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...and the highway is my home. There must be an unwritten law that Saturday means slacker day. Maybe the name should be changed. If some kind of plans aren't made the day before... I'm Off! That Harold Lloyd silent film, last Sunday... that Girl Shy one. During the introduction (basically hand-drawn cards with the synopsis),the little social life of town in which the hero lived was revealed as so quiet, that "nothing ever happened, except for Morning, Noon and Night." Bingo. That's here. Clogging and driving up-and-down the strip are the biggest thrills. Maybe if they were combined, we'd have some real excitement. So, escape was the only option. Our satellite dish got fried last year, and needed replacing. My hair was starting to give me fits (if I can't wash it and run, it's history). Plus, I had ants in my pants. The only solution... Road Trip! One day in C*Ville is enough. F*bg is the only other alternative, beside R*chmond for big towns. F*bg is closer to water. No contest. It's not an untravelled path, though... but I'm always looking for shortcuts. And indirect paths. I think I must channel "Billy" from the F*mily Circle cartoon... which is a pity, 'cause that one is sappy--majorly. But the bit about skittering around like a fly instead of in a straight line fits my personality profile. If the shit fits, wear it. Took a tangent into the woods, and through some of the battlefield parks. Spots*lvania, for one. Bloodiest single-day fighting on this continent, during the War Of Northern Aggression. Trust me, I am desensitized to the whole phenom. Annihilation is abhorrent to me. Wordy way to express it, but only touches on the disgust I feel when life is shed so mercilessly, and so thoroughly. And it certainly was that, there. I go to these places occasionally, not for the military jollies (like my friend and ex-college mate, the Little General), but to remember that the soil here was bought in blood. (and for what?). And hope it would never happen, again. But Marcus Garvey said, "a people without knowledge of its history, is like a tree without roots." And considering his place in Black history, probably a good way to look at it. The silence, deafening... except for a woodpecker or two. And the strangest thing. You know when looking across a parking lot in the hot sun, the how background shimmers in the heat? Looking from behind a trenchline in the most hotly contested spot in the park, the air did just that. Uncanny. Never saw the earth so warm that it distorted the scenery. I kept expecting something to materialize from the heat mirage. Enough of that. Found some shortcuts to the places I usually haunt, wooded drives sidestepping the major roads. Jolly! Rather than go directly into town and waste that motoring feeling, we rolled across the river... and down the penninsula. Flat. Ever so flat. Flat as Kansas. Or Ohio. A side road popped up, with a sign for the natural area that Miss Jane had mentioned, in the past (and she gets the name from the B*verly H*llbillies character... she's turning into a bird watcher!). And found it, though right at closing time. No matter. It's found... and a road sign gave the milage back to town, on a road I'd never heard of. Well, knowing me.... Rewarded with one hell of a sportscar drive. Being so close to the Potomac, the terrain turned to bluffs. Ups-and-downs, snaky corners. Tidy little bunglaows. What I live for. Past some of the little beaches where we used to go when I was a tadpole. Beach? More like a patch of sand, next a pier with a casino/beerhall on it. That's the legal way to gamble in this state. Put it over Maryland waters. But that was a long, long time ago. Too quickly, back into traffic. Lots of new candidates for photos on this trip. Awll be Bach! Got my do-rag scissored down to spikes (and kept the dreadlock... kind of a snake mullet). Crossed myself and entered the cathedrals of retail to get the decoder replacement (PPV footie, again!). And out of town on the river road as the sun began to set. Home, to grill some corn, and finish the vietnamese takeout. So much for a bigtime Saturday night. Soon. Threw together the wiring for the dish, and called to get the service changed. The voice on the other side of the line, a Tennessee gal, wrestled with the software. Mentioned how the last caller cussed her out for 1 1/2 hours. so, I decide to be the anti-asshole. And that hussy flirted with me. Best action I've had in two months. If this is slackness, so be it. Sunday will kick my ass. |
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