Is Top Gear Over? A Tribute to Its Greatness

Is Top Gear over now that Jeremy Clarkson has been let go once and for all by the BBC? Perhaps. Perhaps not. In any case, I'd like to give the Clarkson era a mighty sendoff, and I couldn't think of any better way to do it than with Jeremy's own words:

This is a car program. There will be no cushions. There will be no rag rolling. No one will sing, and at the end of the series, no one will have a recording contract. This is our new base, and this is our purpose-built test track. There are no traffic jams here - well, apart from this one - and no bus lanes either. This is Top Gear. 

Well, Top Gear may have been more than a car program by its end, but there's no doubt about it - no matter what, it was always top. And on that bombshell - goodbye, Jeremy.

Eurovision Review: The United Kingdom with Still in Love With You

First Thoughts: Sometimes, I think Britain thinks to themselves, "Heheh, we'll fool all those snooty continentals with our English accents!" when they choose their entry. They legitimately want to win, like, really freaking badly, but if you ask any of them they'll pretend they don't give a furry rat's behind about Eurovision. And then when they come in last place with a single pity point from France, they'll drink until they pass out or cry themselves to sleep but in the morning light they'll put on their spectacles and laugh and say, "Heheh, we didn't want to win anyway. It's just a silly song contest!"

Best Lyric: The last one, but don't ask me what it is. I couldn't hear it over the sound of everyone in a five kilometer radius saying, "Well, thank Jove that's over."

Worst Lyric: Well, don't get on the wrong train, don't fly in an old plane, don't go out in the pouring rain. You might get wet; I'd be upset. You're bound to get sneezes, or nasty diseases. Seriously? Seriously? Britain, you can do so much better. Like this: Well, don't bet on the UK winning Eurovision, that'd be a bad decision. You'd loose all your money, and I would laugh at you, honey. Hahahaha. 

Finalist?: Unfortunately, yes.

Final Thoughts: The sad thing is that a lot of legitimately good music comes out of the UK each year. Along with the US and Sweden, they are one of the music powerhouses of the world. If they really wanted to win Eurovision, they'd send One Direction or another of their silly boybands and boom, Europe would once again be pwned by the Great British Empire.

Score out of 12: Nil points!

Lessons in Sophistication: The Wheels

When you live in a castle, you can't own any old car. You need a car that is as stylish, graceful, and poised as the crown princess. You can't come ambling up the lane in your 2008 Honda Accord, and for the love of all that is good in this world, leave the Bugattis and Ferraris in the cleverly disguised garage. The one possible exception to the 'no flashy cars at the castle gates' rule is the Porsche 911, which is only acceptable to leave out if it's silver, black, or a nice, deep, elegant blue.

Ideally, though, you're going to want a classic car in front of the castle. Cadillacs from the 1910's and 1920's are excellent choices, as are most cars from the fifties and sixties. It is my unprofessional, untrained opinion that the 20th century simply stopped making good cars after the sixties, so please don't park your 1982 monstrosity in front of my castle.

Of course, there is more to cars than their appearance. Driving in a stately manner is an import aspect to your appearance as a member of the royal court. The general rule is this: the older the car, the more noise it makes, ergo the less time you should spend driving it for the good of everyone in a five kilometer radius.

You might ask, "How, then, am I to get about if I cannot drive as frequently as my heart desires?" The answer is simple. All you have to do is have a sentry escort you to the stable, order the stableboy to saddle up your prettiest horse, and ride off into the sunset alongside your favorite prince(ss).


Disclaimers, notes, and post-scripts: Kaija barely knows carburetors from coolants. She also doesn't mean to offend anyone, least of all the royal families of the world. She's just a lowly servant girl scraping out a pittance of a living in someone else's grand palace. Well, not really, but you get the point. If you have any complaints or cries of outrage, please direct them towards the BBC because Top Gear is literally the only way I have learnt of cars past the day I was three and pointed at a lorry and said 'ca.' My mum said "close enough" and ever since I've been terribly, terribly confused. That never really happened; love you mum!

Lessons in Sophistication: How to Be Harder

Surprise! This is anything but a lesson in sophistication. This is a lesson about how to turn your nose up at all those fancy Europeans, colonial style!

Step One: The Threads. Basically you need to dress like Apocalypse Now was three years ago. You are going to need at least one of each of the following:

• A black tank top.
• A leather jacket, preferably stained with tobacco, gun powder, and motor oil. 
• Black cargo pants. The more buckles and chains, the better. 
• Black combat boots. Bonus for steel tips. 
• A black beanie. Bonus for skulls. 
• Fingerless leather gloves. Bonus for skulls. 
• A black belt. Bonus if it has studs. Triple bonus if it's in karate. 
• Studded rings, earrings, and bracelets. 

Okay, now that you look hard, you need to feel it. 

Step Two: The Tunes. 

• Let's start off tame with some Hard Rock Hallelujah. Bonus if you know what song contest it won. Double bonus if you know what year. 
• Okay, now we need to turn up the heat a bit. Listen to Devil is a Loser and Spiel Mit Mir. Triple bonus points if you know German and get through both songs anyway. 
• Carrying on. Time to start the bonfire, gentlemen. This time it's Mein Teil. 

Step Three: The Wheels. 

• You need a Jeep. No question about it. A Jeep is the minimum requirement for being a hard-a** m*****f****r. 
• If Jeeps aren't your thing, you need a Hummer. 
• And if you want the medal for All Time Hard Man, you need a Marauder. Watch the gentle grace with which it fits into this tight space while doing some light Zombie Apocalypse Stockpiling shopping. 

Step Four: Acting Hard. 

• Don't. We're all still gentlemen here. No need to go around breaking things and smashing watermelons. Walking the walk, jamming to the metal, and driving the hottest car in town is enough.

Lessons in Sophistication: Coffee

Picture this: You, in the castle library, elegantly draped over the velvet upholstered armchair, slowly perusing a leather-bound copy of Paradise Lost. There is a record player in the corner, gently skipping over the graceful notes of Für Elise. As sophisticated as you may look in the library's reading room turning the pages of one of the greatest works ever penned by human hands, something crucial is missing. A true sophisticate will look on, elegantly aghast, quietly and invisibly appalled by your choice, or lack of, beverage.

A Briton will tell you that nothing but the finest Earl Grey fits such an occasion, but we're continental and we're made of stronger stuff. We need a strong coffee in our delicate porcelain cup, but first we are going to have to decide our preferences in coffee. One simply cannot have a sophisticated fika without knowing what one's favorite coffee is. Before we begin, let us establish two things: There are no Starbucks or any other such establishment in or near our isolated castle, and (ahem brand that will go unmentioned) is simply a crime against good taste.

Any blue-blooded member of the royal court has doubtless made many journeys around the globe to sample coffees from every fertile continent, and can easily ramble off a list of top notes, textures, and flavours in any given coffee from nearly anyplace in the world. Unfortunately, we, as imaginative beings existing primarily in a mentally constructed landscape of infinite splendor and endless wonder, are limited to our castle, the courtyard, and the forest beyond.

It doesn't have to be that way, though. If we open our eyes and return to the horrors of the real world, we can find something on the list of the best things I have encountered in this life. That something is fancy coffee, and I buy mine here so that when I return to my castle wonderland I can proudly declare that I am drinking Ethiopia Yirgacheffe sailed in all the way from the newly discovered African continent as I, with untold poise and timeless beauty, go back to reading the greatest story known to man.


Notes, warnings, and post-scripts: Please do not try any of Kaija's fantastic ideas outside of the controlled environment of your mindscape. Please note that Kaija is not a member of any royal court on Earth and that she knows little of sophistication in her day to day life. She is but a humble farmer's daughter, milking cows and ploughing fields from sunrise to sundow- oh, wait, wrong mindscape. Ahem. In any case, please take any advice and/or coffee with a heaping teaspoon of sugar. If you are British and have been in any way offended by my Frenchness, please leave a message with my secretary Francis at 1-800-1-10v3-F4ANC3.

Kaija's Wishlist: This Hat

I love Doctor Who, and hats, so what could be better than a TARDIS hat?

Playlist: Kaija's Favorite Singers

Royal Wood (Canada)

Mads Langer (Denmark)

Rasmus Walter (Denmark)

Say Lou Lou (Sweden/Australia)

                                         

Alexander Rybak (Norway)

Mikko Pohjola (Finland)

Rasmus Seebach (Denmark)

TAL (France)

Hurts (UK)

Lifehouse (America)