AIM: Pancaek Beast | E-mail: shdwdde@gmail.com | Denny's House of Pancaeks
"Don't play what's there, play what's not there."—Miles Davis (1926–91)
Whilst en route to the hospital one day, I saw before me a curious spectacle. The automobile in which I resided traveled down the left lane of the highway. To the starboard, a slick, silver SUV cruised smoothly, passing me on its way. I gained a visual on the bumper sticker, which read "Mad River Glen," followed by commentary regarding skiing. On the roof of the athletic vehicle was a canoe of identical silver hue to the SUV, mounted so smoothly and flawlessly that I wondered if really it were part of the car's original design. "The Ford CANOSUV"!
At zero degrees ahead, a sedan of unremarkable, darkish color continued to eat up the road. A total of three rather haphazard, ugly stickers made their abode on the vessel's rear end. The visual effect upon me was chilling, compared to the suave, Spartan feel of the SUV-canoe beast. Further examination of the sedan yielded the legible contents of the sticker: One read "WORK FOR SOCIAL CHANGE." A more verbose sticker to the left of the first babbled about the change demanded on the right. I believe that the word "environment" appeared in the petite monologue. Last but not least, the most prominent and gripping sticker rode proudly below the second, just to the bottom-left of the license plate, with a lofty assertion - and I am not making this up - "ARMS ARE FOR HUGGING." The profundity, along with its evoked response on me, struck me physically to the ground. To the forefront of my mind leapt the expression "flaming liberal." I realized that this was liberal Massachusetts, that the existence of such people as the motorist before me was the living counter to the Republican Party. More insulting than "flaming liberal": "Massachusetts liberal." Finally I understood how "liberal" was an insult. The reason was not only a ridiculous amount of right-wing propaganda, but also the people who actually have this type of sticker...
Poetic moments do occur. As I sat in the passenger seat, as the sportsman's vehicle closed the gap between itself and the bearer of the liberal, such an epiphany occurred to me. Faith and fate have their moments. The droning of my father's book recording exited my consciousness, streaming unheard from the car's speakers, perhaps later to haunt my dreams. And then there was absolute intellectual silence, as the unlikely triumvirate - the liberal, the sportsman, and I - stopped at the red light. A sidelong glance to the right revealed a Caucasian male with a shaved head and shades over his eyes. I flicked my eyes to the rearview mirror of the modest four-door dead ahead and briefly - awkwardly - made eye contact with a long-haired human in his or her twenties. Gender is not my forte, especially when the people in question have long hair, and especially if this person in question happens to be driving a car with a sticker that says "ARMS ARE FOR HUGGING." But nonetheless, I committed the vision to memory: such radically different styles for two suburban, middle-class whites. Finding their styles, rebellious natures, means of expression. The scene was purely poetry.
SD
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Saturday, December 30, 2006
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