Random stray thought
I am often amazed at how incredibly smart one has to be just to function in the real world.
Thursday, November 28, 2002
Sunday, November 24, 2002
More from the Edge
One of the most annoying things about knowing a Floridian is having to listen to his or her incessant self-righteous gloating about the weather. Floridians will call you in January and tell you about how they're standing on their back deck grilling a steak, drinking a beer and wearing shorts. They'll tell you about how the TV weather geeks go nuts with panic when the mercury drops below 40. They'll whine about the hurricanes, despite the fact that most of them have chosen to live so close to the scourge of the sea.
That said: It was 73 beautiful degrees today in my part of the Edge of America. Blue skies as far as you can see. A slight breeze to cool the heat of the afternoon sun. Not too damn bad for Nov. 24.
When we left Florida, The Wife whined quite a bit about winters in North Texas. It never snowed, but we had an annual ice storm, and temperatures could get into the low teens at their worst. I blew off her whining by saying, "You know, there's more to life than good weather."
Now that we're back, I'm starting to think I might have been wrong.
One of the most annoying things about knowing a Floridian is having to listen to his or her incessant self-righteous gloating about the weather. Floridians will call you in January and tell you about how they're standing on their back deck grilling a steak, drinking a beer and wearing shorts. They'll tell you about how the TV weather geeks go nuts with panic when the mercury drops below 40. They'll whine about the hurricanes, despite the fact that most of them have chosen to live so close to the scourge of the sea.
That said: It was 73 beautiful degrees today in my part of the Edge of America. Blue skies as far as you can see. A slight breeze to cool the heat of the afternoon sun. Not too damn bad for Nov. 24.
When we left Florida, The Wife whined quite a bit about winters in North Texas. It never snowed, but we had an annual ice storm, and temperatures could get into the low teens at their worst. I blew off her whining by saying, "You know, there's more to life than good weather."
Now that we're back, I'm starting to think I might have been wrong.
Friday, November 22, 2002
A little bit about the Edge of America
It's an interesting place, the peninsula on which I have chosen to live. It's a vacation paradise. It's a retirement haven. It's a place where your vote really counts, sometimes. But there's a lot more to Florida than theme parks and bluehairs.
It really is a beautiful place, but not in the way that the Ozarks or the Hill Country of Texas is beautiful. Florida is, first and foremost, a swamp. Much of the land has been drained and dredged in a decades-long effort to make it inhabitable. It's probably more environmentally fragile than the Alaska oil fields, but little has stood in the way of developers trying to concrete over as much as possible. But go back into what remains of the swamp, and you'll see a unique and amazing ecosystem thriving on the black water and sawgrass.
In my part of the peninsula, it can be 85 degrees any day of the year. Hurricanes menace my city, but rarely do they harm it.
For a state that was largely uninhabited until the 1950s, there's a deep, rich history. St. Augustine is the oldest continously settled European city in the United States, and is incredibly well-preserved. It's one of my favorite places on the planet, and well worth the time of any tourist. It's a good reminder that there was life before Walt Disney.
Then there are the people -- vacationers and tourists, yes, but also rednecks and immigrants. Remember that Key West is only 90 miles from Havana. Remember also that Florida is south of both Georgia and Alabama, and I mean "South" with all that entails. There's a line that roughly follows Interstate 4 from Tampa through Orlando to Daytona Beach. North of that line is the Unreconstructed crowd, and south of that line are the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to be free. To say they don't always get along would be sort of an understatement.
Florida is also one of America's great hiding places. Many from the fringes of society choose the state to hide from bad weather and other unfriendly elements of the world. For many years in the mid-20th century, many carnival and circus workers maintained residences in Florida during the off-season, and the communities they formed remain colorful and, well, um, different from the places you and I are used to living.
It's a great place to visit, but it's a better -- and cheaper -- place to live. A Florida driver's license also acts as a discount card to many of the state's tourist traps. Property taxes are insanely low (and so, unfortunately, is the quality of many of the state's schools.) Sales taxes are low. The state's budget is built around one philosophy: "Soak the tourist." Hotel taxes, airport taxes, rental car taxes and expressway tolls build the roads and provide the services I use. The politically powerful retirees routinely vote down tax increases. It doesn't matter to them; their kids are out of school.
It's a special place, Florida, and it's largely unappreciated by many who visit or live here. It's a shame, because there's much to appreciate.
It's an interesting place, the peninsula on which I have chosen to live. It's a vacation paradise. It's a retirement haven. It's a place where your vote really counts, sometimes. But there's a lot more to Florida than theme parks and bluehairs.
It really is a beautiful place, but not in the way that the Ozarks or the Hill Country of Texas is beautiful. Florida is, first and foremost, a swamp. Much of the land has been drained and dredged in a decades-long effort to make it inhabitable. It's probably more environmentally fragile than the Alaska oil fields, but little has stood in the way of developers trying to concrete over as much as possible. But go back into what remains of the swamp, and you'll see a unique and amazing ecosystem thriving on the black water and sawgrass.
In my part of the peninsula, it can be 85 degrees any day of the year. Hurricanes menace my city, but rarely do they harm it.
For a state that was largely uninhabited until the 1950s, there's a deep, rich history. St. Augustine is the oldest continously settled European city in the United States, and is incredibly well-preserved. It's one of my favorite places on the planet, and well worth the time of any tourist. It's a good reminder that there was life before Walt Disney.
Then there are the people -- vacationers and tourists, yes, but also rednecks and immigrants. Remember that Key West is only 90 miles from Havana. Remember also that Florida is south of both Georgia and Alabama, and I mean "South" with all that entails. There's a line that roughly follows Interstate 4 from Tampa through Orlando to Daytona Beach. North of that line is the Unreconstructed crowd, and south of that line are the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to be free. To say they don't always get along would be sort of an understatement.
Florida is also one of America's great hiding places. Many from the fringes of society choose the state to hide from bad weather and other unfriendly elements of the world. For many years in the mid-20th century, many carnival and circus workers maintained residences in Florida during the off-season, and the communities they formed remain colorful and, well, um, different from the places you and I are used to living.
It's a great place to visit, but it's a better -- and cheaper -- place to live. A Florida driver's license also acts as a discount card to many of the state's tourist traps. Property taxes are insanely low (and so, unfortunately, is the quality of many of the state's schools.) Sales taxes are low. The state's budget is built around one philosophy: "Soak the tourist." Hotel taxes, airport taxes, rental car taxes and expressway tolls build the roads and provide the services I use. The politically powerful retirees routinely vote down tax increases. It doesn't matter to them; their kids are out of school.
It's a special place, Florida, and it's largely unappreciated by many who visit or live here. It's a shame, because there's much to appreciate.
Wednesday, November 20, 2002
I'm back!
Moving up the Edge of America at broadband speed, consider this my official return to this forum. Yeah, we still have a few boxes to unpack, a few pictures to hang, a few details yet to work out, but we have re-planted the flag here, halfway between the Gulf and the Atlantic, halfway between Georgia and Key West.
Are we settled? Yeah. I think.
I hope.
Keep the cards and letters coming, and serve up some food for thought. I'll try to do the same, now that I'm thinking again.
Moving up the Edge of America at broadband speed, consider this my official return to this forum. Yeah, we still have a few boxes to unpack, a few pictures to hang, a few details yet to work out, but we have re-planted the flag here, halfway between the Gulf and the Atlantic, halfway between Georgia and Key West.
Are we settled? Yeah. I think.
I hope.
Keep the cards and letters coming, and serve up some food for thought. I'll try to do the same, now that I'm thinking again.
Sunday, November 10, 2002
More veterans to come
Monday is Veteran's Day. (Or, as the 6-year-old boy at the house where I'm staying put it, "Tomorrow is Veterinarian's Day!") I just finished reading The Greatest Generation, the Tom Brokaw paean to the men and women who served in World War II. It was an eye-opener, certainly; I know intuitively that the people of my grandparents' generation went about life in a completely different fashion from the way you and I go about it, but I don't always think in detail about how incredibly different it was. Children of the Reagan years, such as myself, take a lot of things for granted. I'm OK with that; we're able to do so because of what those who went before us did. It proves that their efforts and losses weren't in vain.
I hope.
As we stand on the brink of yet another war, where yet more mothers will lose sons for reasons that aren't entirely clear and have really very little to do with my daily life in Florida or your daily life wherever you are (and don't you wish your daily life was in Florida? If you don't now, you will in a couple of months) ... as we stand on the brink of yet another war, I hope our leaders are really really thinking about what they're doing before they take us on the plunge. Make no mistake: that GOP sweep on Tuesday was a war mandate. We're whipped into a war frenzy. That election was not about cutting taxes or fixing the economy or ending abortion. It's about war.
In the memory of all those who are laying under grass in France and Germany and Japan and Vietnam and in national cemeteries all over the United States, I hope they know what they're doing.
Monday is Veteran's Day. (Or, as the 6-year-old boy at the house where I'm staying put it, "Tomorrow is Veterinarian's Day!") I just finished reading The Greatest Generation, the Tom Brokaw paean to the men and women who served in World War II. It was an eye-opener, certainly; I know intuitively that the people of my grandparents' generation went about life in a completely different fashion from the way you and I go about it, but I don't always think in detail about how incredibly different it was. Children of the Reagan years, such as myself, take a lot of things for granted. I'm OK with that; we're able to do so because of what those who went before us did. It proves that their efforts and losses weren't in vain.
I hope.
As we stand on the brink of yet another war, where yet more mothers will lose sons for reasons that aren't entirely clear and have really very little to do with my daily life in Florida or your daily life wherever you are (and don't you wish your daily life was in Florida? If you don't now, you will in a couple of months) ... as we stand on the brink of yet another war, I hope our leaders are really really thinking about what they're doing before they take us on the plunge. Make no mistake: that GOP sweep on Tuesday was a war mandate. We're whipped into a war frenzy. That election was not about cutting taxes or fixing the economy or ending abortion. It's about war.
In the memory of all those who are laying under grass in France and Germany and Japan and Vietnam and in national cemeteries all over the United States, I hope they know what they're doing.
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
I have not abandoned this place
It's just, well, been kind of a challenge since getting to the Edge of America. I haven't seen my children since Oct. 11, and won't see them for another nine days. I underestimated how incredibly difficult that would be for me -- and I knew it was going to be difficult. The Wife did join me this weekend for "househunting," a company-paid trip to find a place to live. They don't need to know that we had already found such a place and basically just spent a day at the beach.
But it's been kind of a challenge since coming here.
The job: As regular readers of this invective know, my job at the Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper in Texas had become, well, somewhat boring. As crazy as it sounds, I wanted a job in which I would actually be busy. I got that, and then some. I used to be completely unfazed by hard work. The Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper apparently made me soft. The last few weeks have been spent doing some serious stamina-building. I'll get the first real test tonight: Election Night in Florida. On the last Election Night in Florida, staffers were at the office until well past sunrise. Tonight will be interesting.
Real estate: The house in Texas is sold. The house in Florida is bought (well, basically.) The Family makes its way east next week. I'll be flying back to Texas, landing, and taking the wheel of the minivan and pointing it to the sea. Said minivan will be occupied by The Wife and Me, three children, two dogs and a cat. Hopefully I'll be done with my stamina-building by then.
Homelessness: In the meantime, I'm staying with friends in a guest room. No matter how comfortable I am with people, I'm never comfortable spending large amounts of time in other people's houses, using their stuff (I'm using their computer, in fact, as I write this) and eating their food -- even if it's generously offered, and it has been.
This is what I signed up for -- a complete shake-up of my daily routine. I'm not entirely sure what led me to do it. And, even though I know it was the right thing to do, I'm pretty sure I don't want to do it again anytime soon.
It's just, well, been kind of a challenge since getting to the Edge of America. I haven't seen my children since Oct. 11, and won't see them for another nine days. I underestimated how incredibly difficult that would be for me -- and I knew it was going to be difficult. The Wife did join me this weekend for "househunting," a company-paid trip to find a place to live. They don't need to know that we had already found such a place and basically just spent a day at the beach.
But it's been kind of a challenge since coming here.
The job: As regular readers of this invective know, my job at the Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper in Texas had become, well, somewhat boring. As crazy as it sounds, I wanted a job in which I would actually be busy. I got that, and then some. I used to be completely unfazed by hard work. The Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper apparently made me soft. The last few weeks have been spent doing some serious stamina-building. I'll get the first real test tonight: Election Night in Florida. On the last Election Night in Florida, staffers were at the office until well past sunrise. Tonight will be interesting.
Real estate: The house in Texas is sold. The house in Florida is bought (well, basically.) The Family makes its way east next week. I'll be flying back to Texas, landing, and taking the wheel of the minivan and pointing it to the sea. Said minivan will be occupied by The Wife and Me, three children, two dogs and a cat. Hopefully I'll be done with my stamina-building by then.
Homelessness: In the meantime, I'm staying with friends in a guest room. No matter how comfortable I am with people, I'm never comfortable spending large amounts of time in other people's houses, using their stuff (I'm using their computer, in fact, as I write this) and eating their food -- even if it's generously offered, and it has been.
This is what I signed up for -- a complete shake-up of my daily routine. I'm not entirely sure what led me to do it. And, even though I know it was the right thing to do, I'm pretty sure I don't want to do it again anytime soon.
Saturday, October 19, 2002
A quick update from the Edge of America
I'm here. Settling in for Phase One of this adventure, the time when it's Just Me. The rest of the family remains in Texas while we attempt to sell the house. (Won't somebody please buy our house?)
The middle of Florida is just as I remember it -- clear blue sky, mild temperatures, occasional sea breezes. I missed out on the humidity, and I'm told it hasn't rained much in the past three years, which has been a problem. Seems the lakes are all drying up and stuff.
But I'm here. I'm OK, so far. The job's OK, so far. Need to get the family back together, though, and fast.
I'm here. Settling in for Phase One of this adventure, the time when it's Just Me. The rest of the family remains in Texas while we attempt to sell the house. (Won't somebody please buy our house?)
The middle of Florida is just as I remember it -- clear blue sky, mild temperatures, occasional sea breezes. I missed out on the humidity, and I'm told it hasn't rained much in the past three years, which has been a problem. Seems the lakes are all drying up and stuff.
But I'm here. I'm OK, so far. The job's OK, so far. Need to get the family back together, though, and fast.
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
Well ...
... it's official on all ends. I'm leaving behind the Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper, all its greatness and all its flaws. I'm soon to be The Misplaced Texan.
I received an offer from the Medium-Sized Metropolitan Newspaper on the East Coast for which I formerly worked that was too good to pass up. I'll be heading to Florida this weekend to begin -- resume, I guess -- my work there.
When we say it's time for a change in our house, we mean it's Time for a Change. We're not much for sitting still. Our tolerance for unhappiness and/or boredom is practically zero. We're lucky that when we see Unhappiness or Boredom approaching, we have the ability to simply turn and walk away from it.
That's what we're doing here. Many question the validity of this Change as a career move. I say, screw them. It is, in fact, a step up in responsibility, balanced by being a step down in market size. But this is not just about the career. It's about the quality of life outside of work. We had said Quality in Florida, in droves. Granted, we only had one kid for most of that time, so we're a different family now. But I trust we'll find that Quality, in the streams and lakes, at the beach, at beautiful wooded state parks and wildlife preserves. We'll find that Quality in a place where it can be 85 degrees any day of the year, where I could sit on my back porch at 2 a.m. in January wearing shorts and toting a beer.
Nothing's guaranteed. We're living, walking, moving examples of that. I guess the Three-Year Itch flared up again. I'll concede that. And I'm making no guarantees that come 2005, we won't be searching again.
But I'm also excited about my job for the first time in a long, long time. That means something to me. I'm also excited about the fun my children and The Wife and I are going to have among the manatees and the seagulls (and the palmetto bugs, and the lizards ... )
I leave to pursue The Change this weekend. The rest of the family will follow soon.
Said pursuit will take me away from this forum for a while. It will return soon, in a new and hopefully improved form.
Thanks to everybody for their support. Check back periodically; we'll have Reports from the Edge of America ready soon.
... it's official on all ends. I'm leaving behind the Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper, all its greatness and all its flaws. I'm soon to be The Misplaced Texan.
I received an offer from the Medium-Sized Metropolitan Newspaper on the East Coast for which I formerly worked that was too good to pass up. I'll be heading to Florida this weekend to begin -- resume, I guess -- my work there.
When we say it's time for a change in our house, we mean it's Time for a Change. We're not much for sitting still. Our tolerance for unhappiness and/or boredom is practically zero. We're lucky that when we see Unhappiness or Boredom approaching, we have the ability to simply turn and walk away from it.
That's what we're doing here. Many question the validity of this Change as a career move. I say, screw them. It is, in fact, a step up in responsibility, balanced by being a step down in market size. But this is not just about the career. It's about the quality of life outside of work. We had said Quality in Florida, in droves. Granted, we only had one kid for most of that time, so we're a different family now. But I trust we'll find that Quality, in the streams and lakes, at the beach, at beautiful wooded state parks and wildlife preserves. We'll find that Quality in a place where it can be 85 degrees any day of the year, where I could sit on my back porch at 2 a.m. in January wearing shorts and toting a beer.
Nothing's guaranteed. We're living, walking, moving examples of that. I guess the Three-Year Itch flared up again. I'll concede that. And I'm making no guarantees that come 2005, we won't be searching again.
But I'm also excited about my job for the first time in a long, long time. That means something to me. I'm also excited about the fun my children and The Wife and I are going to have among the manatees and the seagulls (and the palmetto bugs, and the lizards ... )
I leave to pursue The Change this weekend. The rest of the family will follow soon.
Said pursuit will take me away from this forum for a while. It will return soon, in a new and hopefully improved form.
Thanks to everybody for their support. Check back periodically; we'll have Reports from the Edge of America ready soon.
Wednesday, October 02, 2002
Brevity rules
It's funny: I can't help but notice that as my posts get shorter, the reaction I'm receiving increases. (Thanks, by the way.)
Of course, it also may be that I'm getting reaction simply because they're so cryptic. (The e-mail with the subject line, "Huh?" might be a hint.)
Whatever, I'll take it. We'll return to regular programming soon.
It's funny: I can't help but notice that as my posts get shorter, the reaction I'm receiving increases. (Thanks, by the way.)
Of course, it also may be that I'm getting reaction simply because they're so cryptic. (The e-mail with the subject line, "Huh?" might be a hint.)
Whatever, I'll take it. We'll return to regular programming soon.
Tuesday, October 01, 2002
The bad thing about the world
Here in the house, we trust each other. We know nobody's trying to put one over on anybody else, and if anybody tries it, he or she gets called on it pretty quick. It's hard for the kids to weasel something past Mom or Dad. The Wife and I know we're looking out for each other's best interests, even when those interests conflict with what we think we really want.
But the trust line apparently ends at our front door.
I don't know whom to trust.
Who's looking out for me, if anybody? It's getting kind of exhausting, having to look out for myself all the time.
Here in the house, we trust each other. We know nobody's trying to put one over on anybody else, and if anybody tries it, he or she gets called on it pretty quick. It's hard for the kids to weasel something past Mom or Dad. The Wife and I know we're looking out for each other's best interests, even when those interests conflict with what we think we really want.
But the trust line apparently ends at our front door.
I don't know whom to trust.
Who's looking out for me, if anybody? It's getting kind of exhausting, having to look out for myself all the time.
Monday, September 30, 2002
Something cool and different
Some people spend all day searching Google for their ex-girlfriends. I killed some time recently searching Google for favorite musicians I haven't heard from in a while.
I ran across the site of the lovely and talented Maria McKee -- you might remember her from Lone Justice, whose videos received some MTV-play in about 1986. Or you might not. The astute Dixie Chicks fans in the audience will note that a Maria McKee song, "Am I the Only One," was the second-to-last track on Wide Open Spaces.
On most musicians' web sites, the "letter to fans" section is usually a pretty lame recount of what's going on with the latest tour or whatever, and it's updated about once every two years. Ms. McKee's site hasn't been updated since July, I'll grant, but the approach lends a feeling of authenticity that no other site I've found can match. Check it out, if you'd like.
Some people spend all day searching Google for their ex-girlfriends. I killed some time recently searching Google for favorite musicians I haven't heard from in a while.
I ran across the site of the lovely and talented Maria McKee -- you might remember her from Lone Justice, whose videos received some MTV-play in about 1986. Or you might not. The astute Dixie Chicks fans in the audience will note that a Maria McKee song, "Am I the Only One," was the second-to-last track on Wide Open Spaces.
On most musicians' web sites, the "letter to fans" section is usually a pretty lame recount of what's going on with the latest tour or whatever, and it's updated about once every two years. Ms. McKee's site hasn't been updated since July, I'll grant, but the approach lends a feeling of authenticity that no other site I've found can match. Check it out, if you'd like.
Sunday, September 29, 2002
Cowboys 13, Rams 10
A game neither team deserved to win. What an awful display of football on both sides. But: The Rams are 0-4; basically you can say goodbye to them. Pretty good chance now that many people's NFC champion pick won't even make the playoffs. The Cowboys are 2-2. Yeah, pretty good chance they won't make the playoffs either. But I wouldn't have taken odds they'd be 2-2 at this point.
The bright spot for the Cowboys: Roy Williams looks like a legitimate top-10 draft pick. He knocked Kurt Warner out of the game; he knocked the crap out of everybody else who came near him; and he got his hands on a few passes. Remember the name. You'll be hearing it a lot.
A game neither team deserved to win. What an awful display of football on both sides. But: The Rams are 0-4; basically you can say goodbye to them. Pretty good chance now that many people's NFC champion pick won't even make the playoffs. The Cowboys are 2-2. Yeah, pretty good chance they won't make the playoffs either. But I wouldn't have taken odds they'd be 2-2 at this point.
The bright spot for the Cowboys: Roy Williams looks like a legitimate top-10 draft pick. He knocked Kurt Warner out of the game; he knocked the crap out of everybody else who came near him; and he got his hands on a few passes. Remember the name. You'll be hearing it a lot.
Friday, September 27, 2002
All things are basically equal
And that is what I have to work with as I continue to ponder the solution to the mid-career crisis.
One option: Go back to a place I've already been -- a place I liked a hell of a lot, and was very comfortable, and that has changed a lot over the last three years, largely for the better.
The other option: Stay at a place where I've always wanted to work, a place that has frustrated me greatly over the last year, but one with a hell of a lot of potential and (finally) some interest expressed from above in making some changes.
In a crappy economy, I have a choice of two very, very good jobs. I can't complain about that at all. But I'm faced with a decision, and it's time to decide.
And that is what I have to work with as I continue to ponder the solution to the mid-career crisis.
One option: Go back to a place I've already been -- a place I liked a hell of a lot, and was very comfortable, and that has changed a lot over the last three years, largely for the better.
The other option: Stay at a place where I've always wanted to work, a place that has frustrated me greatly over the last year, but one with a hell of a lot of potential and (finally) some interest expressed from above in making some changes.
In a crappy economy, I have a choice of two very, very good jobs. I can't complain about that at all. But I'm faced with a decision, and it's time to decide.
Wednesday, September 25, 2002
Friday, September 20, 2002
All right, then, make something happen
They call them the "winds" of change. In our house, the weather phenomenon it most closely resembles is a dust storm.
The Change is hanging over our house. It's leaving residue everywhere. We're consumed by it. All our thoughts are about The Change, and what it might mean, and how we would handle it logistically. We can't go about our normal day-to-day with any level of competence, because we're thinking about The Change.
I noted earlier that come October, my life is going to be vastly different than it is now. I'm still not completely sure in what form The Change is going to manifest itself. But I'm talking proactive measures. (Or is that pro-active? Copy editors, help me out here. I'd look it up myself, but I'm too busy thinking about The Change.)
I'm not going to go into great detail. This isn't the forum, at least not yet.
Pursuit of The Change will take me away from this forum for a few days. Until I return, keep the cards and letters coming.
They call them the "winds" of change. In our house, the weather phenomenon it most closely resembles is a dust storm.
The Change is hanging over our house. It's leaving residue everywhere. We're consumed by it. All our thoughts are about The Change, and what it might mean, and how we would handle it logistically. We can't go about our normal day-to-day with any level of competence, because we're thinking about The Change.
I noted earlier that come October, my life is going to be vastly different than it is now. I'm still not completely sure in what form The Change is going to manifest itself. But I'm talking proactive measures. (Or is that pro-active? Copy editors, help me out here. I'd look it up myself, but I'm too busy thinking about The Change.)
I'm not going to go into great detail. This isn't the forum, at least not yet.
Pursuit of The Change will take me away from this forum for a few days. Until I return, keep the cards and letters coming.
Thursday, September 19, 2002
I'll fly the flag for this
Take a look at what makes America great. I agree with very little of what they're saying. But I will defend to the death their right to say it.
Take a look at what makes America great. I agree with very little of what they're saying. But I will defend to the death their right to say it.
Sunday, September 15, 2002
The addiction
(There's no greater point to this story, and probably, you'll lose some respect for me after you read it, for which I apologize. And, it's being delivered after a hearty knock on my pressed-wood desk.)
It's dangerous. It's illegal. It has cost me a lot of money over the years. It provides a rush like nothing else.
My drug? Speed.
Not the kind they make in clandestine laboratories in the Ozarks. The kind produced by a violent meeting between air, spark and gasoline under a not-so-gentle nudge from my right foot.
Letting loose on an open road is one of my stress relievers. When you're running down a two-lane at something approaching half-again the speed limit, you don't -- can't -- think about anything else other than keeping the car on the road. Your mind narrows with your field of vision. All other thoughts are thoroughly ground into dust. Few things accomplish that for me.
It's my guilty pleasure, and over the years, I've had to use the word "guilty" a lot.
Law enforcement agencies all over the country know me. My rap sheet goes something like this:
7 speeding tickets in 18 years of driving, the most recent being issued by a not-so-friendly officer in McAlester, Okla., two years ago.
I've been caught by six different law enforcement agencies in three states.
I received my first three speeding tickets in one 30-day stretch in the spring of 1987, when I was 18. I received the second on the way to pay the first. Let's just say I'm a slow learner.
I received my fourth less than a month after those three went off my record. (That means I've only had three in the last 12 years!)
A total of $567 in fines, plus God only knows how many thousands extra I've paid in insurance.
None of my tickets was a spectacular flouting of the law: The average over-the-limit was 17.5 mph, and the fastest speed recorded was 78 mph.
All of my tickets save one were written in broad daylight.
I've never really been able to contest one of my tickets. I was caught dead to rights every time. I probably talked my way into a couple of tickets; at least two of the infractions were minor enough to merit only a warning if I had kept my righteous teenage indignation to myself.
In my very weak defense, I got my license in 1984, when the 55-mph speed limit was still filling the coffers of small-town America. But, yeah, I still view the increased speed limits as merely a guideline.
Further in my weak defense: I've never owned a particularly fast car. I never was stopped in five years of riding a motorcycle. I don't drive dangerously -- really, I don't. I don't pass people on the shoulders or tailgate or engage in road-rage sessions. I don't zip in and out of traffic (although I enthusiastically go with the flow on Texas freeways, which is about 80). I slow down in bad weather. I don't speed with the kids in the car.
My father was seriously injured in a car accident. I have a well-developed respect for the bad things that can happen behind the wheel.
If you're a passenger in my car, I won't scare you in the least. But if it's just me and the tunes and sunshine and a dry, open road, I'm opening the throttle.
I will grant that, with maturity and time and all of the added responsibilities of my life, I don't take chances like I used to. Most of the time, I keep the speedometer needle where I can see it.
But I've been facing that "What do you want to do?" question a lot lately. My answer is simple: I want to be a Professional Driver on a Closed Course.
(There's no greater point to this story, and probably, you'll lose some respect for me after you read it, for which I apologize. And, it's being delivered after a hearty knock on my pressed-wood desk.)
It's dangerous. It's illegal. It has cost me a lot of money over the years. It provides a rush like nothing else.
My drug? Speed.
Not the kind they make in clandestine laboratories in the Ozarks. The kind produced by a violent meeting between air, spark and gasoline under a not-so-gentle nudge from my right foot.
Letting loose on an open road is one of my stress relievers. When you're running down a two-lane at something approaching half-again the speed limit, you don't -- can't -- think about anything else other than keeping the car on the road. Your mind narrows with your field of vision. All other thoughts are thoroughly ground into dust. Few things accomplish that for me.
It's my guilty pleasure, and over the years, I've had to use the word "guilty" a lot.
Law enforcement agencies all over the country know me. My rap sheet goes something like this:
In my very weak defense, I got my license in 1984, when the 55-mph speed limit was still filling the coffers of small-town America. But, yeah, I still view the increased speed limits as merely a guideline.
Further in my weak defense: I've never owned a particularly fast car. I never was stopped in five years of riding a motorcycle. I don't drive dangerously -- really, I don't. I don't pass people on the shoulders or tailgate or engage in road-rage sessions. I don't zip in and out of traffic (although I enthusiastically go with the flow on Texas freeways, which is about 80). I slow down in bad weather. I don't speed with the kids in the car.
My father was seriously injured in a car accident. I have a well-developed respect for the bad things that can happen behind the wheel.
If you're a passenger in my car, I won't scare you in the least. But if it's just me and the tunes and sunshine and a dry, open road, I'm opening the throttle.
I will grant that, with maturity and time and all of the added responsibilities of my life, I don't take chances like I used to. Most of the time, I keep the speedometer needle where I can see it.
But I've been facing that "What do you want to do?" question a lot lately. My answer is simple: I want to be a Professional Driver on a Closed Course.