I'd like to apologize for not understanding this. I guess I'm proof that it's hard to teach an old 38G driver new tricks. I'm going to go back and read Latrobe's book again in the hopes in catches this time.
I suppose this means I need to change planes too doesn't it...... 
Watch my SGDT, noobs, and see a master of both SDGT and rhetoric at work...
A 38G? Surely you're kidding. No offense, uh, "Guppy" (if that's what you choose to call yourself), but most thinking people abandoned that ride some time ago. Perhaps you have more than the normal (2.8% for most Euro ethnicities, less elsewhere) share of neanderthal DNA, possibly mental challenges in the heredity. Still, it's a pity. Surely you could learn from the best practices laid out in my current publication, "The Shiftless Man's Way to Piss People Off for no Discernible Return".
I mean, I like to reach out and help you little people now and again. Tell me now, why did you choose a ride that is roughly equivalent to self-identifying as a lobotomy case? If you'll come fly in my Booster's Club, assuming you can make the cut, you'll enjoy any number of skill-enhancing, probably mind-numbing, activities. Here are some examples:
1. Riding Shotgun - Stand by at 20k, just in case one of the baby seals fights back.
2. Follow the Leader - stay tight on my wing and watch me kill stuff. Don't worry about check six this or SA that. That's just loser talk.
3. Intercepting the Throbber - somebody's got a bead on me! Can you stop the 20's?
4. DeQuilling the Porcupine - Acky fields really kill my vulch buzz. You need to do something about that.
5. Leading with the Chin - somebody has to fly low and slow to light up the wirbels. Tracers point both ways.
... and so much more (some of which actually don't involve eating shrapnel to cover my butt and elevate my score). If you think you qualify, if you have the stones, you can come fly for me, but leave your training wheels - and that scrap tin - behind.
Okay, so that's all sarcastic and not actually pointed at anyone. Here's a little story for your enjoyment:
I have this friend. Let's call him Mark because that's his name. He used to play USTA for me. That's tennis, to people unfamiliar with the USTA; a thing known as an individual sport, thus something to which I'm attracted (more like a circus, less like an army, sort of like Jasta 11).
In any case, we were at playoffs one year, fighting hard to try to get through to the State Championship. Understand, this is adult tennis. Yes, you've got a shot at title, but, beyond that, there is nothing on the line. Mark knew this. I had slated him to play 2 singles, right behind me. I encouraged him to go out there and win it. I knew his opponent and knew he'd have a tough match. I stressed the importance of the court and match to our playoff hopes. Mark took me aside and said, "you know, PJ, in a couple of years, nobody will remember who won or lost this court - but they will remember who was an a**hole."
I contemplated the merit of his statement and replied, "you know, you're probably right, Mark."
That happened in something like 2006. I carry Mark's statement with me to this day - right alongside my memory of Adrian Paich handing him his a** in straight sets, neatly torpedoing our hopes for advance.
What does it mean? Not a lot. Mark was dealing with a false dichotomy and possibly letting himself off the hook. OTOH, I've seen guys who win and act like children in the process - and it's pretty memorable. If you've got a good sense of yourself, you can choose who you want to be in this life. If you base your actions on a bunch of knee-jerk if-thens, volitional conduct may be sacrificed.
Finally, consider Zack. Does he give any discernible rip about other's opinions of his quirky habits; constant de-pilling, spleen flensing, the cuke and pork cutlet facials - and let's not forget the endless stream of cravats? No sir... not at all. Does he care that the LR3 is widely reputed to be a girl's car, only useful for trips to the mall? Hardly.
I write him when I need dog-fettling advice. Most fettlers will maintain a pretense, and it shows. But not Zack. His fettling is of unsurpassed purity, as are the pies.
