Freedom

Apologies; I couldn't resist a blue-faced Mel to accompany the post title. I picked up Supergolf from the mechanic on a recent cool-and-sunny afternoon; it needed a strut bearing and minor body panel adjustment, the latter done free of charge by the nice folks who patched it up after my collision a few months back. From there back to the office, I have the option of 20 minutes by interstate or 30 minutes by backroads and parkland - no contest on a sunroof-worthy summer's day.

Partway along a shaded river's-side street, I noted a lady in a park lot standing next to an oversized pickup truck and wielding what appeared to be an equally oversized RF antenna with both hands. My first thought was "aliens!", but perhaps she had some more mundane goal related to testing her new CB radio. My second thought, though, was that whatever she was doing, while probably strange, was okay. As long as she wain't (wait, what's the past tense of ain't?) threatening those around her (which I would *totally* do if I had an antenna like hers), it's unlikely that anyone will stop her, under the notion that she doesn't have the right to pursue a funny-looking or otherwise unusual hobby. Antenna lady could have been a terrorist. People who hang around with terrorists might be terrorists. Social-sciences students in California might be terrorists. But let us always err on the side of letting people do what they want until we're really, really sure we need to restrict their freedom. Every so often, scary things will happen therebecause, and that's worth it. Huh.

Continuing my second thought (and I hope I didn't run anyone over while doing this thinking), I'm also (for the time being) free to zip down a country road at moderate speed, rather than taking the more practical interstate, for no reason at all. The most bothersome of my interactions with our friendly local law enforcement was once, several years ago, when I was stopped for alleged speeding. After ascertaining where I was headed (home) and from whence I came (work), the cop said something like "well, then this street is a little out of your way, isn't it?". That caught me off guard. The street was out of the way, but so? I remember feeling a deep, if momentary, empathy for people more suspicious than me, whether for good (pulled over while on parole, perhaps?) or poor (pulled over while in a permanent state of suspicious hue?) reasons. Never mind being an Arab in Israel (or Michigan). Wow. Anyway, I did resist my temptation to challenge his line of questioning, offered a mundane explanation about returning a movie to lackluster and went on my unhappy way.

Aforementioned motorcycle is for sale. I have more toys than time to maintain them, and the bike's primary uses have been replaced: commuting (done by bicycle when weather-appropriate) and spirited weekend rides or track days (the former usurped by long-bike or long-run training time, the latter, some day, by the Porsche). So, I decided to save a couple of years of insurance payments and depreciation, and hop back in the game when it fits my lifestyle better. Say, 20 years?

Spanish techno

Driving to work this morning, I passed two consecutive bumper stickers:

"Favored and highly blessed"
"We're all family; we all have value"

I feel a cage fight brewing. Is driver #1 better than those around him because his deity digs his trunk magnet choice? Will driver #2 pound him for being part of the problem, not part of the solution? Stay tuned. A bit later I saw one of the semi-ubiquitous "My child is a peacemaker at Coventry school" and felt better about the world.

I received a cheque in the mail yesterday, of unidentified origin but paid through a bank in Barcelona. From past experience I know this to be some sort of work-related payment (I work for a European company, which apparently likes to pay some accounts transiberianly); I also know that it'll take a few extra days for the funds to appear after depositing it, as I learned last time this happened when I planned to turn the money around for an imminent car purchase.

If instead my funds were being paid through the other Spanish banks, I'd be happy to pick them up myself.

In typing that, my cerebrum has quickly filled with the beats of Spanish Techno, one of several ueber-catchy tunes from the New Pornographers (don't worry - it's just a wiki article), whose latest couple of releases I haven't been able to entirely strike from my mind since my acquisition of them months ago. Curse you, free association!

Reviewing the New Pornographers' Challengers and Twin Cinema
Pros: folksy singing, vocal harmony, great hooks, interesting instrumentation, varied songwriting, Canadian content
Cons: just a bunch of 3:00 pop songs
Listen to: "The Jessica Numbers", "Sing me Spanish Techno", "Challengers", "Adventures in Solitude".
Goes best with: coffee, long pants, Volkswagens