Perception.
I’ve had reason to think about this a bit, of late, never mind why.
A lot of us go through life, assessing ourselves based on how we perceive others.
We know we shouldn’t, but….
Person A always has their shit together, Person B’s always so upbeat and positive, I do /do not stack up in comparison.
Why can’t I be like ______? They’ve a nicer car, always look well turned out, are obviously more successful and more refined and more together and having more sex and….. You get the idea.
I try to avoid this pitfall, comparing my life to others, and finding my life… wanting.
It’s MY life, the only one I got, the only one I have any control of, and I’m plugging away at it.
And, honestly, the lives that others may or may not actually be living's got nothing to do with me.
Easy enough philosophy in theory, a bit harder to stick with in the day to day.
Other people’s lives…. You’ve no idea, really, about them, do you?
You don’t get to see the little man behind the curtain, usually. You get to see the great and powerful Oz.
Hold on… with proper emphasis: The GREAT and POWERFUL OOOOOOOOZZZZZ!
And how do you expect you’ll stack up against HIM?
I mean, geezus, he’s great AND powerful!
And you, at any given time, might feel like the lion, the tin man, or the scarecrow.
You’re kinda screwed, when making that comparison.
So try not to.
Because the great and powerful Oz is really just a regular joe huddled behind a curtain, frantically spinning dials and knobs.
No knock on anybody for doing this.
We’re all frantically spinning dials and knobs.
We're all the tin man, the lion and the scarecrow.
(I was Dorothy once, but it was a costume party, and I had lost a bet, and there was tequila involved, and... nah. made that last part up.)
Y'see, here's the scoop:
The person who’s always got themselves together is on three different medications.
The one with the sweet car and the nice hair lives in a house smaller than yours, and is sad most of the time, when they allow themselves to be.
The person whom you met and want to be-friend, but they seem on a different level than you? They’re almost embarrassingly excited when you finally suggest you meet for coffee. Turns out, they're really shy, and lacking in self-confidence.
The person to whom you aspire to be, might even… Listen to country music and… own cats.
More than one!!!!
(shudders)
And I find that this to be comforting, and like them more for it.
Except maybe the "listens to country music" part…
Friday, August 19, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
A man and his dog entertain the masses
Dusk, Wednesday night.
The man and his dog were finishing up their walking route.
They need only to safely cross the street at the dreaded four way stop, and they'd be seconds away from their front door.
They started to cross, going south, when the Lincoln in the east bound lane, slows, but does not stop, and eases into the intersection, a foot or so in front of the man and his dog.
The man is ill-pleased.
"That's a stop sign!" he hollers to the older man and his two friends who are in the Lincoln.
"And I have the right of way!"
The man knows that this action is futile. But he gets crabby, and occasionally- yelling helps.
He's almost finished crossing, when he hears it.
Applause.
He looks up, and notices a jeep with four high-school aged boys in it. It had pulled up behind the Lincoln at the intersection and was currently waiting for the man to finish crossing. The boys were.....clapping.
"F*ck yeah!" one of the jeep's passengers yells out.
"You tell him, dude!" another one adds.
The man is embarassed by the attention, and feels like a dork. He grins shamefacedly at the youths in the jeep, and shrugs his shoulders.
"Have a nice evening." Comes from the Jeep, as it pulls into the intersection and continues down the road.
Thanks boys, you too.
The man and his dog were finishing up their walking route.
They need only to safely cross the street at the dreaded four way stop, and they'd be seconds away from their front door.
They started to cross, going south, when the Lincoln in the east bound lane, slows, but does not stop, and eases into the intersection, a foot or so in front of the man and his dog.
The man is ill-pleased.
"That's a stop sign!" he hollers to the older man and his two friends who are in the Lincoln.
"And I have the right of way!"
The man knows that this action is futile. But he gets crabby, and occasionally- yelling helps.
He's almost finished crossing, when he hears it.
Applause.
He looks up, and notices a jeep with four high-school aged boys in it. It had pulled up behind the Lincoln at the intersection and was currently waiting for the man to finish crossing. The boys were.....clapping.
"F*ck yeah!" one of the jeep's passengers yells out.
"You tell him, dude!" another one adds.
The man is embarassed by the attention, and feels like a dork. He grins shamefacedly at the youths in the jeep, and shrugs his shoulders.
"Have a nice evening." Comes from the Jeep, as it pulls into the intersection and continues down the road.
Thanks boys, you too.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Thoughts on being Fiona's dad, on her 4th birthday
So, my daughter turns 4 years old today.
Holy crap.
Time, as they say, flies.
She is, to get right to it, everything we could have asked for, and everything we dreamed of, in a child.
At every stage, we were given bad odds or doom and gloom.
Odds are 3-1 against us getting pregnant and carrying to term.
Many months in, we were told there was 10% chance of her having special needs. Then it was all about how kids who were conceived as she was had higher percentage of slow development in sitting up by themselves, etc etc etc.
We spent so much time… Worried.
Geezus we worried.
And when we’d start to relax, just a bit, we’d get hit with the next scary statistic, unreliable test result, asshole doctor… We HATED the asshole doctor...
But then, all the sudden… there she was. And was on the small side and maybe not 100% “done” before she came out, and she didn’t sleep, and wouldn’t let us put her down (as if either of us wanted to…), and cried a lot, and she was… perfect.
And as she grew, and we continued to not screw up too bad; we watched her like a hawk for slow development and she always seemed to develop at the slow end of range and she was… perfect.
She tripled her birth weight in the first year, exceeding expectation; her doctor was thrilled for the 4 minutes he spent with us, $20 please, and we rejoiced.
And we were constantly tired, and anxious, and worried, and excited and happy and felt like the luckiest people in the world. The really tired luckiest people in the world, but still...
And then she started talking, a lot, while steadfastly refusing to walk, and we had pictures of her CRAWLING off to university at age 14. That ought to keep her from dating, at least...
And we started to realize what a great sense of humor she had, how she asked very wise questions for a two year old, and that we should really be writing down a lot of what she said. So we started to do so, and she was perfect.
And we realized that while she was really smart, she was also a complete dreamer, and tended to be off in her own world a bit, and we worried about it, and asked her teachers about it, and they chuckled and patted us on the head, basically, and told us we really needn’t worry.
And now she’s four, and utterly charming, and sweet, and pretty darn even-keeled, and a good sport and a great traveler, and is now singing along to the music I used to sing along with, to put her to sleep, when she was a baby.
And she makes me laugh, all the time.
Except when she very earnestly tells me that I’m being crabby, and she doesn’t like it when I’m crabby, and maybe I should stop being crabby. Then she makes me cry, a little, though she doesn’t know it.
But I stop being crabby, at least for a little while.
My daughter’s four years old today, and she is sure she grew taller overnight.
She might be right.
And she was excited to go to camp/ preschool today because there would be yoga, and because she got to take stuff to give to her classmates, and this is HUGE, obviously.
Tonite there will be cake and presents and family, and I’ll likely not sleep well because I STILL have an ear tuned to hear her in the night. Tomorrow there will be ½ dozen four year olds at my door for a “Girl Pirate” party, and it’s going to be loud, and chaotic, and perhaps head-ache inducing and… Perfect.
And I still feel like the luckiest man in the whole world, when I think about it.
Happy birthday, darlin’
Holy crap.
Time, as they say, flies.
She is, to get right to it, everything we could have asked for, and everything we dreamed of, in a child.
At every stage, we were given bad odds or doom and gloom.
Odds are 3-1 against us getting pregnant and carrying to term.
Many months in, we were told there was 10% chance of her having special needs. Then it was all about how kids who were conceived as she was had higher percentage of slow development in sitting up by themselves, etc etc etc.
We spent so much time… Worried.
Geezus we worried.
And when we’d start to relax, just a bit, we’d get hit with the next scary statistic, unreliable test result, asshole doctor… We HATED the asshole doctor...
But then, all the sudden… there she was. And was on the small side and maybe not 100% “done” before she came out, and she didn’t sleep, and wouldn’t let us put her down (as if either of us wanted to…), and cried a lot, and she was… perfect.
And as she grew, and we continued to not screw up too bad; we watched her like a hawk for slow development and she always seemed to develop at the slow end of range and she was… perfect.
She tripled her birth weight in the first year, exceeding expectation; her doctor was thrilled for the 4 minutes he spent with us, $20 please, and we rejoiced.
And we were constantly tired, and anxious, and worried, and excited and happy and felt like the luckiest people in the world. The really tired luckiest people in the world, but still...
And then she started talking, a lot, while steadfastly refusing to walk, and we had pictures of her CRAWLING off to university at age 14. That ought to keep her from dating, at least...
And we started to realize what a great sense of humor she had, how she asked very wise questions for a two year old, and that we should really be writing down a lot of what she said. So we started to do so, and she was perfect.
And we realized that while she was really smart, she was also a complete dreamer, and tended to be off in her own world a bit, and we worried about it, and asked her teachers about it, and they chuckled and patted us on the head, basically, and told us we really needn’t worry.
And now she’s four, and utterly charming, and sweet, and pretty darn even-keeled, and a good sport and a great traveler, and is now singing along to the music I used to sing along with, to put her to sleep, when she was a baby.
And she makes me laugh, all the time.
Except when she very earnestly tells me that I’m being crabby, and she doesn’t like it when I’m crabby, and maybe I should stop being crabby. Then she makes me cry, a little, though she doesn’t know it.
But I stop being crabby, at least for a little while.
My daughter’s four years old today, and she is sure she grew taller overnight.
She might be right.
And she was excited to go to camp/ preschool today because there would be yoga, and because she got to take stuff to give to her classmates, and this is HUGE, obviously.
Tonite there will be cake and presents and family, and I’ll likely not sleep well because I STILL have an ear tuned to hear her in the night. Tomorrow there will be ½ dozen four year olds at my door for a “Girl Pirate” party, and it’s going to be loud, and chaotic, and perhaps head-ache inducing and… Perfect.
And I still feel like the luckiest man in the whole world, when I think about it.
Happy birthday, darlin’
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Thoughts on Driving in OH, childhood stories, and “I’m pretty sure that used to be more fun…”
Spent the last couple of days in Sandusky, OH.
Met some friends at Castaway Bay resort and water park.
Spent a day at Cedar Point, and the rest of the time at the water park.
It was great fun, and I ended up feeling like one of those guys in the commercials; the ones where the dad comes away feeling more connected with his family than he was before they went.
And I already felt connected, before leaving. My daughter's a trooper and a half, and my wife's a great traveling companion.
Anyhow...
I think the last time I was at Cedar Point was…. 1987. I might have gone with my buddy, Dave Burke. Not even sure about that.
I just remember getting chastised by my bandmates, because I was going to miss one whole rehearsal, the week before our first (we only ended up playing two) gigs.
In a band that was, by design, only going to last until school started up for everyone in the fall.
I was young in 1987. Standing in long lines to get on rides that simulated car accidents was an awesome time. And did I worry about stuff like dehydration and sunscreen when I was 19 years old?
Puh-leaze!
So 43 year old me got to go with my wife and nearly 4 year old daughter. And hydration and sunscreen were much bigger deal. And standing in line was a much bigger deal.
And we had a fantastic time together, mostly hanging in the three different kiddy areas, with occasional forays to rides we could all go on together. We were all riding in a Model A Ford, when the sky opened up and poured rain down upon us, for instance, and all three of us thought that was pretty darn fun.
I hit three roller coasters in quick succession upon entering the park, with the other husband/dad. I described the third one we were on, The Maverick, as akin to ”Riding a bull, whilst getting punched in the face”.
Repeatedly.
Later in the evening, we went back to the park and got on a couple more. I found that, unlike when I was 19, I spent most of the time just holding on real tight and hoping for the best.
While I will continue to go on them, I’m pretty sure that roller coasters used to be more fun.
My daughter’s obsessed on hearing stories from our childhood. I’m not sure she’s actually listening, nor filing them away, but she has an unlimited desire to hear more and more.
I made some up.
Told her about how grandma and grandpa used to keep me in a cage when I was little.
Told her I was joking afterwards.
Last night we took my mom to dinner on the way home from Sandusky, and she told grandma she didn’t think I was joking, when I told her about the cage.
Uh…. Check please.
All the way home, she kept asking for more. I realized, fairly early on, that I didn’t have a lot of stories that I remembered from my own childhood, that she would find interesting.
I’d tell her a story, she’d want to know what toys I had during that story, if there was a pet involved, etc. I'd tell her about riding my bike to the park to fish in the creek with my buddy Rick, and she'd add people to my story, to the point where there were.. 5 of us fishing in the creek, including my brother, and also my brother-in-law, who I would not meet until I was in my 20's.
Or I’d finish a story, and she’d ask “Is that story over?”
Yep, it’s over.
Hey, if I’m boring you, we could listen to music for awhile, or drive in companionable silence…. “Tell me another story!”
Alrighty.
I forget, since I don’t do it very often, that driving on the OH turnpike…sucks. A lot.
Driving anywhere in OH can be interesting, as many of the folks there did not ever embrace the change of speed limit from 55 to 65 or 70 on the interstates. It’s like they still think it’s a trick, to hand out more speeding tickets. And given the reputation of the OH state police, they have every right to be cautious about it…
But the OH turnpike… extra primo bad.
The service plazas are, largely, dumps.
“Hey, this one says they have a Uno’s, an Einstein Bagel and a hot dog joint!”
And you pull in, get out of the car, and find that it has a convenience store, with a microwave, and that microwave is the Uno’s, the Einstein Bagel and the hot dog joint.
On the plus side, over 50% the toilets are NOT either bagged up or clogged. I like those odds!
But at least the actual driving part is terrifying and frustrating as well.
One person’s doing 60 in the left lane, the next person’s weaving back and forth across the center line, and 5 minutes later an emergency vehicle passes us on the shoulder, and keeps on driving up the shoulder, because noone will get over for it.
A greyhound bus literally ignores the lights and sirens and keeps it from passing and getting to… what ends up being a really bad accident.
There’s a van that looks like it was dropped from the sky blocking a lane, which angers truckers, apparently, because one of THEM in turn ran me off the goddamn highway moments later, because… he wanted to change lanes RIGHT NOW, and the fact that I happened to be in it…. Not his problem.
It’s the same guy who had just leaned on his horn and sped forward at the accident site, making sure that noone could get over in front of him to go around the van and emergency vehicles.
Of course he ignored me as I leaned on my horn as he steered me off the road, doing 60 mph. I had to gun it to pass him on the shoulder to keep from going into a ditch, and got the bird for my troubles.
So to sum up: crappy facilities, bad driving, psychotic truck drivers… oh yeah and multiple construction zones.
And you pay for the privilege.
Last time I drove this stretch, I watched the car in front of me veer off the otherwise empty highway, smack against a guard rail, bounce back onto the highway and keep on going like nothing happened.
It takes a special kind of driving experience to make me look forward to crossing the border and entering Indiana.
Met some friends at Castaway Bay resort and water park.
Spent a day at Cedar Point, and the rest of the time at the water park.
It was great fun, and I ended up feeling like one of those guys in the commercials; the ones where the dad comes away feeling more connected with his family than he was before they went.
And I already felt connected, before leaving. My daughter's a trooper and a half, and my wife's a great traveling companion.
Anyhow...
I think the last time I was at Cedar Point was…. 1987. I might have gone with my buddy, Dave Burke. Not even sure about that.
I just remember getting chastised by my bandmates, because I was going to miss one whole rehearsal, the week before our first (we only ended up playing two) gigs.
In a band that was, by design, only going to last until school started up for everyone in the fall.
I was young in 1987. Standing in long lines to get on rides that simulated car accidents was an awesome time. And did I worry about stuff like dehydration and sunscreen when I was 19 years old?
Puh-leaze!
So 43 year old me got to go with my wife and nearly 4 year old daughter. And hydration and sunscreen were much bigger deal. And standing in line was a much bigger deal.
And we had a fantastic time together, mostly hanging in the three different kiddy areas, with occasional forays to rides we could all go on together. We were all riding in a Model A Ford, when the sky opened up and poured rain down upon us, for instance, and all three of us thought that was pretty darn fun.
I hit three roller coasters in quick succession upon entering the park, with the other husband/dad. I described the third one we were on, The Maverick, as akin to ”Riding a bull, whilst getting punched in the face”.
Repeatedly.
Later in the evening, we went back to the park and got on a couple more. I found that, unlike when I was 19, I spent most of the time just holding on real tight and hoping for the best.
While I will continue to go on them, I’m pretty sure that roller coasters used to be more fun.
My daughter’s obsessed on hearing stories from our childhood. I’m not sure she’s actually listening, nor filing them away, but she has an unlimited desire to hear more and more.
I made some up.
Told her about how grandma and grandpa used to keep me in a cage when I was little.
Told her I was joking afterwards.
Last night we took my mom to dinner on the way home from Sandusky, and she told grandma she didn’t think I was joking, when I told her about the cage.
Uh…. Check please.
All the way home, she kept asking for more. I realized, fairly early on, that I didn’t have a lot of stories that I remembered from my own childhood, that she would find interesting.
I’d tell her a story, she’d want to know what toys I had during that story, if there was a pet involved, etc. I'd tell her about riding my bike to the park to fish in the creek with my buddy Rick, and she'd add people to my story, to the point where there were.. 5 of us fishing in the creek, including my brother, and also my brother-in-law, who I would not meet until I was in my 20's.
Or I’d finish a story, and she’d ask “Is that story over?”
Yep, it’s over.
Hey, if I’m boring you, we could listen to music for awhile, or drive in companionable silence…. “Tell me another story!”
Alrighty.
I forget, since I don’t do it very often, that driving on the OH turnpike…sucks. A lot.
Driving anywhere in OH can be interesting, as many of the folks there did not ever embrace the change of speed limit from 55 to 65 or 70 on the interstates. It’s like they still think it’s a trick, to hand out more speeding tickets. And given the reputation of the OH state police, they have every right to be cautious about it…
But the OH turnpike… extra primo bad.
The service plazas are, largely, dumps.
“Hey, this one says they have a Uno’s, an Einstein Bagel and a hot dog joint!”
And you pull in, get out of the car, and find that it has a convenience store, with a microwave, and that microwave is the Uno’s, the Einstein Bagel and the hot dog joint.
On the plus side, over 50% the toilets are NOT either bagged up or clogged. I like those odds!
But at least the actual driving part is terrifying and frustrating as well.
One person’s doing 60 in the left lane, the next person’s weaving back and forth across the center line, and 5 minutes later an emergency vehicle passes us on the shoulder, and keeps on driving up the shoulder, because noone will get over for it.
A greyhound bus literally ignores the lights and sirens and keeps it from passing and getting to… what ends up being a really bad accident.
There’s a van that looks like it was dropped from the sky blocking a lane, which angers truckers, apparently, because one of THEM in turn ran me off the goddamn highway moments later, because… he wanted to change lanes RIGHT NOW, and the fact that I happened to be in it…. Not his problem.
It’s the same guy who had just leaned on his horn and sped forward at the accident site, making sure that noone could get over in front of him to go around the van and emergency vehicles.
Of course he ignored me as I leaned on my horn as he steered me off the road, doing 60 mph. I had to gun it to pass him on the shoulder to keep from going into a ditch, and got the bird for my troubles.
So to sum up: crappy facilities, bad driving, psychotic truck drivers… oh yeah and multiple construction zones.
And you pay for the privilege.
Last time I drove this stretch, I watched the car in front of me veer off the otherwise empty highway, smack against a guard rail, bounce back onto the highway and keep on going like nothing happened.
It takes a special kind of driving experience to make me look forward to crossing the border and entering Indiana.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Winnie the Pooh, Stephen King and Ripon, Wisconsin
It all started innocently enough.
A few minutes spent looking at a map, checking out what was between point A and point B.
That's all.
We had slack time built into the drive, it was through a part of the country we'd never seen before, so we checked out our battered atlas.
"Hey, Ripon's kind of on the way, and only about a half hour or so south of our destination. Let's route so that we can check it out."
We had a week to kill at our cabin rental in middle-of-nowhere, WI, and a potentially cool town, a half hour away, sounded like something we should investigate.
Really, if we'd been paying attention, we were given a warning before it was actually too late. But at the time, it just seemed like one of those things.
Directions from the mapping website told us to get off the main highway, 151, and onto a secondary highway, 26.
Which led us through miles of farm land until eventually, after 30+ minutes, bringing us back to... Hwy 151.
Yes, we were instructed to get off the highway, for the sole purpose of driving through nothing for 40+ minutes until we were BACK to the same highway from which we started.
But, we continued to follow the directions as outlined, even while commenting on how odd they had been thus far.
We had a plan, dammit.
And we were gonna stick to it.
5 miles further up highway 151, we were instructed to get off, and onto highway 26, AGAIN. And we did.
Because taking 151 straight to the interstate and onto our destination from THERE would be BORING, and we were on VACATION, and we wanted to SIGHT SEE, mapping website logic be damned....
Anyhow, our second time on highway 26 was uneventful, and we eventually ended up in Ripon, just like the print outs said we'd be.
And it looked like a cute town, worthy of a return visit, and life was good.
For a moment.
But the moment passed, and everything turned bad.
We exited the west side of Ripon, and were immediately back in remote farm country, without ever having seen any signs for highway 44. Highway 44 was our alleged hook up, so to speak. It went north out of Ripon, according to our directions and the atlas, and would eventually connect us to 116, a road I'd traveled on before, and one that would lead us straight to our destination.
Highway 44 did not appear to exist, in real life. We were out of town, and there was no signs for HWY 44, and we were headed west through more middle of nowhere without a plan.
My wife looked at the map.
"We'll be ok, I think." she said.
"About 5 miles up, there's a north south, #71, that should take us to to Hwy 21, which we can take back east to 116. "
We were still lighthearted about our drive, approaching the bad directions and lack of signs with good humour.
For another 5 miles, until we saw the sign that our road would be closed, just ahead, and we were to turn south to detour.
The lightheartedness ended, as we detoured south as directed, further away from our destination.
My wife, always the trooper, checked the map.
"No, no. I think we'll still be ok, because we should still cross 71, and we'll just be on it for a bit longer."
2 minutes later, we came to highway 71, and....It was closed, too.
"Well, hell." My navigator said.
"I'm out of ideas, we have to go back to Ripon."
And we did.
And the round trip to end up where we started? 35 minutes.
My daughter woke up from her nap as we were checking out the map for our next attempt to successfully leave Ripon and ultimately reach our destination.
"Are we at the cottage yet?" she sleepily asked.
"Nope." I answer.
"When will we be there?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, darlin."
My navigator looked up from the map.
"County Road F heads NE out of Berlin, and will eventually run into Hwy 21....."
Which I know will lead to Omro, where I can pick up 116 to Winneconne....
Let's do it!
Except once I was on what appeared to be County Road F, it meandered in a SE direction, until we found ourselves... Back in Ripon.
I made a terse joke about how it was actually County Road FU....
For those keeping score.... 45 more minutes to end up back where we started... again.
We
Could
Not
Get
Out
Of
Ripon.
And it was beginning to be a bit unnerving, for a guy that prides himself on finding places, picking the right routes, knowing what direction I'm going, all the time....
I grew up on Stephen King novels and old Twilight Zone episodes, and I'd just ended up back in the same town for the 3rd time, unable to leave it.....
My mind started to wander.
Would we discover that the town itself was evil, and preyed on random travelers?
Would I come across a huge fertilizer plant with car carriers full of out of state cars parked out front, and make the horrifying realization that WE were the fertilizer?
Would I have to steal WI license plates to disguise my car from the local sheriff and his men (all possessed by a long buried demon of course), long enough to escape via some random country road to god-knows-where?
"Are we there yet?" my daughter asked again, pulling me back from my thoughts of demons and evil in America's heartland.
Another literary influence popped into my mind, and I started to smile.
I thought about Winnie The Pooh.
The story where Pooh, Piglet and Rabbit were lost, and kept on ending up at the same sand pit, when looking for a way home.
Pooh, the bear with very little brain, decided they should try to find the sand pit again, instead of a path out of the woods, and by doing so, guarantee that the would not end up back at the sand pit...
In other words, they should stop looking for a way out of the woods.
"That road, right there. It heads north, and looks like a major road." I tell my wife, as I put the car back in gear, and head out of the parking lot of the empty store where we had stopped to look at the map again.
.
"Ok..."
"We're taking it."
"To where?" My wife asks.
"Does it really matter at this point?" I ask in return.
I threw the Pooh reference at her, she laughed.
2 miles up the random road, we found out we were on HWY 44, the very road we needed to be on in the first place.
Lightheartedness returned.
Music was turned back on.
When my daughter asked me "When will we be there?" a minute later, I could actually give her an answer.
Hwy 44 did exactly what the map said it was supposed to do. We continued on without incident.
Our 2 hour trip did, in fact, take more than 4 hours.
We decided we did not need to visit Ripon again, though we figured we'd end up back there at some point, completely by accident.
But I was comforted in the knowledge that when this DOES happen, I now know what NOT to do to fix it.
Thanks Pooh.
A few minutes spent looking at a map, checking out what was between point A and point B.
That's all.
We had slack time built into the drive, it was through a part of the country we'd never seen before, so we checked out our battered atlas.
"Hey, Ripon's kind of on the way, and only about a half hour or so south of our destination. Let's route so that we can check it out."
We had a week to kill at our cabin rental in middle-of-nowhere, WI, and a potentially cool town, a half hour away, sounded like something we should investigate.
Really, if we'd been paying attention, we were given a warning before it was actually too late. But at the time, it just seemed like one of those things.
Directions from the mapping website told us to get off the main highway, 151, and onto a secondary highway, 26.
Which led us through miles of farm land until eventually, after 30+ minutes, bringing us back to... Hwy 151.
Yes, we were instructed to get off the highway, for the sole purpose of driving through nothing for 40+ minutes until we were BACK to the same highway from which we started.
But, we continued to follow the directions as outlined, even while commenting on how odd they had been thus far.
We had a plan, dammit.
And we were gonna stick to it.
5 miles further up highway 151, we were instructed to get off, and onto highway 26, AGAIN. And we did.
Because taking 151 straight to the interstate and onto our destination from THERE would be BORING, and we were on VACATION, and we wanted to SIGHT SEE, mapping website logic be damned....
Anyhow, our second time on highway 26 was uneventful, and we eventually ended up in Ripon, just like the print outs said we'd be.
And it looked like a cute town, worthy of a return visit, and life was good.
For a moment.
But the moment passed, and everything turned bad.
We exited the west side of Ripon, and were immediately back in remote farm country, without ever having seen any signs for highway 44. Highway 44 was our alleged hook up, so to speak. It went north out of Ripon, according to our directions and the atlas, and would eventually connect us to 116, a road I'd traveled on before, and one that would lead us straight to our destination.
Highway 44 did not appear to exist, in real life. We were out of town, and there was no signs for HWY 44, and we were headed west through more middle of nowhere without a plan.
My wife looked at the map.
"We'll be ok, I think." she said.
"About 5 miles up, there's a north south, #71, that should take us to to Hwy 21, which we can take back east to 116. "
We were still lighthearted about our drive, approaching the bad directions and lack of signs with good humour.
For another 5 miles, until we saw the sign that our road would be closed, just ahead, and we were to turn south to detour.
The lightheartedness ended, as we detoured south as directed, further away from our destination.
My wife, always the trooper, checked the map.
"No, no. I think we'll still be ok, because we should still cross 71, and we'll just be on it for a bit longer."
2 minutes later, we came to highway 71, and....It was closed, too.
"Well, hell." My navigator said.
"I'm out of ideas, we have to go back to Ripon."
And we did.
And the round trip to end up where we started? 35 minutes.
My daughter woke up from her nap as we were checking out the map for our next attempt to successfully leave Ripon and ultimately reach our destination.
"Are we at the cottage yet?" she sleepily asked.
"Nope." I answer.
"When will we be there?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, darlin."
My navigator looked up from the map.
"County Road F heads NE out of Berlin, and will eventually run into Hwy 21....."
Which I know will lead to Omro, where I can pick up 116 to Winneconne....
Let's do it!
Except once I was on what appeared to be County Road F, it meandered in a SE direction, until we found ourselves... Back in Ripon.
I made a terse joke about how it was actually County Road FU....
For those keeping score.... 45 more minutes to end up back where we started... again.
We
Could
Not
Get
Out
Of
Ripon.
And it was beginning to be a bit unnerving, for a guy that prides himself on finding places, picking the right routes, knowing what direction I'm going, all the time....
I grew up on Stephen King novels and old Twilight Zone episodes, and I'd just ended up back in the same town for the 3rd time, unable to leave it.....
My mind started to wander.
Would we discover that the town itself was evil, and preyed on random travelers?
Would I come across a huge fertilizer plant with car carriers full of out of state cars parked out front, and make the horrifying realization that WE were the fertilizer?
Would I have to steal WI license plates to disguise my car from the local sheriff and his men (all possessed by a long buried demon of course), long enough to escape via some random country road to god-knows-where?
"Are we there yet?" my daughter asked again, pulling me back from my thoughts of demons and evil in America's heartland.
Another literary influence popped into my mind, and I started to smile.
I thought about Winnie The Pooh.
The story where Pooh, Piglet and Rabbit were lost, and kept on ending up at the same sand pit, when looking for a way home.
Pooh, the bear with very little brain, decided they should try to find the sand pit again, instead of a path out of the woods, and by doing so, guarantee that the would not end up back at the sand pit...
In other words, they should stop looking for a way out of the woods.
"That road, right there. It heads north, and looks like a major road." I tell my wife, as I put the car back in gear, and head out of the parking lot of the empty store where we had stopped to look at the map again.
.
"Ok..."
"We're taking it."
"To where?" My wife asks.
"Does it really matter at this point?" I ask in return.
I threw the Pooh reference at her, she laughed.
2 miles up the random road, we found out we were on HWY 44, the very road we needed to be on in the first place.
Lightheartedness returned.
Music was turned back on.
When my daughter asked me "When will we be there?" a minute later, I could actually give her an answer.
Hwy 44 did exactly what the map said it was supposed to do. We continued on without incident.
Our 2 hour trip did, in fact, take more than 4 hours.
We decided we did not need to visit Ripon again, though we figured we'd end up back there at some point, completely by accident.
But I was comforted in the knowledge that when this DOES happen, I now know what NOT to do to fix it.
Thanks Pooh.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Three O'clock High, and notes on "Trying"
Buddy Revell: You know what Mitchell? You're the biggest #$#^%^& I've ever seen in my life. You didn't even try. How does that FEEL?
Watched a great, if tragically overlooked, film a few nights ago, On Demand.
Three O’Clock High.
A story about a pretty regular high school kid who manages to piss off the new-to-school bully before 9am, and spends the rest of the day going to ridiculous extremes to avoid having to fight him after school.
Pretty basic plot, but was done in a very entertaining manner. Great little nuances, like how the camera flashes to the clock with increasing frequency as 3pm draws near. Or the fact that Buddy may be a hyper-violent psychopath, but is also secretly a bright student. Add to this some minor characters that don’t quite fit into the John Hughes mold, and other creative camera work, and it was a pleasure to watch.
It ends up being not so much a story about a day in the life of a high school kid, as it is a story about how your life can change, when you decide to man up, so to speak, and simply… try.
From a movie pacing standpoint, the referenced quote’s the midpoint. The Main character was going in one (very bad) direction right up until this point. Then he switches gears / goals - the actual plot changes.
It didn’t strike a big chord with me, when I as 21 and probably not 100% sober and watched it one night at the dump I shared with three other guys at college. It was just a movie, y’know?
But watching it from my current perspective, it resonated.
All the important shit, the big stuff, the A-list things in my life that I value.., they were HARD.
It would have been much easier, at each turn, to not put myself out there, so to speak. Less scary, too.
But if I hadn’t have even tried, I’d probably not have my wife, nor my daughter (certainly not my daughter), nor the job I have.
As examples.
I wish I’d have been so wise, when I was 17, 19, 22….
Switching gears a bit, I’ve a class reunion coming up.
The end of this movie reminded me of something that happened 25, maybe 26 years ago.
There was a guy who showed up for one year. This was not unusual. Our school collected the odd guys; someone who needed a change of venue from wherever they had been going to school. Usually it was an issue of hoping that our school would provide more discipline for the person. Those people rarely stuck around.
Other times, like in the case of Eric, I’d guess someone had hoped that he’d be treated nicer in a smaller, more stable environment…..
He was a dork.
That’s my 17 year old brain memory of him. Goofy, didn’t dress very well, didn’t do particularly well academically, didn’t have very good social skills, bad skin…
My 43 year old brain can assume that by the time he got to us, he was used to playing a role, filling an un-desirable spot on the food chain. We were not his first rodeo.
He suffered through the year, not a lot of friends, probably getting picked on by those who enjoyed that sort of thing. And then it was the last day of school, and he was free of us.
You’d expect a quiet exit, maybe, a sigh of relief as he slides into his car and drives out of the parking lot for the last time.
Nope.
In the parking lot, after school, he gets into a fist fight with one of his biggest tormentors.
And even though he had to have known he was going to lose, he stepped up.
He… tried.
Of course he lost the fight. And he drove out of the parking lot for the last time sore and bloodied. I can only hope that he did so with some pride, having met the adversity head on.
Maybe it changed his life for the better, the notion that a bloody nose, real or metaphorical, stops hurting and bleeding after a bit, but the results of NOT trying can last you a lifetime.
Hiding from your problems can become a lifestyle…
I’m probably over-analyzing it, and over-romanticizing the event.
I’ll let you make up your own mind about that.
And to be honest, I’d not thought about it all for 25 years, until after watching the movie again.
I hope I’m right, though, and that Eric ended up doing well in his life.
Oh, and watch the movie already. It's worth 90 minutes of your life.
Watched a great, if tragically overlooked, film a few nights ago, On Demand.
Three O’Clock High.
A story about a pretty regular high school kid who manages to piss off the new-to-school bully before 9am, and spends the rest of the day going to ridiculous extremes to avoid having to fight him after school.
Pretty basic plot, but was done in a very entertaining manner. Great little nuances, like how the camera flashes to the clock with increasing frequency as 3pm draws near. Or the fact that Buddy may be a hyper-violent psychopath, but is also secretly a bright student. Add to this some minor characters that don’t quite fit into the John Hughes mold, and other creative camera work, and it was a pleasure to watch.
It ends up being not so much a story about a day in the life of a high school kid, as it is a story about how your life can change, when you decide to man up, so to speak, and simply… try.
From a movie pacing standpoint, the referenced quote’s the midpoint. The Main character was going in one (very bad) direction right up until this point. Then he switches gears / goals - the actual plot changes.
It didn’t strike a big chord with me, when I as 21 and probably not 100% sober and watched it one night at the dump I shared with three other guys at college. It was just a movie, y’know?
But watching it from my current perspective, it resonated.
All the important shit, the big stuff, the A-list things in my life that I value.., they were HARD.
It would have been much easier, at each turn, to not put myself out there, so to speak. Less scary, too.
But if I hadn’t have even tried, I’d probably not have my wife, nor my daughter (certainly not my daughter), nor the job I have.
As examples.
I wish I’d have been so wise, when I was 17, 19, 22….
Switching gears a bit, I’ve a class reunion coming up.
The end of this movie reminded me of something that happened 25, maybe 26 years ago.
There was a guy who showed up for one year. This was not unusual. Our school collected the odd guys; someone who needed a change of venue from wherever they had been going to school. Usually it was an issue of hoping that our school would provide more discipline for the person. Those people rarely stuck around.
Other times, like in the case of Eric, I’d guess someone had hoped that he’d be treated nicer in a smaller, more stable environment…..
He was a dork.
That’s my 17 year old brain memory of him. Goofy, didn’t dress very well, didn’t do particularly well academically, didn’t have very good social skills, bad skin…
My 43 year old brain can assume that by the time he got to us, he was used to playing a role, filling an un-desirable spot on the food chain. We were not his first rodeo.
He suffered through the year, not a lot of friends, probably getting picked on by those who enjoyed that sort of thing. And then it was the last day of school, and he was free of us.
You’d expect a quiet exit, maybe, a sigh of relief as he slides into his car and drives out of the parking lot for the last time.
Nope.
In the parking lot, after school, he gets into a fist fight with one of his biggest tormentors.
And even though he had to have known he was going to lose, he stepped up.
He… tried.
Of course he lost the fight. And he drove out of the parking lot for the last time sore and bloodied. I can only hope that he did so with some pride, having met the adversity head on.
Maybe it changed his life for the better, the notion that a bloody nose, real or metaphorical, stops hurting and bleeding after a bit, but the results of NOT trying can last you a lifetime.
Hiding from your problems can become a lifestyle…
I’m probably over-analyzing it, and over-romanticizing the event.
I’ll let you make up your own mind about that.
And to be honest, I’d not thought about it all for 25 years, until after watching the movie again.
I hope I’m right, though, and that Eric ended up doing well in his life.
Oh, and watch the movie already. It's worth 90 minutes of your life.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
A man in a car....
The man dropped off his wife and daughter at the pool, and headed back out into the world with a list of errands. His vacation starts in one week, and there's stuff to be done. Further, he's...exhausted.
Just whipped.
Beat Down.
His daughter had a really bad night, sleep wise, and this means he did, too.
He's on his way to get the Subaru's oil changed, when he realizes the car in front of him is not really driving very well.
"Clown." The irritable man mutters. They stop at a stop light, and when itturns green, the car in front does not go.
"C'mon, you $%$#%^ clown!" he says, more loudly.
The car in front of him finally takes off. The man looks around, to see if there's a way around the car in front, before they get to the next light, where he'll have to turn left.
Nope.
He watches the car in front of him weave slightly, as balloons blow around inside of it, obstructing the other driver's view. He's not at all pleased.
"Please go straight, please go straight" he thinks to himself, as they approach the next stop light.
Nope. The car in front of him slowly eases into the turn lane in front of him. He watches the driver adjust the rearview so that she can look at herself in it. He gets angrier when he sees her lean out the driverside window, to check herself out in the side mirror.
"no way this #$^& clown's paying attention to the light." he says aloud, hand poised and at the ready on the horn.
Sure enough, the turn arrow flashes on, and all the traffic in front of the woman moves, while she does not.
"C'mon, you #@$%$%^& clown, GO!!!!" he says, as he hits his horn once, briefly.
And she does, and he does, and they both make the light, and he whips into the right lane to get past her, still upset.
As he passes, he takes a quick glance over at her, and begins to laugh.
Her face was covered in white grease paint, with a large smile painted on.
That's right, my friends. The " #@$%$%& clown" really was... a clown.
Just whipped.
Beat Down.
His daughter had a really bad night, sleep wise, and this means he did, too.
He's on his way to get the Subaru's oil changed, when he realizes the car in front of him is not really driving very well.
"Clown." The irritable man mutters. They stop at a stop light, and when itturns green, the car in front does not go.
"C'mon, you $%$#%^ clown!" he says, more loudly.
The car in front of him finally takes off. The man looks around, to see if there's a way around the car in front, before they get to the next light, where he'll have to turn left.
Nope.
He watches the car in front of him weave slightly, as balloons blow around inside of it, obstructing the other driver's view. He's not at all pleased.
"Please go straight, please go straight" he thinks to himself, as they approach the next stop light.
Nope. The car in front of him slowly eases into the turn lane in front of him. He watches the driver adjust the rearview so that she can look at herself in it. He gets angrier when he sees her lean out the driverside window, to check herself out in the side mirror.
"no way this #$^& clown's paying attention to the light." he says aloud, hand poised and at the ready on the horn.
Sure enough, the turn arrow flashes on, and all the traffic in front of the woman moves, while she does not.
"C'mon, you #@$%$%^& clown, GO!!!!" he says, as he hits his horn once, briefly.
And she does, and he does, and they both make the light, and he whips into the right lane to get past her, still upset.
As he passes, he takes a quick glance over at her, and begins to laugh.
Her face was covered in white grease paint, with a large smile painted on.
That's right, my friends. The " #@$%$%& clown" really was... a clown.
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