Hello. My name is Jeff Iannucci, and I’m an IndyCar fan. For the last few years I’ve been writing about the IRL over at My Name Is IRL, not because my name is actually “IRL” — or even “Earl” — but because I have an inexplicable affection for lame-ass homonyms. Some folks have told me my postings there have defined me as the most prolific IndyCar fan in the world, which strikes me as a title somewhat akin to being the tallest munchkin in Oz. As as such I fully acknowledge that the seven readers of The Silent Pagoda probably don’t recognize my name.

Then again, some of you might remember my acting work in my youth from guest appearances on “We Got It Made” and “Misfits of Science,” the latter in which I played a forlorn love interest of the once beautiful Courtney Cox. Those portrayals led to a bit part in the film adaptation of Stephen King’s “Pet Sematary”, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Regardless, I want you all to know that I’m starting The Velvet Terrace here for good reason, and that reason is to be the voice of reason. The inimitable Roy Hobbson asked me here not just because he has an ambitious plan to have a different writer for every reader, but also because he thinks that by writing a bunch of words about IndyCars over the last 30-some months, I’m some sort of IRL expert.

Then again Roy also thinks Donald Davidson is some kind of American philosopher, so maybe he’s not exactly assembling “The A-Team” he thinks he is over here.

At any rate, a while back, Roy told me that he was going to expand the scope of this endeavor – and by that I mean he was going to add graphics and hyperlinks and all kinds of stuff that was exciting and new in the heyday of Compuserve. Roy asked me if I would be interested in contributing, promising payment only in insults, and since I have a largely civil and polite readership at My Name Is IRL, I jumped at the chance.

Now on most days I’m a fairly smart guy, but even on those where I’m not, I’m still married to a woman who has a degree in Psychology. Meaning, I’m quite good at pegging Roy’s motivation here, which is clearly a textbook case of a cry for help. Cryforhelpia Stage IV, to be exact.

You see, the Prime Directive of The Silent Pagoda is to, and I quote, “Destroy Jack Arute” — which is completely counter to my nature since everyone (including Roy) knows I’m one of Jack’s biggest fans. When you factor in the nuclear-reactor tan with the constant stream of racing non-sequiturs, you really can’t find many human beings more entertaining than Jack Arute. Not since Sammy Davis Jr died, at least.

Arute’s a good guy –- just ask any of his 14 ex-wives –- but if Roy and Jack have some kind of beef, then so be it. I just want to be clear from the outset that I’m going to be a conscientious objector to this madness, so until I can get Roy the help he needs (specifically a private consultation with Dr. Cyndie Allemann) I’m going to focus on our similarities instead of our differences. Like, our love of fast racing, America, adult beverages, and the undeniable infatuation with the road rage that is EJ Viso.

I truly hope in the future I can help Roy with his ambitious goal for garnering millions of readers, because I think with a little help from Tony Geroge, Brian Banhart and the Royal Consulate of Nigeria, we might actually be able to reach that many people. Personally though, I’d just like to start by seeing if I can get the real Donald Davidson to become reader #8.