Into the Scrum

With the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML running hither and yon this morning visiting several of the women she is now working with in her Church service, I found we needed a few things from the extortion grocery store. So I went to the grocery store. This was an epic mistake (well not quite as epic as say "What do you mean there weren't any WMD's in Iraq?"-level mistake), but it was a mistake just the same. Why? Because the grocery store parking lot had been turned into a rugby scrum, wherein the players had been replaced by cars. I am not kidding you when I tell you every.single.parking.spot in this heinous store's lot was occupied. Cars were poring in and began moving in a pack, or a scrum, in search of an open spot. I almost - almost - felt bad for the unsuspecting shoppers leaving the store. The lead car saw them and would lead the hunt, stalking the shopper, giving them a few precious seconds to toss their overpriced goods into their car before the blaring of the horn from the lead car would begin. It was like watching the Kardashians stalk someone with cash in their pockets.

I watched this foolishness for a little while as I sought an opening and saw one. It was then that I remembered that driving a large 4-wheel drive SUV in a crowded parking lot does have its advantages. It's been says size matters and today, it did. I broke from the conga line of the damned, swinging around someone driving Connecticutistan's favorite car, the Subaru wagon (in any of its variants), and gunned it to the open spot. I think the way I squeezed into the spot so suddenly shocked the two store workers sitting in the car next to mine. They were clearly on their break and given the amount of cigarettes they were burning through, it suggested that things were going to be rough in the store. And they were.

I'd forgotten that today is the day before Valentine's Day and given the hysteria inside the store, you'd have thought we had another Super Storm Sandy event bearing down on us. Nope, not a super storm, just its merchandising equivalent. Turns out, at least here, people actually buy those heart-shaped boxes filled with dusty chocolate of questionable quality. They buy a lot of them because every check out line was backed up, with one exception. The apartchik that runs this particular store renamed one check out lane as "Lovers Lane" (I literally just threw up in my mouth writing that) and it was dedicated to floral purchases only. In every other lane, at least every other shopper had just flowers, and the last I checked, flowers constitute floral items, but the floral lane remained inexplicably closed. It wasn't like there wasn't a dearth of workers scurrying about, encouraging people to go swing by Floral and grab some flowers. But please don't use the lane dedicated to floral purchases. It's closed. Yep, it made sense to me too.

Happy to have made it through the (kind of) Express Lane sans flowers or V.D. accoutrement of any kind, I got back into my car and barreled my way out of the scrum and back to the sanctity of my basement to watch the end of the spanking that Chelsea gave to Newcastle. All was well in the world again.

Road Trip - Day One

As we made final preparations for Phase Three of Vacation Shenanigans 2015 last night, my brother-in-law made a crack about us recreating the journey of those unfortunate souls in "The Grapes of Wrath." That got me to thinking. Yes, we are making a cross country trek in a vehicle that has more seam-busting and junk bulging from it than a middle-aged German tourist in a Speedo on Mallorca. We are heading east to Florida rather than west to California in search of prosperity (well, CAL's internship). With those changes in mind and with all apologies to John Steinbeck, we are now on The Oranges of Wrath Tour 2015.

After 10 and 1/2 hours of driving that started this morning in Chandler, AZ, we are now taking refuge in a non-descript hotel under renovation in the middle (not even) of the snowy (yeah, thanks for that Ma Nature) country of Texas (it just never ends). Some highlights from the day's adventure:

Arizona

We stopped off on the far side of Tucson to see the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML's brother and his family. Knowing that we suffer from a dearth of good Mexican food in Connecticutistan, they chose a fine little Mexican joint. I ordered a chorizo burrito, which in retrospect and in the prophetic words of the great sage Ron Burgundy was "a bad choice." Why? Well, I love me some chorizo but it's effect on me is highly fluid, like the Kardashian family morals. Suffice to say, I have paid a price to insure that my wife and daughter did not suffer. I'll leave it at that...

New Mexico

The Land of Enchantment. No, no it is not. Sure, there's Taos and its beauty. There's Santa Fe and its art and vortexes. Then there is the glory that is the Hatch Chile. However, the highlights of NM along the I10 include Lordsburg, Deming and Las Cruces. I'm really glad CAL drove the NM leg so I could sleep. Sorry, NM, but enchantment is not the first word that comes to mind.

Texas

We blew into El Paso and its twin across the border, Ciudad Juarez, the day after they got pounded by a freaky snow storm. Very strange to see both cities awash in snow. We also got to see the physical manifestation of the idea of nirvana of everyone's favorite fascist, xenophobic, loud-mouthed bully of an uncle, Donald Trump, in the form of the wall between El Paso and Juarez. As we drove out of El Paso into the eerily dark Texas night, the presence of Border Patrol was thick. It's a very cold night here so hopefully it'll be a warm night for those taken in this evening.

So Day One is in the books. San Antonio, Houston and who knows how far into Louisiana we'll get tomorrow. This much I know though - there's a Waffle House with my name on it. It's not a road trip until you've choked down a waffle from the WH.

Against the Grain

You know how places can have quirks that are unique to them? Many of them are stereotypical, like women in Texas all have big hair, Chicago is windy, or English food is terrible (that one is true). Stereotypes are based on reality or the reality of one's experience, but they can't be the only thing that defines a place The fact is places do have characters and quirks.

When we first moved here to the filling in between NYC and Boston, we were shocked by the number of people festooned in dark clothing who would walk into traffic, typically against it, at night. At first we thought it was a fluke because where we live there is no such thing as a sidewalk. Anywhere. If there is a sidewalk, it spends half the year covered in snow anyway, so not a lot of value on offer and it seemed people were forced, when walking, into the streets. But this kept happening, no matter where we found ourselves in this neck of the woods. People would just be walking into traffic at night in the street. From time to time, they simply dart across the road. It was too frequent to be a fluke. Was it some kind of dare? A death cult? I had, and have, no answers. I just knew I had to be mindful while driving at night.

Now after nearly three years here, this phenomenon has not abated. Even as I drove home from the train station last night, I must have played "Dodge the Dingus in the Street" no fewer than six times in less than two miles. I should point out that I drive a hulking heavy piece of environmentally offensive American steel in the form of a GMC Yukon. I doubt I would even feel it if I hit one of these people. It's madness.

Maybe it's that colonial spirit of rebellion. Maybe it's some kind of empowering statement. This much I know - it's exhausting. I'm tired of playing "Frogger" when I drive at night. I was no good at it in the creepy, musty arcade in the mall in 1982 and I'm not much better now as it plays out in real time. Would it kill people to, if nothing else, buy some reflecting tape? Then again, if they did, that would take away one of the quirks that defines life here. I'm willing to see that happen.