Why I'm Still Driving

Why I'm Still Driving

Some would say driving here is not for the faint of heart.  It's a resort community, so there are always visitors hunting for clues that might lead them to their destinations.  Worse yet, it's a retirement community.  Many who visited regularly with their families when they were young, returned to live full time where they so enjoyed visiting for too short a time in years past.

Not content to leave a difficult situation alone, the city fathers, or perhaps the developers--embarrassed at the environmental damage that massive migration here by both of he groups mentioned above simply had to cause--sought to maintain the appearance of the island's unspoiled appeal.  They created rules that limited the size and location of signs, restricted the outdoor lighting, forbade the cutting of trees without a permit--not just cutting down trees, but the mere trimming of a tree or trees.  Now, think about that for a minute.  Tourists driving onto the island in the dark, after driving for eight to fifteen hours to get here, now have to find their way without the benefit of a visible sign, or a well-lit, broad avenue.  Think also of the senior citizens, no longer confident in their night time eyesight, driving slowly down the road headed for home.

Now add to that the fact that the leading cause of fatal accidents is not speed, nor is it driving while intoxicated, or even road rage.  It is, quite simply, distracted driving, not paying attention to where they are going.  It's true.  How is that scenario of the arriving visitor fitting that profile?  From "when are we gonna get there, Daddy," to "I really have to go," to "where is that blasted sign?" to "you just missed it, you were supposed to turn right there!"  Driven to distraction, impaired by fatigue and eyestrain, it's a wonder they make it at all.  Then there are the seniors, ambling along at thirty in a forty-five zone, in the left lane of course.  Must have been gabbing with their passengers, or telling a story they could still picture at this very moment, otherwise, how do you explain the sudden right turn from the left lane?  Did you know also that senior citizens and teenagers are the two most dangerous age-groups behind the wheel?

Here, we have a median age nearly twice that of the nation, and we have more than two million visitors each year.  Why aren't we all dying off in car accidents, or at least driven crazy by the act of driving?  I think it's "adaptation."  Local drivers have developed the ability to shrug it off, to notice the out-of-state tags and be wary of their next move.  Who knows when his wife (or her husband) will yell, "There's your turn, right there!" and the startled driver will turn without warning from the opposite lane, or cut you off as you approach the intersection and he turns left in front of
us.

We've learned to nod and smile in disbelief when the geezer in front of them rolls along at thirty in the left lane.  If we are lucky, he will slow down, move into the right lane a few blocks before his turn, and leave his turn signal on for several blocks.  He will tap the brakes at each driveway or street in case it's the one where he has to turn.  Then, when he gets to his turn, he stomps on the brakes in the traffic lane, nearly coming to a full stop in the traffic lane before making his right turn.  Or, while rolling along in the left lane, he will notice his turn is right here--and he'll cut straight across without applying his brakes at all, proving he can turn at thirty just as well as at five miles per hour.

When locals get together, they will tell about the latest crazy move someone made in the road recently.  By developing this penchant for gathering our "I can top that"stories, we have improved our awareness of the drivers around us, and we are better for it.  We are not distracted, we are focused on defensive driving.  We learn to anticipate and be prepared for even the craziest of moves, like the driver coming out of a two-lane street that is divided by a parkway of grass and shrubs who has failed to notice he was supposed to cross that parkway before turning and is now driving the wrong way on a one way street, and wait until you see what they will do to extricate themselves from that situation!

But, back to my personal situation.  I have, in the past eleven years, developed that sense of defensive anticipation more keenly than most people driving in "normal" cities and towns.  Even as I pass Paul McCartney's long ago measuring stick for being really old--a new stanza has been added  to the lyrics--

and when I'm so old, just barely alive, 

will you still keep on letting me drive?  

will you still trust me, 

sure you won't bust me 

when I'm sixty-four?   

I'm still out there driving, and sooner or later, people will be shaking their heads at how I drive.  But I'm thinking most of them are conditioned to look out for geezers like me.  As long as I don't leave the island, I think I'll be able to drive while staying alive.

Mental Floss

Mental Floss

It came to me as I was flossing my teeth this morning.  Yes, I floss my teeth every morning.  It's one of those healthy things that I kept doing long enough that it became a habit.   If I fail to do it, it haunts me the rest of the day, really.  This can be awkward at certain times as I have good-sized hands and a smallish mouth (this is the  physical quality of space within the cheeks and behind the lips, so to speak, not what some might perceive as a too large quantity of words that emanate therefrom).  But back to the observation that came along.  I had my hands halfway in my mouth and some floss pulled down between the last couple of molars back there, and I could not get my hands to move the floss any way at all.  I stood there a moment then managed to move my hands out of my mouth and started over at the other end of my mouth.  Everything worked fine after that, not so remarkable, but it set me to thinking, probably somewhat earlier than I should have.

One of the opportunities I have been afforded in this life (thank you, Kaitlen--things the old Jim might characterize as weaknesses and/or defects are really just opportunities) is dealing with the disruption of the messaging system between my brain and my muscles.  As it's been described to me, nerves are just telegraph lines (Oh, come on Jim--this is the 21st century, call them fiber optic cables for the analogy, for heaven's sake!)....  OK, the nerves are just a sort of network of fiber optic cables that carry messages from the brain to the muscles, mostly without conscious thought.   You might decide to get out of bed, for example, and once your brain has received that message, the part of the brain that governs unconscious movement sends hundreds, maybe thousands of signals to get your hand to grasp the sheet and or blanket, to begin pulling it off your upper body, telling each of your legs to slide up toward your upper body, and your toes to search for the open space to escape from the covers, telling your hips to turn in the direction of the open side of the bed, telling your hands to help raise your head and shoulder off the mattress, while telling your legs to move still further to find the edge of the mattress, and pushing your trunk upright, then executing a swivel in the direction of that open side of the bed, then dropping one leg at a time down off the edge of the bed, while trying to sense the approaching floor so they don't just crash to the floor, and so on and so on....  Each of those movements required hundreds of messages to be sent from the brain to the muscles and from the muscle to the brain.  Probably the only thought you had was, "I've got to get up."  Your brain unconsciously does the rest.

Well, the chemicals that carry these messages have to come from somewhere, don't they?  So, your brain has a place that manufactures those chemicals (in this case, dopamine).  Mine slowed way down, and only provides a trickle of them around for my brain to use.  At the same time, there has to be a receptor in each of your muscles to receive and translate those messages into making the muscles move.  These receptors have to work harder to sense that trickle of dopamine (sort of like straining to hear something, I'd guess).  As a result, the receptors wear out prematurely.  They can be replaced, but your brain and nervous system only create new ones when demand is created by vigorous activity.   Hence, it is important for people like me to exercise vigorously on a daily basis and vary the kinds of activity we engage in so that new receptors are activated and fresh, new connections are made.  If you run into something that won't move when you want it to, you try doing it slightly differently or more consciously, since the conscious movements are controlled by another part of the brain.  (Whew! That part's over.  I don't think my neurologist would grant me this much poetic license to describe this condition, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her in this case).

In any event, it occurred to me that our citizenry ( or society, country, species, life form--whatever collective term you might choose to apply), might just benefit from a similar approach.  If one approach doesn't convey the message the way we intended it, try another way.  Don't just repeat the same slogan until it becomes meaningless (what does the mantra, "no new taxes" mean anyway?  No new ones at all, or just increases in licensing fees instead?  And do we really want "universal health care" whatever the cost?)  Secondly, why not have each part of the body politic try some vigorous exercise, as in thoughtful debate on a regular basis, instead of repeatedly sending the same slogans to the worn out ears (receptors) of the rest of us.  Maybe all that activity could cause some new receptors to activate and get some things moving.  OK, it was before I had my morning coffee, but there it is.          

Where's That Bollywood Ending Dance Number for The 100 Foot Journey?

Where's That Bollywood Ending Dance Number for The 100 Foot Journey?

Imagine my dismay when the The 100 Foot Journey ended without a Bollywood Ending Dance number.  While it was no musical, the film should have had a true dance number with the whole cast, the street market extras, and anyone else that could learn those standard dance moves that ended all those Bollywood Movies.  The first time I remember seeing one was in the India-based Oscar winner, Slumdog Millionaire.  It was filmed at the train station with the cast dancing on the wide concrete platform.  Slumdog Millionaire was no Bollywood film, but it paid tribute to its cultural roots with the big dance.

The 100 Foot Journey depicted members of two distinctly different cultures (one of them Indian) crossing a cultural divide.  Further, it even contained plenty of striking music in its score, and a scene where two of the central characters (Helen Mirren and Om Puri) actually dance alone in the home/restaurant of Ms. Mirren’s character.  Surely that was enough.  Oh, I know the traditional Bollywood movie was a musical, with the music and dance woven inextricably into its plot, but at least give us the ending in the credits! (and, yes, I spelled inextricably right in my first attempt).

I guess I was just expecting it after recently seeing The Jersey Boys” put on a spectacular (by American standards, anyway) Bollywood Dance Number to end it.   I make the reference to “American standards” intentionally.  While I am sure the whole cast of The Jersey Boys took part, a Bollywood Ending Dance would contain hundreds, if not thousands of dancers.  Why did I become such an ending-dance fan?  Just go take a look at Slumdog Millionaire’s ending number, I found that one pretty quickly, and I’m still looking at Google and YouTube for The Jersey Boys.  (But I'm still mad about The 100 Foot Journey, not even one dance step, much less a hundred.)

P.S., Yeah, I know it's been a while, I kinda lost my bearings for a time, but I'm coming back.

EWOC Press Release

EWOC Press Release

Wednesday, it was reported that the Equal Weather Opportunity Commission has confirmed receipt of a complaint from a resident of Western Michigan.  The complaint alleges weather discrimination.  A spokesperson was quoted as saying, “All American citizens are, under the law, entitled to equal weather, free from discrimination.  Obviously, this means that rain, snow, sleet or freezing rain must fall equally upon all citizens, regardless of street, neighborhood or geographical location.”   The complaint alleges excessive amounts of rain have fallen there (the name of the actual location, Saugatuck, is being withheld, pending notification of relatives). 

The National Weather Service will be investigating.  The respondents, TV Chief Meteorologists LLF, have pointed out that equal proportions of rain and sunshine probabilities were forecast, and that they cannot be held responsible for the disparate impact of the actual weather.  In fact, they intend to provide evidence that their forecasts have a 0.0001 correlation with the actual climatic events, including rain, wind, hail, snow or freezing rain. 

The defendants are quoted as saying, when notified of the complaint, “Days may be cloudy or sunny, we’re in or we’re out of the money, we're all innocent, come rain or come shine.”

Now Who Needs A Weatherman To Tell Which Way The Wind Blows?

Now Who Needs A Weatherman To Tell Which Way The Wind Blows?

It was Bpb Dylan who penned the lyric about the wind's direction. It's from his Subterranean Homesick Blues, a hit in 1965.  It became an iconic work.  In rock journalist Andy Gill's words, "a verbal whirlwind...recognized by an entire generation."  It was densely packed with allusions to all sorts of emerging themes in the 1960's youth culture, everything from the civil rights movement, to the protest movement, and the widespread use of illicit drugs.  It wasn't a narrative, but a collection of emergent ideas.  It's a fact that the radical splinter from the Students for a Democratic Society, the Weathermen, took its name from the line quoted in this piece's title.

The title of the song probably came from Jack Kerouac's work on the Beat Generation entitled The Subterraneans.  In 1959, while at the University of Minnesota, Dylan came under the influence of the Beat Generation's icons, Ginsberg, Corso and Kerouac.  Some 14 years later, I discovered Kerouac and enjoyed reading that and other works by Kerouac.  I never became a big fan of Ginsberg or Corso, but I am sure I read three or four books by Kerouac.  All of which has nothing to do with the real topic of this little note.  Previously, I have soaked about the total lack of accountability that surrounds weather prognostication.  These people mostly read and summarize the works of others, but what they read off the teleprompter is rarely, it ever, reviewed for accuracy.  I am sure the average weatherperson never includes any accuracy statistics in his or her resume.

Now Who Needs A Weatherman To Tell Which Way The Wind Blows?

We bring this on ourselves, you know.  I have no doubt that people in general pay no more attention than to note "the weatherman was way off today, wasn't he?" and that is about all.  No one goes around saying "Wow, that's three times in a row the weatherman hit the nail on the head with that temperature forecast.  "  Or, says this is the second time this week the weatherman was right about the rain."  No one needs a weatherman to tell them which way the wind blew yesterday for just one reason--NO ONE CARES WHAT THE WEATHER WAS YESTERDAY!  They want to know what the likelihood of rain is this evening or tomorrow morning, but not yesterday.  The fact that the fireworks display was rained out, or the picnic was shortened unexpectedly by a downpour soon fades from memory.

Today was a remarkable day, weather-wise.  Even in July in South Carolina, the temperature did not reach 88 degrees.  The humidity was noticeably absent, there was a cool breeze and the evening was just the same--delightful.   Since we had two sets of friends vacationing here this week, we were glad to see it happen for their last day at the beach (or the pool, or wherever).  It made me think about what the week had been like overall, AND I COULD NOT REMEMBER!  We had showers in the early part of the day a couple of times, I think, and showers late in an otherwise perfect day once, I think, and yesterday we had rain in the middle of the day that promptly disappeared, leaving a nice afternoon and evening.  Or, wasn't that Thursday?  And which days had no rain at all?  Is this just my age?  I dunno, but, as I noted above, we are conditioned not to care or keep track.  So, I am going to start summarizing the weather we have each day in my handy little calendar, as soon as I find it, I think it's downstairs.  I need to write down what a gorgeous day today has been, before I forget which day it was (is).  Hope your day was spellbinding, too.

You Dreamed That You Were Important Again

You Dreamed That You Were Important Again

Ah, I know that look, I've seen it before.
You woke up from a dream a single spirit had dreamed
to this age-old cosmic one we all share but ignore.
In this dream things were different, so they had seemed
we had big things to talk about, much more like before

Perhaps you imagined even more than you had--
before this twilight was tendered to live out your life,
'enjoying' things, just taking it easy, not sad.
Talk of peaceful things and memories, avoid all that strife

Did they know what so sorely you'd miss--
that life without strife is not always bliss
They can't know what it's like, how sorely you'd miss
those days you were needed, something always amiss.

To be heard, to have what you say regarded
to be offering more than just a complaint.
To think boldly, to synthesize what most others haven't
To talk, discuss, perhaps and even debate

Things that mattered,
Moves whose outcomes you'd see,
Not just knowing that you've joined a few others,
Flailing away at some faraway
Cause offered by all-knowing others,
those who feigned to sincerely seek out your voices,
but only for background noise, not for help making choices.

But from this cosmic dream, some day you'll awaken
Not feeling separate, isolatd, somehow mistaken
There's something beneath this or perhaps it surrounds us,
I know it, I feel it, I just haven't quite found it.

Getting Unstuck

Getting Unstuck

I've been stuck on Project 12, so I stopped writing daily as the challenge had been laid out.  Writing every day has not ever been a habit with me, usually one day out of three, sometimes twice or three times in a row.  It's supposed to be fun, after all, not a chore or a duty.  But this morning is beautiful out my window once more.  The hurricane blew past us, dumping on the Outer Banks, I'd imagine, unless it turned out to sea.  Once they sweep by, the hurricanes leave us with a couple of clear and bright days like this one.  We've come to expect it, but it is still fine as can be.  I'm waiting for my better half to join me in a beach walk--forget the shopping and other chores we must do and just walk.

No dice.  She's got "too much to do."  Oh well, I'll take some sort of walk just the same, while she shops.  I'll report on it later.