I got back late last night from driving across the country... almost.
We began in Connecticut and made our way through 11 states. Yes, eleven ,with two 'ones' next to each other! Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming and finally, Utah... so, not quite all the way across the country, but you get the point. Two and a half days... not a lot of time for sightseeing, but we got the picture.
Our states are beautiful! Each one of them. Some I liked more than others, but I liked each one of them for one reason or another. They really are beautiful! Even when I wasn't driving, I didn't want to close my eyes to sleep because I wanted to see everything on the way. I felt like a young school boy going on his first field trip... anxiously awaiting to see what wonders I'd see next.
Now, I know that some who read this may say, "Wait a minute! I've been to Nebraska... and there just ain't much to see."
I've driven that route across the country a few times over the past few years and I have yet to grow tired of it. Granted, there are a few states that I've not been in yet... and I can't say that I have any desire to go... Oklahoma, for instance. My apologies to Okies, but my only image of the O.K. state is courtesy of John Steinbeck's description of the Tom Joad family with their piled high jalopy sputtering its way out of town before the last tumbleweed drifts by, leaving nothing but miles and miles of pure dustbowl.
I'm sure it's not that way. Just as I see the beauty in the other states that so many would rather bypass. It's there. You just have to want to see it.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Focus.... Focus....
As I sit here and study for the bar exam in July, I sometimes pause and wonder why I'm putting myself through this... which leads to even deeper questions of why I went to law school in the first place...
I vaguely remember... I think it had something to do with wanting to help people when others were trying to take advantage of them.... and certainly so I wouldn't be taken advantage of by others... but after practicing for just a few years, I start thinking of the days of driving the truck and how simple they were... that wasn't so bad! But then I quickly remember how old that got and how quickly it got old.
The great thing about driving the truck was, in short, you just had a route to drive and it was you and the radio in the truck - no one looking over your shoulder... no judge giving you the what for... no clients telling you how much they wanted what you knew they couldn't rightfully get... and of course, no adversary calling you after hours to tell you how weak your case is (no matter how much he knew it wasn't true).
I know there was something noble about my reasons for going to law school, but I don't remember exactly when I got disillusioned (I can't say that I am completely)...
There was one time while I was in school, I was studying torts and I was marvelling (more like flabberghasted) at how silly some of the lawsuits were.... I went to my professor's office to talk about these cases and told him how frustrated I was because I used to think that the law was all noble and supposed to be the safety net for those in need.... but it turns out it was all about who had the deepest pockets. Without missing a beat, my professor looked at me and said, "yeah, but as long as they pay US..."
Well... needless to say, I continued, graduated and began practicing... and so far, I haven't found my noble cause.... it's still all about the money.
Have I lost my focus?
I vaguely remember... I think it had something to do with wanting to help people when others were trying to take advantage of them.... and certainly so I wouldn't be taken advantage of by others... but after practicing for just a few years, I start thinking of the days of driving the truck and how simple they were... that wasn't so bad! But then I quickly remember how old that got and how quickly it got old.
The great thing about driving the truck was, in short, you just had a route to drive and it was you and the radio in the truck - no one looking over your shoulder... no judge giving you the what for... no clients telling you how much they wanted what you knew they couldn't rightfully get... and of course, no adversary calling you after hours to tell you how weak your case is (no matter how much he knew it wasn't true).
I know there was something noble about my reasons for going to law school, but I don't remember exactly when I got disillusioned (I can't say that I am completely)...
There was one time while I was in school, I was studying torts and I was marvelling (more like flabberghasted) at how silly some of the lawsuits were.... I went to my professor's office to talk about these cases and told him how frustrated I was because I used to think that the law was all noble and supposed to be the safety net for those in need.... but it turns out it was all about who had the deepest pockets. Without missing a beat, my professor looked at me and said, "yeah, but as long as they pay US..."
Well... needless to say, I continued, graduated and began practicing... and so far, I haven't found my noble cause.... it's still all about the money.
Have I lost my focus?
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Interpreting Finger Gestures
After reading my last story someone asked me what, exactly, did I mean when I said I offered a gesture indicating the other driver was "number 1", obviously wondering whether I had flipped him "the bird". Without wanting this inquisitor to think I used that gesture flippantly (no pun intended), I quickly answered "no" and with my forefinger, demonstrated that I literally indicated he was "number 1".
Later that night I was reflecting on that experience and began to second guess myself. Was I sure I didn't flip him off? After all, that was a long time ago and I can't say I'm incapable of presenting the middle finger. Furthermore, I did fully admit that the experience made my blood boil.
No... After much thought and introspection (yes, I do spend time thinking about such things), I concluded that I did not, in fact, use the middle finger. Here's how I came to that conclusion - Please, come into this demented mind of mine.
There was a time in my life, when I was much younger of course, when anyone flipping me the bird would have made me explode with anger. I know what you're thinking... "but, Dwighter, why would you let such a little thing get under your skin like that?" - Okay, fair question... but I didn't think it was such a small thing. To be perfectly frank, flipping the bird from the safety and security of your car when you're driving down the street, to me, is one of the biggest cowardly moves of all time - I mean, if you have the stones to be that offensive (and I do think flipping the bird is highly offensive) then have the brass to do it to my face... put your money where your mouth is... or your finger, as the case may be. But, people aren't typically that courageous. I know, because I've challenged, a couple of times, those who have offered their fingers to me, to let me see it up close and personal. The response was usually the same - "oh, crap... I'm outta here."
One time, while I was on a date (no, I didn't do this to impress the girl), I was driving my jeep around a corner in a movie theater parking lot, when, apparently some guy in a smaller car thought I turned too wide, thereby impeding his travel. So, he did what many brash young fellas do and acknowledged my existence with his finger - the middle one, of course.
As quickly, it seemed, as his finger had been retracted, my emergency brake was depressed and I had one foot out the door. In almost the same amount of time, he confessed his cowardice and sped his little car away. My point, exactly!
Now, here's where I admit that not every scenario went down like that. There was another time when someone did back it up... much to my chagrin. I was driving down the road late at night, in my jeep, but this time by myself (see, it wasn't just to show off to a girlfriend). As I passed through an intersection, the driver of the car next to me flipped me off and then sped up and cut in front of me. Not knowing what I could have done to inspire such an act, I was incensed.
In the classic style of road rage, I proceeded to ride his bumper as if our cars were kissing. He'd tap his brakes, I'd get a little closer...
This continued until he came to a dead stop - in the middle of the busy highway. In the words of Eugene Struthers, I had just taken this to "a whole nutha level".
I started to get out of my jeep as I watched him exit his car. I had just encountered a man who reminded me of Lenox Lewis... large and in charge! I knew instantly that I was in over my head. But I was in, and I couldn't see how to back out. We exchanged words as we slowly began walking toward one another.
I wasn't sure how this was going to turn out, until, to my relief and comfort, a highway patrol approached, flashing his lights. Finally, a time when I was glad to see the fuzz.
My presumptive boxing opponent and I quickly exchanged a few more words to the effect of "learn how to drive" as we both entered our vehicles and drove off...
Alright, I fully admit that getting into such an engagement over a finger gesture is rather silly... if not outright dangerous - but the bird is still highly offensive to me and it still ticks me off when people do it from a safe distance, only to run away.
But I'm certain I didn't flip off the trucker on the way to San Francisco.
Later that night I was reflecting on that experience and began to second guess myself. Was I sure I didn't flip him off? After all, that was a long time ago and I can't say I'm incapable of presenting the middle finger. Furthermore, I did fully admit that the experience made my blood boil.
No... After much thought and introspection (yes, I do spend time thinking about such things), I concluded that I did not, in fact, use the middle finger. Here's how I came to that conclusion - Please, come into this demented mind of mine.
There was a time in my life, when I was much younger of course, when anyone flipping me the bird would have made me explode with anger. I know what you're thinking... "but, Dwighter, why would you let such a little thing get under your skin like that?" - Okay, fair question... but I didn't think it was such a small thing. To be perfectly frank, flipping the bird from the safety and security of your car when you're driving down the street, to me, is one of the biggest cowardly moves of all time - I mean, if you have the stones to be that offensive (and I do think flipping the bird is highly offensive) then have the brass to do it to my face... put your money where your mouth is... or your finger, as the case may be. But, people aren't typically that courageous. I know, because I've challenged, a couple of times, those who have offered their fingers to me, to let me see it up close and personal. The response was usually the same - "oh, crap... I'm outta here."
One time, while I was on a date (no, I didn't do this to impress the girl), I was driving my jeep around a corner in a movie theater parking lot, when, apparently some guy in a smaller car thought I turned too wide, thereby impeding his travel. So, he did what many brash young fellas do and acknowledged my existence with his finger - the middle one, of course.
As quickly, it seemed, as his finger had been retracted, my emergency brake was depressed and I had one foot out the door. In almost the same amount of time, he confessed his cowardice and sped his little car away. My point, exactly!
Now, here's where I admit that not every scenario went down like that. There was another time when someone did back it up... much to my chagrin. I was driving down the road late at night, in my jeep, but this time by myself (see, it wasn't just to show off to a girlfriend). As I passed through an intersection, the driver of the car next to me flipped me off and then sped up and cut in front of me. Not knowing what I could have done to inspire such an act, I was incensed.
In the classic style of road rage, I proceeded to ride his bumper as if our cars were kissing. He'd tap his brakes, I'd get a little closer...
This continued until he came to a dead stop - in the middle of the busy highway. In the words of Eugene Struthers, I had just taken this to "a whole nutha level".
I started to get out of my jeep as I watched him exit his car. I had just encountered a man who reminded me of Lenox Lewis... large and in charge! I knew instantly that I was in over my head. But I was in, and I couldn't see how to back out. We exchanged words as we slowly began walking toward one another.
I wasn't sure how this was going to turn out, until, to my relief and comfort, a highway patrol approached, flashing his lights. Finally, a time when I was glad to see the fuzz.
My presumptive boxing opponent and I quickly exchanged a few more words to the effect of "learn how to drive" as we both entered our vehicles and drove off...
Alright, I fully admit that getting into such an engagement over a finger gesture is rather silly... if not outright dangerous - but the bird is still highly offensive to me and it still ticks me off when people do it from a safe distance, only to run away.
But I'm certain I didn't flip off the trucker on the way to San Francisco.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Everything Comes Full Circle
Many people believe in some version of Karma or dogma under any other name that is essentially a doctrine of fate as the inflexible result of cause and effect, or an action seen as bringing upon oneself inevitable consequences... simply, one might say, "what comes around, goes around".
This is how I envision this working, as example: I found myself driving a U-haul truck from Salt Lake City to San Francisco with all of my earthly possessions aboard - it was a smaller variety of the trucks. Along the route between SLC and SF, especially along the Utah-Nevada border, is a whole lot of nothing. The interstate runs in straight lines as far as the eye can see... drawing the image of the proverbial "ribbon of highway".
Of course, it was my intention to get through that vast wasteland as quickly and efficiently as possible. However, as anyone who has ever driven a rental moving van knows, those trucks' speed are governed. This one in particular was capped out at about 60 miles per hour, which by today's standards, wouldn't even permit the legal speed limit. As you can imagine, this was particularly disconcerting to me.
I soon found that if I could get behind a big rig moving pretty fast, I could draft behind him... the effect of which was to pull me along as if I were tethered to it. Imagine my delight when I found a semi doing about 80 mph. I quickly darted into his draft and instantly found myself doing a nice, comfortable cruising speed.
I should point out here that truckers typically don't care for people who drive so close to their rear bumpers. Incidentally, when you're drafting, you're close enough to the truck's rear end that only a yardstick or two could connect you.
I felt completely comfortable doing what I was doing, in spite of the protestations of this particular truck driver, who had tapped his brakes a couple of times to let me know he didn't care for my being this intimate with his truck.
This did not deter me one bit... after all, I'd driven a truck before and I was sufficiently confident that I knew what I was doing - just staring at the bumper and tail lights in front of me... watching for any deviation in distance between us. All other concerns of the road, I'd leave up to the driver in front.
Now, a truck weighing upwards of 80,000 pounds and moving at 80 mph is a difficult thing to stop or slow down much. This fact was not lost on me.
Without any warning or indication, this truck I'd been essentially attached to suddenly "whipped" into the left lane. This, for a truck of his size and speed, was in and of itself a very dangerous maneuver. No sooner than he was in the next lane, I understood exactly why. This was his final attempt to let me know he disapproved of my proximity. Directly in front of me now was another full-sized semi travelling at about half of my speed. It was impossible for me to slow enough to avoid the truck now before me.
My reflexes took over. I quickly moved to the other lane and saw the slow moving truck go by in a blur.
Fully appreciating that my lead had had enough of me borrowing his speed, I drifted back until I was no longer able to move my truck beyond its governed speed. The difference made me feel as if I were standing still at an idle.
Looking back, I'm not sure of which I was more upset about... the fact that I was now travelling at a full 25% slower rate... or the fact that my speedy lead tried to kill me - needless to say, the combination made my blood boil.
I was relegated to seek a remedy by yelling with all my energy, knowing full well I was the only listener. In the back of my mind, though, I took comfort in the thought that "he'd get his..."
Sometimes, vengence comes sooner than we could hope for. After driving another half an hour or so at my heretofore reduced speed, I observed a sentinel of the Nevada State Police screech out from the grassy median, spraying dirt and gravel from beneath the wheels of his cruiser as if he were Roscoe P. Coltrane in "hot pursuit" in the Dukes of Hazzard.
Whatever his intended target, I knew it wasn't me, seeing as how I could hardly attain the speed limit, let alone exceed it.
The trooper sped off so quickly he was almost immediately out of my sight. I didn't think anything else of it until about five miles down the road. Up ahead I saw the trooper on the side of the road, car parked behind an eighteen wheeler... my former speeding partner.
I've heard said that revenge is a dish best served cold. Well... even though this wasn't my revenge, this dish was HOT... and it was delicious!
I slowed a bit as I passed the trooper and his freshly caught prey. To show my appreciation to the trucker for our short, intimate relationship, I offered a short beep of the horn and a gesture that indicated he was "number 1" - and then, I left him in the dust...
Of course, the thought later occurred to me that perhaps I took too much glee in his misfortune. After all... had he not shaken me from his tail, I might have found myself in the sights of Nevada's finest
This is how I envision this working, as example: I found myself driving a U-haul truck from Salt Lake City to San Francisco with all of my earthly possessions aboard - it was a smaller variety of the trucks. Along the route between SLC and SF, especially along the Utah-Nevada border, is a whole lot of nothing. The interstate runs in straight lines as far as the eye can see... drawing the image of the proverbial "ribbon of highway".
Of course, it was my intention to get through that vast wasteland as quickly and efficiently as possible. However, as anyone who has ever driven a rental moving van knows, those trucks' speed are governed. This one in particular was capped out at about 60 miles per hour, which by today's standards, wouldn't even permit the legal speed limit. As you can imagine, this was particularly disconcerting to me.
I soon found that if I could get behind a big rig moving pretty fast, I could draft behind him... the effect of which was to pull me along as if I were tethered to it. Imagine my delight when I found a semi doing about 80 mph. I quickly darted into his draft and instantly found myself doing a nice, comfortable cruising speed.
I should point out here that truckers typically don't care for people who drive so close to their rear bumpers. Incidentally, when you're drafting, you're close enough to the truck's rear end that only a yardstick or two could connect you.
I felt completely comfortable doing what I was doing, in spite of the protestations of this particular truck driver, who had tapped his brakes a couple of times to let me know he didn't care for my being this intimate with his truck.
This did not deter me one bit... after all, I'd driven a truck before and I was sufficiently confident that I knew what I was doing - just staring at the bumper and tail lights in front of me... watching for any deviation in distance between us. All other concerns of the road, I'd leave up to the driver in front.
Now, a truck weighing upwards of 80,000 pounds and moving at 80 mph is a difficult thing to stop or slow down much. This fact was not lost on me.
Without any warning or indication, this truck I'd been essentially attached to suddenly "whipped" into the left lane. This, for a truck of his size and speed, was in and of itself a very dangerous maneuver. No sooner than he was in the next lane, I understood exactly why. This was his final attempt to let me know he disapproved of my proximity. Directly in front of me now was another full-sized semi travelling at about half of my speed. It was impossible for me to slow enough to avoid the truck now before me.
My reflexes took over. I quickly moved to the other lane and saw the slow moving truck go by in a blur.
Fully appreciating that my lead had had enough of me borrowing his speed, I drifted back until I was no longer able to move my truck beyond its governed speed. The difference made me feel as if I were standing still at an idle.
Looking back, I'm not sure of which I was more upset about... the fact that I was now travelling at a full 25% slower rate... or the fact that my speedy lead tried to kill me - needless to say, the combination made my blood boil.
I was relegated to seek a remedy by yelling with all my energy, knowing full well I was the only listener. In the back of my mind, though, I took comfort in the thought that "he'd get his..."
Sometimes, vengence comes sooner than we could hope for. After driving another half an hour or so at my heretofore reduced speed, I observed a sentinel of the Nevada State Police screech out from the grassy median, spraying dirt and gravel from beneath the wheels of his cruiser as if he were Roscoe P. Coltrane in "hot pursuit" in the Dukes of Hazzard.
Whatever his intended target, I knew it wasn't me, seeing as how I could hardly attain the speed limit, let alone exceed it.
The trooper sped off so quickly he was almost immediately out of my sight. I didn't think anything else of it until about five miles down the road. Up ahead I saw the trooper on the side of the road, car parked behind an eighteen wheeler... my former speeding partner.
I've heard said that revenge is a dish best served cold. Well... even though this wasn't my revenge, this dish was HOT... and it was delicious!
I slowed a bit as I passed the trooper and his freshly caught prey. To show my appreciation to the trucker for our short, intimate relationship, I offered a short beep of the horn and a gesture that indicated he was "number 1" - and then, I left him in the dust...
Of course, the thought later occurred to me that perhaps I took too much glee in his misfortune. After all... had he not shaken me from his tail, I might have found myself in the sights of Nevada's finest
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