I got a call today from the mechanic whose garage has contained our only beloved mode of transportation for the last 2 weeks. I was elated as he informed me that the long-awaited new drive shaft had arrived from Rhode Island. Then, the news... It doesn't fit. "Oh yeah," he added (not in these exact words), "and come get your piece of $*%# out of my garage so I don't have to keep pushing it around."
So today I set out with my thumb out.
The prospect of hitching a ride from my fellow man into work seemed like a great idea as I strolled down our road toward the highway. After about 2 miles of walking and no success, all the memories of past hitchhiking days started to come back to me in unromantic form. The hot sun falling upon my increasingly sweaty (and less desirable for picking up) body, the radiating warmth of the blacktop below, the rotting carcasses of all sorts, and, oh my, the litter. I was particularly blown away by the amount of beer cans on the side of the road. For a full six miles of highway, there were no less than 2 beer cans every 50 feet, and that's to say nothing of all the soda cans, cigarette packs, fast food packaging, bullet shells, and all the other crap that people like to decorate the ground with.
The most notable part of the outing were the good old faces on the drivers who passed me by. I can sympathize with the looks that said, "I'm sorry but I'm afraid you might kill me." And I can even understand the ones that said, "sucks for you." But what I can't deal with is the mass of disdainful looks coming from people who had obviously never been in my shoes. If you can't help 'em, that's cool, but don't hate 'em for wanting help.
So obviously I ended up walking most of the way. There was, however, one good soul who took me about a mile to his turn. God bless that man!
I wrote a song while I was walking, but I have 2 minutes to get out of here, so I'll post it another time.
Faith and I saw Farenheit 9/11 a while ago to see what the commotion was all about. Mikey really ought to be ashamed of himself. With all the potentially legitimate criticisms floating around for which to slam ol' gee-dub, he threw together a real piece of crap of a film to do it with. I've never seen such an utterly unbelievable political commercial, which is all the more pathetic since with all the infectious exuberance in the theater about it, I actually found myself wanting to believe it. I just couldn't.
Despite the film's crappiness, however, it did succeed in making me more pessimistic toward the ways of my native land.
Last night, all my pessimism was obliterated. Our friend Todd introduced us to Spellbound. This film is a patriotic masterpiece about an American pastime (the spelling bee) and the American dream. I give it a hearty recommendation.