Selective vision

One of my favorite features in my car is the prismatic rear-view mirror. That's the fancy name for the tab on your rear-view that you can flip to reduce the glare from the headlights of the car behind you. Once I get slotted into the spot I'm going to be in for a while the glare from the headlights gets to me. It's compounded by drivers who tailgate and people with LED headlights.

I know I'm going to get someone that will read this (assuming that anyone reads this) and tries to explain to me the practical reason for LED headlights. Even with the specter of that looming let me say that I've been driving long enough to be convinced that the standard headlight does the job sufficiently. This places LED headlights in the same category as loud mufflers, ground effect lights and fake body parts hanging from your trunk lid or trailer hitch. Simply put, they are attempts to draw attention. The occasional rubber hand hanging from a trunk lid does get me to giggle I'll admit. The naughty bits dangling from the bumper hitch, while unintentionally describing the compensation in play for the owner, I just find pathetic.

Tammy and I were talking this morning about how handy I find this mirror. She explained that she doesn't like to use it because of the way it distorts the view. It makes it harder for her to track the vehicles behind her. That's when the thought occurred to me. The rear-view mirror does make a pretty good metaphor for a coping mechanism. It fits in the vein of "wearing rose colored glasses" and "going around with your blinders on". I need to come up with a catchy way to refer to it. Hmm, let's see.

You're sitting in a theatre about to enjoy CSI: The Movie as The Chatterly family sits down behind you. The mom, Janice Chatterly, is on her cell phone talking with her friend Brenda about the pair of 9" heels she just bought. She spent the food budget for a family of 5 on them. Legs crossed, she's absently swinging one of her feet just enough so that her Jimmy Chu taps the back of your seat in a kind of gum smacking rhythm. Tommy (his dad calls him Champ) 7, is on his second tankard of nuke-o-cola and is jumping up and down in his seat while frantically pushing a button on his game boy with a thumb swollen so badly that it has turned fire engine red. Wonderful, angelic, light of the universe Tilly is 3 years old. Her brother has just bumped her elbow and caused the prized double scoop of vanilla fudge ice cream she was promised if she would stop crying in the car to be deposited in her lap. You hear this unfold behind you as the house lights come down. You just need to reach up and "flip the dimmer on your rear view", lean back and enjoy the show.

Hmm, maybe, I dunno. It is that kind of life sometimes though. I was mulling it over in the car this morning and Neal Mccoy came on the mp3 player singing Billy's Got His Beer Goggles On. It's a goofball country song but I'm more than just a bit of a goof so it's on my player. It really did get me to thinking though; it's an extreme version of my mirror. Just as my mirror is an attempt to deaden the glare of the light behind me, for some alcohol is their metaphor come to life.

He'll fall apart when he gets home.

But right now his worries are gone.

Life looks good, good, good.

Billy's got his beer goggles on, hey

I get that. I've had days recently where nothing sounded better than a couple of martinis. Just an hour or two to sit back and let the noise of life get reduced to a tolerable hum. The problem is when the alcohol has worn off and the metaphor breaks down there's no resolution. You find that your boss is still a pain, you really didn't follow the plot of CSI: The Movie and that guy with the LED headlights is still tailgating you. You can keep mixing those drinks or imagining yourself on a quiet beach in the sun but it doesn't solve the ultimate problem.

I haven't seen Avatar yet. I'm not sure I will. I was struck however by the stories of people experiencing depression after seeing the movie. They are fascinated by the beauty of this alien world inhabited by a peace loving people who don't seem to be infected with the idea that pushing another down is an acceptable way of rising up. Realizing that this life will never be like that their "whole life, everything I've done and worked for, lost its meaning". So, for some it would seem, rather than being an escape this movie created a hangover like crash. At least with booze you can get drunk again.

Who doesn't yearn to live in a place where people live in harmony and beauty? I sure do. Sounds like heaven doesn't it?

Don't drive angry! Drive weird!

Tailgating or Tailgating

Whew, it was a busy weekend. Tammy and I spent all day Saturday and a smidge on Friday night at Camp Soundview for the Alpha weekend away. We had a terrific time. The facility there is very comfortable and makes for a great retreat setting. Tammy cooked 4 meals for us and received a well deserved round of applause for the effort.

I've been planning to dedicate a post on the topic of tailgating. Dan used this subject in his sermon this Sunday so I took it as a sign that it was time for me to give the topic a good thrashing.

I've never been one to put bumper stickers on my cars. There are all the obvious reasons like damaging your paint or lowering your resale value. However, the primary reason for me not declaring my political affiliation, particular breed of dog fancy, clog dancing enthusiasm, crocheting club fondness, or demand for ethno-religo-poli-unity is my behavior. People almost always judge a message from the actions of the messenger.

I know that regardless of how hard I try to drink my own "blog-aide" I will still manage to do some of the things I rage about on this page. We all make mistakes behind the wheels of our cars. My hope is that when it's me, my fellow commuters see it as oversight on my part not selfishness or worse maliciousness. Until car manufacturers provide some form of onboard apology system I'll refrain from putting a "Follow me to Jello Shooter Night at Rick's tavern and House of Tranquility" bumper sticker on my car. Rick would probably say I was "harshing his mellow".

I really do wonder what's going through the mind of people who tailgate. I can only imagine two scenarios and I'm not sure which one scares me more. At 60+ MPH they have their 4000 lb car so close to the rear of my 4000 lb car that a single sheet of notebook paper could be suspended between the vehicles without the proximity of the bumpers actually qualifying as "touching". The tailgater, both hands on the wheel, one eye closed as if aiming carefully, is having the ultimate drive by brail experience and through their brain is running one of these thoughts:

1. If this guy doesn't get out of my way soon I'm going to run them off the road, rip his head off and mount it to my hood.
   --OR--
   
2. Gee, I need to get some bread. Aunt Susie, call Aunt Susie. That American Idol contestant sure is dreamy. Dreamy is a funny word, word, waaurd. Werd up. Getuppa get on uppa. Got yoga tonight and don't call the instructor Yoda, that's only funny to me. Hair cut, yup, Fame! I'm gonna live forever…
   

Either way I always scratch my head when the crazed tailgater zooms by me and they either have an Ichthys mounted on their trunk lid or have a Coexist bumper sticker. Neither of the ideas represented by these doodads jive well with tailgating, at least not the kind that occurs at speed. I guess for some, tolerance doesn't apply to people that have the nerve to impede progress on the freeway.

Perhaps they should try the other kind of tailgating; the kind that occurs in the parking lot of stadiums during football games. In fact, if these folks embrace the concepts implied by their bumpers, tailgating could turn into a learning experience for both parties and probably a heck of a good time.

Don't drive angry! Drive weird!