades, if anyone were to ask me what drivers were the worst drivers in the world, my automatic reaction would typically have been “Maryland drivers.”  But upon clarification of asking which automotive manufacturer has the biggest assholes that drive their cars, my answer becomes “oh, BMW drivers.”

BMWs have always been at a price point to where even the drivers of the low-end 3 series still felt validated to turn their noses up to everyone not willing to drop $35k (then) on a glorified Jetta.  Some of them were legitimately high-performing, and all of them came with a degree of luxuries that when combining all of the above, had a tendency to foster a sense of entitlement and arrogance from those that drove them. 

And it was no more indicative than watching the average BMW driver drive amidst the pleebs of the world; they’d cut people off without using signals, aggressively tailgate cars deemed inferior to their marvels of German engineering, and demonstrate all sorts of driving behavior that exuded me-first selfish and dickish attitudes.  It really didn’t matter who was driving the car, be it a white man, black woman, Asian teenager or an elderly Hispanic; once behind the wheel of a BMW, it’s like there’s a needle in the seat that goes straight up the driver’s asshole and plugs into a very specific node inside the body that triggers all sorts of degenerate behavior, thus fulfilling the destiny of BMW drivers all have to be assholes.

However, ever since I moved back into the ‘burbs, I’ve often been moderately fascinated at the sheer differences of my surroundings compared to my previous foray in homeownership.  Which is a nice way of saying that I now live in a slightly upper-middle class exuding white privilege which is overwhelmingly predominantly white, versus my old community which unfortunately sank into really lower-middle class that was overwhelmingly predominantly black, which in itself is a nice way to say that everyone in the neighborhood was black, and then there was Jen and myself.

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When in doubt, change the name, make logos

That’s the Atlanta way.  Or rather, announce news that declares some grand unification of transportation agencies in order to mask that some other umbrella-shell company is being created that will pay off a whole lot of new people for doing jack shit.

Fresh on the heels of my last post where Google put a spotlight on the unintentionally-official meaning of MARTA comes this news that Georgia is going to create a regional transit governing system that will oversee the mass transit authorities across the entire Metro Atlanta area; including MARTA.  The solution?  A new name!

The Atlantaregion Transit Linkauthority, or The ATL!  And they invented new words in the process because they don’t know how acronyms work!

In other words, the goal on paper is that supposedly by 2023, all buses, from Cobb’s CobbLink, Gwinnett’s GRTA, MARTA, and any other regional buses in Clayton or DeKalb will all be re-branded ATL buses.  All MARTA trains will be re-branded ATL trains.  The ATL transportation options will hopefully be consolidated under one brand and identity, with the theory that it will supposedly actually help boost economic viability.

What’s actually going to happen is that by 2019, the teats of all these regional transit authority will be milked by a few people who came up with this brilliant idea, they’ll make a lot of money, by 2021, The ARTLA will be all but forgotten 2022, Cobb and Gwinnett will still be afraid of black people and oppose the rebranding of their buses and in 2023, MARTA will still be MARTA, GRTA will still be GRTA, Cobb will still be vehemently opposed to black people, and Google will still spit out Moving Africans Rapidly Through Atlanta in their queries for the meaning of MARTA.

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Too distracted to enforce the distracted

Georgia Senate approves House Bill 673*, outlawing motorists from holding their cell phones while operating a vehicle AKA the stop fucking texting while driving bill.

*behind paywall, but just hit the stop loading button before the paywall script popup has a chance to load to read content anyway because fuck myAJC

That’s great and all, but it’s going to be completely meaningless when no cop in the state is going to bother enforcing this law.  Unless they’re extremely bored and want to do work to pass the time and/or they’re targeting minorities.  One of my best friends works in law enforcement, and every time I have questions about “is X illegal?” the answers are almost always yes, but with a disclaimer that it’s basically discretionary on the officer to whether or not it’s worth the effort to tie themselves up with menial violations when there are bigger fish to potentially fry.

And considering Georgia’s lax discretionary ambivalence about HOV lane violators, blackout license plate covers, jaywalking, and other seemingly innocuously negligible yet illegal misdemeanors, HB 673 seems destined to be as useless as most of these other laws, because if nobody’s going to bother enforcing it, what’s really the point?

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Growing Up Type-R

I know I touched on this subject before in the past at some point, but seeing as how the car has been green lit very similarly to the initial concepts, it doesn’t hurt to revisit this.  Sure, cars rarely change dramatically from their concept stages, and I wasn’t expecting the Civic Type-Riceboy to go from Gran Turismo Edit B pocket rocket to a sleek sophisticated sleeper, but we all can wish, right?

Anyway, upon seeing the updated photos of the release model, the first thought that popped into my head was the immediate comparison to the Homer Simpson car that tanked his half-brother’s original fortune, that’s how clown-y it looked, with its giant spoiler that I’m sure will be described as “aggressive” and face that looks like a smashed down Stormtrooper helmet.

And that’s just the superficial details that aren’t to the standard that I once held the vaunted Civic Type-R when I was still 19.

Mechanically, it’s definitely the strongest Civic, and one of the strongest Hondas in general off the factory line in history, but there too, it seems to have lost all the cool shit that made Hondas back in the late 90s.  An alleged 306 horsepower is advertised, but it’s coming from a turbocharged 2.0 liter with a redline of “just” 6,500 rpm.

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Now that’s what I’m talking about

Complain about there being nothing noteworthy to write about, and the world shall provide – a truck carrying 40,000 lbs. of chicken manure tips over on busy Atlanta highway

Yes, a truck full of literal chicken shit has spilled onto the highway, and that’s apparently far more interesting to me than the usual dregs of well-beaten topics in the news otherwise.

No, this does not get added to the highway buffet of things spilled onto Georgia highways, because what kind of sick fuck would remotely consider eating the dung of chickens?  For the matter, why does chicken shit require the necessity to be transported in the first place?  Shouldn’t the farms or plants in which the chickens are producing it have some way to dispose of it?

Is it like bats, where if there’s so much shit present at once it can essentially become toxic?

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Well you don’t often see that on Nextdoor regularly

Dead body on highway I-75/I-85 North-Old National bridge

Dead body??  Shit, I mean, Nextdoor is a pretty active online portal for people who like to gossip and meddle around in other peoples’ business as well as go off to the extreme on trite details.  And admittedly, for no other reason than the aforementioned things is precisely why I still have my Nextdoor account to my old neighborhood, because just about every single day, something is posted that validates my decision to move when I did, and is a constant reminder of just how good it was that we moved when we did.

Usually, and I know, because I keep a written record of all the asinine headlines, things are often revolving around suspicious persons in the neighborhood, bitching about the HOA, or the unfortunate amounts of crime present in the hood.

But dead bodies now??  Shiiiit.

Naturally, I wanted to find out the context of this supposed dead body, and sure enough, the news was thankfully on it; I mean, on the south side of the Metro Atlanta area, it’s usually a Christmas miracle when any modicum of media actually goes down there for anything other than the airport, or some super tragic crime. 

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