A Bumper Sticker I Wish I Had

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IT'S NOT MY AGE. I'VE ALWAYS DRIVEN LIKE THIS.


I have recently come to realize that in the realm of interpersonal relations, I am at my absolute worst while driving a car. I am impatient. I am judgmental. I am defensive in the personality sense; not in the driving sense. And I can, if provoked, become demonstrative of all of these qualities. What sadly is new, is that I have become particularly sensitive about my age. I think that I am in fact about an average driver, which means of course that from time to time I screw up, sometimes to the point of drawing some kind of reprimand from one or two of my fellow drivers. The last couple of times this has happened I have discovered that my own somewhat testy response to a raised finger or whatever, is in part due to my thinking that, seeing my white beard and crinkled face, the other guy thinks that my screw up was due to my age. NOT SO. I HAVE ALWAYS DRIVEN LIKE THIS!

The Inauguration

Part I: Overcoming Bigotry

I take it that the national party that we had on Tuesday was, for our black citizens, a celebration of the accomplishment of one of their own, and, for white citizens, a celebration of the fact that we are not as bigoted as we feared we might be. (Oh yes, there was also that part which was the celebration of the return to Texas of Mr. G W Bush.) Now if we can just keep President Obama alive for a term or two we will have accomplished a good thing. But there is something else in the realm of overcoming bigotry that I have not heard mentioned. For me it is actually just about as good as the election of Mr. Obama.

In 2008 we elected as Vice President a professing Catholic, and here’s the important part. Nobody seemed to notice his faith. In the election of 1960 the religious faith of the winning candidate got roughly as much attention as did Mr. Obama’s ancestry this time. That Joe Biden’s Catholicism was not worth mentioning is an indicator of true progress. (Actually I think John Kerry is also Catholic and the fact that I don’t know for certain proves the same thing, except of course that he didn’t get elected.) Over the course of 48 years apparently the fact that a candidate may be Catholic has become utterly irrelevant. So we pat ourselves on the back over the good, but partial accomplishment of electing an African-American. We will know that we really have arrived in the year that we elect a cross dressing atheist and nobody thinks those things are worth mentioning. Imagine that time.

Part II: A Curious Result

On Sunday, two days before the inauguration, I sent the following email to about a dozen people in my address book. These are people I think of as friends. It was sent with only honest and open minded curiosity. It was certainly not intended to be confrontational or to give offense.

Greetings:

This message is going to everyone who I know to have voted for John McCain, or who I think might have. As you know the capital is all atwitter with preparations for the inauguration. However it is certain that the euphoria does not spread to every person in our country. I find myself very interested in how the McCain voters are feeling about all of this and I'd really appreciate it if you would trouble yourself to let me know. In fact if you would like to send this request on to others who might like to chip in that would be fine with me. I've written some questions, but please feel free to write anything you want.

(Questions deleted)

Here’s the curious part. I got one answer. Here I sit, bewildered.

First conversations - first time events

It is obvious that everything that has ever been talked about had to have a first conversation. Maybe there was once one along these lines.

"Honey, I’m home."

"Hello dear."

"You should have seen what I did today."

"Oh, what was that dear?"

"I did a painting in the sand."

"You mean a drawing with a stick?"

"No, no. I found a place with really white sand and I made that nice and smooth, and then I poured some black sand over it to make a picture. I call it sand painting."

"Sand painting? How did it look? Did it look like anything? Since when have you been an artist?"

"Well it was a little rough, but someday I think some real artists will do beautiful things in my medium."

"How long were you doing this?"

"Oh, a couple of hours I guess."

"I suppose you want me to go see it."

"Oh no. I’m sure it’s gone now. It only lasts ‘til the first wind or rain."

"So you spent two hours doing a sand painting that has now been washed away."

"Yeah. I wonder if I should try to patent this."

"I wonder if tomorrow you should try to find a job."



If you are not familiar with sand painting and would like to learn about it go here. See especially the Tibetan and Modern Culture portions.

gobble gobble

Man Attacked By Rogue Calories: The Victim's Own Words

I often tuck into a few calories just before I tuck into bed. About a week ago, following my usual routine, I drifted past the refrigerator on my way to sleep. I did have a spoon in my hand – a teaspoon, a little tiny teaspoon. I did open the freezer door. This however, is where my responsibility ends. I often do these things. I peer in. I do a little visual grazing. If I do taste something I maintain complete control. Last week was different. It may have been related to an attack about an hour earlier by some salty chips dripping cheddar cheese that managed to penetrate my slightly parted lips. At the time I didn't recognize that this was merely a softening up sortie, probing for weak spots and implanting little sprigs of gluttony that would later sprout like weeds. Anyway I was just poking about in the freezer compartment when suddenly from within a cylindrical container there came forth hordes of calories; some in brown uniforms, others in white. They just kept coming and coming. I couldn't stop them. The scary part was the way they forced my hand to move the spoon back and forth between the container and my mouth, over and over and over again. They showed no mercy and laughed as they shed their peppermint particles all over the alimentary landing strip that is my tongue. It was just horrible.

Later, as I roused myself from my stupor and rose from the floor up onto my hands and knees, I saw the empty carton lying nearby. On the outside was printed, "Simone's I Scream." Really.