From the Moon

I remember a day when the Earth seemed to stand still. It slowly rotated before my eyes so that I could see it all. Magnificent endless oceans and a single mass of rock. I gazed as the mass of land trembled and broke apart forming geodecent patterns across the surface. Foliage grew across these great continents and the clouds began to form. Ages passed as this orb seemed to dwarf even me. We almost became one as it turned below me while I slowly danced around it. Storms raged and I watched this ball of life erupt into life. Its peculiar rotation seemed to gain speed until a great celestial object silenced it once more.

My neighbor and friend slowed to an almost painfully boring pace. White ice and snow covered much of its surface as if it was as dead as my own surface. Ages wore on until a strange little species began to inherit its face. Turmoil and suffering once again returned the sphere to its normal speed and I again became one with my old friend. I smiled for centuries until one day.

I woke to a startling flash on a single hook-shaped island. It was as if the sun had invaded this tiny speck of green. I had gotten used to seeing flicks of light sparkle its dark side, but nothing like this. It was if the sun had rose and set all at once. Ever since that day, the ball before me has begun to spin out of control. We are no longer in sync. Perpetually in motion, I can barely see what is happening before me. Continents blurred into oceans. I continued my dance, but it is as if my partner has lost the beat. My grasp on her oceans had been reduced to a mere graze.

Then one day it stopped.

I could only see one half of my former love. Across her broad masses of land I could see the being I once watched smeared across her like a thin layer of strawberry jam. The lights had been extinguished. She was pulling me in, as if to destroy me as those beings had destroyed her. I felt my face dip into her cool oceans, as it had once before, but I knew it was over. It was a last kiss of a dead planet, and I knew I must leave.

About As Many Brains as A Snowman (Part I)

What is it about snow that turns normal people into complete morons? I would like to think that the state does a reasonable job of distributing driver’s licenses to qualified people, but once the flakes start to fly, all conventional wisdom seems to escape out the window. Here are a few examples from my drive from Frisco last night:

1. Oh my God, it’s a semi-truck, what do I do? These idiots think that it is safe to drastically reduce their speed and take as long as possible to pass a tractor-trailer in bad road conditions. Why in the hell would you want to spend more time next to one of these 26,000-plus pound beasts when they can barely stay on the road as it is? Beats the shit out of me. This cake-hole screwed me over on my way up to the tunnel by slowing from 45 to 30 mph while passing an empty flatbed trailer. The reduced speed caused me to have to spin the wheels while trying to stay at a less than reasonable speed (I was doing just fine at 50 mph thank you).

2. The classic, driving with the high beams in a blizzard. A little common courtesy please! Not only are you blinding me from the other side of a six-lane interstate, but there is no way you can see through the reflection of those doily sized snowflakes. Maybe you should slam on the brakes to make sure that they are working too asshole!

3. Jab the brakes on a curve. Brilliant!

And still others from previous trips up and down I-70:

4. Anatomy of a traffic jam. Guess how traffic jams start? Incessant changing of lanes in hopes that you might get a few car-lengths ahead of where you were. This lane change causes the cars behind you to brake, leading to a six-mile chain reaction that slows everyone down. Even if the highway is jammed with 4:00 Sunday traffic, there is no reason that everyone can’t go 35 mph if you just chill the fuck out. Traffic sucks, we all know it, but making matters worse is not going to help you or anyone else. Pick a lane, stick to it, and suffer like the rest of us.

5. Oh no! A tunnel, now what? Better brake and slow down to ten under, maybe it won’t collapse now because of you. Thanks buddy.

6. Georgetown has a special lane for truckers to put their chains on. It has its own exit and is nowhere near the right lane. It is not necessary to slow down to 15 mph in a 65 zone. These truck drivers are professionals, their trucks are not going to spontaneously jump out and pummel your car.

a. On a side note I heard a story from a retired Colorado State Patrolman. He was stationed at the base of Vail pass one evening helping truckers out with their chains and what not. He stops one guy who thought he would try to continue unlawfully (and stupidly I might add, because I’ve seen trucks get stuck trying to get up that road and it certainly doesn’t look like any fun). So the guy concedes and puts on the chains on his rear set of duelies. A few minutes later he shows up at the window of the patrol car and says, “My truck still ain’t movin’.” The officer walks up to the truck while the driver climbs in. The driver steps on the gas and his front wheels spin furiously.

7. The H3 driver. This is my personal favorite, even if just thinking about it makes me irate. Note: just because there is snow on the ground, the roads are not necessarily icy. I’m on my way up the hill around Idaho Springs when I come up fast on this fire trucking red Hummer H3. I’m going the speed limit and almost rear end this monstrosity because he’s going 45 (that’s 20 under) in the left lane. I brake pretty hard but smoothly to come up right behind his or her bumper. I almost get rear ended myself. I figure, I’m not going to break the law for this asshole so I stay behind him. Meanwhile cars are screaming by on the right honking and making all sorts of friendly gestures and somehow this guy still doesn’t get the hint. I follow this guy for four miles before he finally gets over, continuing at his present rate of speed. This was about a month ago, so he should be almost back to the West Coast by now. Godspeed You! Red Pissant. Call it a form of road rage, but I really wanted to get out and interview this future candidate for the Darwin Awards. “Please sir could you explain to our audience why you are driving a vehicle originally designed for off-road trekking through just about any terrain in war torn countries at a dangerously slow velocity on dry pavement on a beautifully sunny Colorado day?” Well, he is driving a Hummer, and that says something right there, but that’s for another blog.

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