More Space = Faster Idiots

It's something in the human psyche, it just has to be.

I travel the same 35 mile stretch of US-23 in Michigan, twice a day.  Once north, and once south.  On this predominately two-lane highway, are two four-lane passing zones.  In these two areas, the two-lane road opens up to four lanes, two going north, two going south, they are about 2 miles long. 

The problem I have, is that sometimes, when following someone who can't seem to go faster than 45 or 50 mph in the two lane section; they speed up to 55 or 60 mph in the four lane passing area.  This wouldn't be so bad, except that they slow right back down to their previous agonizingly slow speed as soon as they reach the end of the passing zone.

I could interpret this as someone intentionally being a jerk.  And I have a few times.  But too many different people do it for it to be that.  I think it happens to people who aren't using their cruise control, and something in their head tells them the safe speed they should be going. 

Their safe default speed for the more constricted two lane areas, becomes higher when suddenly presented with the open area of the four lane zones.

But it still aggravates me.  To pull out to pass the person who was going 50 mph not 5 seconds ago, only to find them matching my passing speed of 60 mph.  It's hard not to take it personally.  Especially when I have to speed to 65 to get past them before the end of the zone, and I know full well that the state police like to stake out the exit area of the passing zones.  Probably for this very reason.

This was more of a rant, than a worry.  I'll try to stay more on topic.

Cheers

1000 Lookie-Loos

Thank you, thank you.  My adoring fans.

I've gotten 1,000 views on my Fritz365 poetry project blog as of today.  Thank you, if you were one of those that took the time to look, and peruse something of mine.  And if you haven't, give it a try.  It only hurts for a minute or two. 

I don't know where I'm going, but I do know where I've been.  Here's to (roughly) another 6 1/2 months of bad poetry.

Cheers all.

blur

I have a bit of a fever at this moment.  Forgive the rambling.

My life of late has been a blur.  Of going to and from work, working, and kids.  Sometimes sitting and watching some Netflix too, of course.  I sit down and write a poem or two every day, or every other day.  Keeps me thinking.  And need fodder for the poetry blog of course.

Chipmunks in my garage.  I'm a little miffed about that.  They've emptied four trays of D-con.  I'm getting ready to try the chipmunk swimming pool (of death).  I like chipmunks, so I hate doing it.  But If they've wrecked anything of value in storage, I'll hear about it for years.

I know this, because mice chewed on my wife's leather jacket, when we lived in Greenbush.  And I've not heard the end of it yet.  12 years later, lol.  But, it was important to her, in her defense.

Off to the mines!  Unremarkable times! 

Cheers you people.

Clint Eastwood Was Near My Dad Once

I was just thinking about stuff, as I'm wont to do.  And I suddenly recalled my father telling me of one of his trips to San Francisco.  When he went on his business trips, he liked to get out and walk around.  Sometimes, a lot.  When he went to SF, he walked all over the place, way more than I ever would have.  He took a few pictures too.  One of them, was of Clint Eastwood.

My father was no fanboy, but he liked Clint's work.  It just so happened that my father was there when they were shooting the Deadpool movie, the last (?) Dirty Harry movie.  Dad was walking around near where they were filming, and someone told him that a particular trailer was Clint Eastwood's, and that Clint would be walking back from the set in a few minutes. 

So, Dad, being not a fanboy, and not wanting to bug Mr. Eastwood, sits down on a park bench along the sidewalk that leads to the trailer.  And waits.  In a little bit, Clint comes walking down the sidewalk, and my dad shoots two pictures of him.  Holding his camera on his lap, so as not to be just another asshole with a camera.  My dad said, "Hello", and Clint Eastwood also said, "Hello".  And that was that. 

I can now say, that Clint Eastwood was near my dad once. 

I hope to never write "Clint Eastwood" so many times in one thing, ever again.  No offense to the man. 

Cheers

I was gonna

I'm having a bad case of the "I was gonna's".

I was gonna write about how I'm a racist, in an ironic way.  But for some reason, it's falling flat for me.

Here, you decide:

Here, in the great North Country of Michigan, where I work for an airline.  We had a muslim working with us.  I guess you might call him a Muslim, with a capital M.  He wore what I picture as an "ethnic" shirt, sort of a tunic looking thing, and his white knit head covering, and he took time out to pray during the day.

My reaction to him working here, was much more mild than some I have talked to, but, I can't pat myself on the back.  Because, every time I looked at him, I had bad feelings.  Not to trust him, didn't want to be around him, etc.  And then, then, I'd be angry at myself, immediately, for feeling like that.  And I'd have silly discussions with myself in my head, all about how silly I was being.  As a matter of fact, I'd get so upset with myself for how I was feeling about him, that I'd come right back around to wishing he wasn't around, so that I wouldn't have to feel all the racist guilt. 

Fucked up, huh. 

It's the closest I've come to real self reflection in a while. 

I DO have racist feelings, quite often.  It's based on many things, the people I'm around, incidents in my past, and all the things I'm exposed to.  Just like everything else. 

I keep these feelings inside.  I never utter the N-word aloud anymore (thanks Phil!), which in itself is worthy of a discussion, as the 'not' saying of a word, while still saying it, so to speak, just gives the word more power.  Just like the whole "he who shall not be named" thing, with Voldemort.  In that book, you know.

But I digress, totally.

I keep my racism in check.  Because I know it's the right thing to do.  Be nice, be fair, be kind.  No matter what the person looks like. 

I hope that if I set a good example, my children might grow up without all the racist baggage that I was saddled with.  Maybe they won't have to hide it inside, and feel bad about themselves for it.

I don't know where I was going with this, nor where I came from.  So that's it.

cheers

Blocked & Blue

I've been feeling a little blocked lately.  Can't seem to get on board with any of the ideas that cross my head to do for the poetry project.  Oh well.  I have a few in the can, and I can always write some crappy ones.  If that's the best I can do.  haha 

Do it, even if it's crap.  In the end, you'll learn something from it.  Someone said that, but I don't know who.  And Googling it, would be just too damn hard.  Copy and paste wears my ass out.

I wanted to write here about my early sexual adventures, but I don't feel much into it.  Not feeling into much the last few days.

With the slightly warmer weather, my Geo Metro is getting it's really good mileage again.  It dropped down to 45 mpg or so over the winter, but it's back to 52 mpg again.  That's a good thing.  I think the difference is due in part to the gearbox oil.  I have some better variable viscosity oil I got a few months ago.  But I'm too lazy to put it in.  Sloth, strikes again.  Say, I still have to write the "Sloth" entry for the seven deadly sins series.  I mentioned that I think.  I have Greed, Lust, and Gluttony done.  they're not half bad, by my standards anyways. 

I made the discovery of the "Seven Virtues"  as well, so I guess I'll have to do them too.  Kind of to complete the set so to speak.  Or maybe it's just the OCD in me.

Someone accused me of being cynical today.  I don't think I was.  I was just feeling depressed, why?  you ask?  Well I got up didn't I?

To quote myself:  "I have so far been denied the kiss of eternal sleep.  And it pisses me off"

So myself, I say, "Have patience, things like that come in their own time." 

I sure hope so, because sometimes, it would just feel pretty fucking good to just never get up again.

Cheers

Peers in the rain

I've had death and fathers on my mind for the better part of a week now.  The 6th (?) anniversary of my own father's death was a couple weeks ago.  And two close co-workers have lost their own father in the last week as well.  It has inspired some reflection on such things.

When I was a child, I pretty much worshipped my father.  He told no lies, and did no wrong.  As I got older, that sort of hero worship faded.  Eventualy culminating in my late teens, where I acted like he told mostly lies and did almost everything wrong. 

Then there was a long curve of going back to respecting him completely.  Which didn't come to full fruition until a couple years before he died. 

I lost all those years, where I wasn't interested in what he had to say, or his history, and opinons.  I am shamed to think on this now.

I visited his grave today, for the first time in more than a year.  It was raining. 

I've written a little thing about this, for the poetry blog.  I'm saving it for Father's Day though, I think.