No Country For Old Men

A day in in the life in early 2001.

It was a clear and sunny morning at Willow Springs International Raceway in Rosamond, California, an oasis (of sorts) located halfway between Mojave and Palmdale, in the dry upper desert West of Edwards Air Force Base.

As a Performance Marketing Specialist with Yokohama Tires, I'd been tapped to help shake down several new open-wheel race cars that would be used in the nascent Suzuki Formula Hayabusa Racing Series. Based around the Hayabusa motorcycle engine, a 1300cc monster that pumped out 174 horsepower, the lightweight 1,000 pound single-seaters promised to be a handful.

I'd spent the night before in a nondescript motel in Rosamond, my only real memory of it being the heavy footsteps of the giant Japanese guy from Suzuki's corporate office who was in the room above mine. He was easily 300 lbs., affable and funny when we met earlier that evening, and he seemed to stomp from one side of my ceiling to the other... all night long. 

Early the next morning, I showed up trackside with helmet in-hand to inspect the cars we'd be lapping on the Streets of Willow Springs, the so-called 'small track' at the facility. Our task: to ensure the cars were solid and ready to be leased out to prospective Andrettis with enough cash money to participate in the series.

The cars gleamed in the morning sun while being prepped by Suzuki technicians, eager to see how they'd perform in their first stateside track test.  My initial inspection of the cars revealed a surprise: the motorcycle-style manual sequential shift lever was on the LEFT side of the cockpit, Japanese-spec, so I'd need to get used to that for sure. Otherwise, a sweet little rocket that I was informed only really grabbed power above 8,000 RPM (!!!).

The plan was to do a few dozen hot rotations on the skid pad, in both directions, to heat up the Yokohama race slicks enough to head out onto the adjacent track. Then a lap or two of recon before serious hot-lapping. Simple enough, right?

I geared up and was strapped into a Red car like the one pictured above. While the techs started and warmed up the engine, I got acquainted with the cockpit. Test-shift the sequential gears up and down, test the clutch and brake pedals, snug up the 5-point belts and helmet strap, memorize the gauge placement and rev band, adjust the mirrors and wait for the wave-out onto the Skid Pad. Snick into 1st gear, revs up, slowly release the clutch and I'm rolling. The first dozen skid-pad clockwise circles go fine, so I reverse direction and do another dozen at higher speed, the Yokies squealing but sticking. Time to head onto the track.

I drove the first lap counter-clockwise at slow speed to familiarize myself with the track, an undulating asphalt surface that rises and falls, left and right, with a nice long straightaway. I kept my left hand on the shifter the entire lap to get used to it being on my left side, opposite most of the other manuals I'd driven before. At the end of that first lap, I decided to get my speed on.

OMG... it happened soooo fast.

No sooner had I accelerated into the second lap, I started the turn and reached down to grab for the downshift... with my right hand. In that split-second, I reached for the shifter that wasn't there, realized my mistake and attempted to switch hands, but it was too late. I missed the turn-in point, tried to brake but the semi-hot tires just didn't have enough traction and I left the asphalt, spinning out into the dry trackside runoff area, dust and gravel flying everywhere. An 'off' at the First Turn on the first hot lap.

A fair representation of the spin-out.

Once the car came to a rest, I sat there feeling humiliated and embarrassed, with the dust and dirt settling all over the car and inside the cockpit. How stupid was I, forgetting about the opposite-side shifter?! And on the first hot lap?! Surely, everyone on-hand watched me toss the car into the dirt, and I felt my face grow beet-red inside the helmet. I raised my right arm straight into the air to indicate I was dead-stick and needed a tow. Within a few minutes, I was at the end of the tow strap being hauled outta the dirt and back to the pits.

Before I'd even climbed outta the car, the techs were assessing the damage. Luckily, it was limited to a mildly pranged front wing, which they immediately took a rubber mallet to and banged back into shape. I felt awful, messing up their brand new race car, so when they finished up, I grabbed a detailer's towel and proceeded to wipe the car back to clean and shiny.

Suzuki Tech: "Hey man.. don't worry about that, we'll get it ready for you."

Me: "NO WAY... I tossed it off and bent it, so cleaning it up is the very least I can do."

That cracked up the tech, so I didn't feel so bad. For the rest of the day, I was the self-appointed Wipe-down Boy for all the cars, which I'm sure the techs appreciated. 

Humility is a good thing to have around race cars.

Within 15 minutes of my off-track excursion, I was back in the car and doing hot laps, mindful of the leftie shifter the entire time. After a while, it became muscle-memory and I didn't miss it again. When we switched to doing laps in the clockwise direction, the track felt more accessible and I started being able to really make speed, lapping faster and faster, finding apexes with ease. It took some realigning of my senses to keep the Hayabusa engine in the upper rev ranges, but that too became second nature.

The car was spectacular to drive fast, feeling like an extension of my body, going exactly where I wanted, giving me feedback when I pushed too hard. My head filled with the sounds of a high-revving engine, squealing tires and that sequential shifter snicking up and down, down and up. I was among a couple of other drivers that morning, and we jumped in and out of the four test cars for several hours, hot-lapping the whole time.

After a series of really fast laps in my original Red Beast, I pulled into the pit and climbed out of the car.  A tech called over to me saying "HEY, who do you think you are... Nelson Piquet?! Your lap times are great!" I had no idea they were timing us, but of course they were.

(Sound of my head swelling three times it's normal size)

Nelson Piquet, handsome Brazilian 3-Time Formula One World Champion

We broke for lunch, and thankfully it was on the light side because cornering G-forces and heavy braking can wreak havoc to a full stomach. Then it was back into the cars for more hot-lapping. So far, all the track time had been for serious testing and evaluation, with the results headed back to Suzuki Motorsports for analysis. At around 3pm, we pitted and the Formula Hayabusa's were rolled into the garage to be prepped for loading into the transporters.

Now it was time for some fun. Parked alongside the pit garage all day were several brand-new Suzuki Aerios, small 5-door hatchbacks in Easter egg colors, waiting patiently for us. These cars were bone-stock 5-speed manual sub-compact grocery-getters, not designed for being anywhere near a racetrack. Heh.

We jumped into the Easter eggs and proceeded to thrash them around the track in a buzzy gang, skinny tires squealing while cornering, inside rear tires lifting at the apexes, us drivers stirring the long shift handles, looking for gears. The speeds weren't that high, but it was absolutely hilarious trying to outdo each other around the track, sawing away at the steering wheel to stay on the asphalt. The term 'swatting at bees' is a good description of how much steering wheel input these cars required.

The crew watching us careen the Easter eggs around the track said afterwards that it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen. 

I thought it was AWESOME.

By the time we finished having our way with the Aerios, the sun was ready to drop below the horizon, so we parked the Easter eggs and marveled that none of them had a scratch. Many of the Suzuki staffers were spending another night in Rosamond, so I said my goodbyes and headed out for the three-hour drive back home.

As a teenager in the early 70's, all I could think about was cars and auto racing and girls. As an adult, I lucked into a thirty-year career working in the automotive performance and motorsports industries, which accorded me the chance to drive all kinds of cars on everything from autocross courses in parking lots to high-speed race tracks. I could never have imagined I'd be lucky enough to have a day like the one I just described, let alone many many more just like it. Although I'm now semi-retired, I still have my helmet and fire suit. 

Legacy mementos... and they both fit, too. 

Right now, I'm looking at the K1 Speed indoor karting gift card on my desk, taunting me. Yep... it's gonna get used very soon. I'm an Old Man now, but  I can't wait to strap a bucket to my head and get my speed on again. 

Going fast RULES.

All images, Gracias de Google Images; Commander Cody 'Hot Rod Lincoln' video, Muchisimas Gracias de YouTube. 

The 'L' Word

                 

Note: this essay has been updated from it's original posting in 2012, because reasons.

I AM A LIBERAL.

There… I said it, and I meant it. Don’t like it? Too bad for you, boo hoo.

It’s not easy being a LIBERAL these days because the meaning and inference of the word LIBERAL has been cast as a red flag, a scarlet letter, a degrading moniker to be assigned, ridiculed and dismissed with malice. With all due respect, I beg to differ (with thanks to www.dictionary.reference.com):

“lib•er•al (adjective) 1. favorable to progress or reform, as in political or religious affairs. 2. noting or pertaining to a political party advocating measures of progressive political reform. 3. of, pertaining to, based on, or advocating liberalism. 4. favorable to or in accord with concepts of maximum individual freedom possible, especially as guaranteed by law and secured by governmental protection of civil liberties. 5. favoring or permitting freedom of action, especially with respect to matters of personal belief or expression: a liberal policy toward dissident artists and writers. 6. of or pertaining to representational forms of government rather than aristocracies and monarchies. 7. free from prejudice or bigotry; tolerant: a liberal attitude toward foreigners. 8. open-minded or tolerant, especially free of or not bound by traditional or conventional ideas, values, etc. 9. characterized by generosity and willingness to give in large amounts: a liberal donor. 10. given freely or abundantly; generous: a liberal donation. 11. not strict or rigorous; free; not literal: a liberal interpretation of a rule. (noun) 14. a person of liberal principles or views, especially in politics or religion.”

For context, here is the same source’s definition of ‘conservative’:

“con•serv•a•tive (adjective) 1. disposed to preserve existing conditions, institutions, etc., or to restore traditional ones, and to limit change. 2. cautiously moderate or purposefully low: a conservative estimate. 3. traditional in style or manner; avoiding novelty or showiness: conservative suit. 4. of or pertaining to the Conservative party. 5. having the power or tendency to conserve; preservative. 6. a person who is conservative in principles, actions, habits, etc. 7. a supporter of conservative political policies. 8. a member of a conservative political party...”

Am I missing something here? After reading through both definitions, I can't think of a personal philosophy that would suit humanity better than being considered LIBERAL.  I know this much: nothing short of (another) lobotomy would convince me to schwing over to the Dark Side and embrace conservatism. Only removing the remaining portions of my frontal lobes and cerebral cortex would do it.

I choose to live by the precepts set forth in the popular definition of the word LIBERAL. I strive to integrate these concepts into every aspect of my life. To do any less seems mired in the smelly goo of Dark Age regressivism.

I AM A RADICAL PROGRESSIVE LIBERAL.

I want a political system that serves the interests of ALL the people. In our ADD-addled country, we need to make sure we govern with compassion and strength, with wisdom and empathy, with intelligence and humor and maturity. I dream of the day when our current brand of scorched-earth adversarial politics will be replaced by a lively consensus government made up of people from all walks of life, from every income level and every strata of our great country, but where money does NOT buy influence or votes and is no longer a viable political weapon.

I AM A MEXICAN-AMERICAN LIBERAL.

I want true equality among the many vibrant lines of ethnic heritage that make us the most diverse and unique country in the world. I hope to live long enough to see our country become a place where, as Bob Marley wrote, “the color of a man’s skin is of no more significance than the color of his eyes.” Before I take the dirt nap, I hope the last vestiges of racism and racial inequality will be tossed into the dumpster of history, replaced by the reality that we are indeed 'one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.'

I AM A PRO-CHOICE FEMINIST LIBERAL.

All women must have complete bodily autonomy, and be released from the primitive shackles of forced childbirth and unwanted children. I want every woman who CHOOSES to give birth to do so without having to worry about their health and well-being, and that they will never want for food or clothing or shelter or healthcare or education. Every young girl should have a path to create any future they choose, whether at a jobsite or in a racecar or as a homemaker or in the Oval Office or in orbit around Mars. Young girls need to learn in school that they will grow up to be a woman in control of her own destiny, equal to boys in every way (even though she knows she really is better than any smelly boy hee hee).

I AM A FREETHINKING SECULAR LIBERAL.

I want practitioners of every religion, spiritual philosophy and belief to know they have the freedom to hold that faith close to their heart, knowing they will never be branded as ‘the other’ simply because of the icon they wear around their neck, the piece of cloth on their head or the house in which they worship. At the same time, our government must also be strongly secular in thought, word and deed in order to ensure that no single faith holds sway over any other faith, nor against those who choose to hold no sectarian faith at all. 

You know, like ME.

I AM AN EQUALITY-LOVING LIBERAL.

I want every LGBTQ+ person to be considered as an equal to everyone with whom they share this country. Ask me if I chose to be heterosexual and my answer will be “I didn’t choose to be hetero... I just am.” It eludes me how anyone could convince themselves that our LGBTQ+ brothers and sisters chose their sexuality and the terrible stigma of hatred and vilification that comes with acknowledging and asserting their sexual identity. What are we… ignorant rabid wolverines? As my religious friends like to say, ‘God don’t make no junk.’

I AM A CAR-WASHING, LAWN-MOWING LIBERAL.

I support all people from other countries who come to our shores to seek freedom, earn a living, pay taxes, support their families and make a life for themselves here, regardless of their nationality. We should be grateful to anyone who chooses the United States as their homestead, and make it far easier for them to gain their legal status and citizenship, if that's their desire. No human being should ever be classified as ‘illegal’, and every immigrant who works hard at their job is as vital, as needed, as important as any American citizen. No matter what job a new émigré takes on, they are an important cog in the giant machine that drives our common fortunes forward, adding to the foundational strength of our nation.

I AM A BLOOD-DONATING LIBERAL.

Every single person living in this country should never be without affordable, accessible and competent healthcare, no matter how much or how little money they have stuffed in their mattress. We must strive to ensure that no one ever lies awake at night, worrying about how they'll pay for the hospital and doctors and nurses and specialists that are caring for them or their loved ones. When a college grad strikes out on her own, she should be able to do so knowing that her dreams won't be stymied by an unplanned illness or accident or pregnancy that could devastate her savings and livelihood. When we all share in the costs to support universal healthcare, we all reap the benefits of a healthy, happy and motivated society of non-rabid wolverines.

I've been called many degrading and insulting names in my lifetime. I suspect we all have at one point or another,  and recent events have me thinking about how casually we tend to label those with whom we have alternate points of view. Our current seething political brouhaha has created an environment that incites name-calling, whether justified or not. 

Think about it: if you're a conservative and want to offer a dismissive categorization of the opposite thinker you're jousting with, no word is better suited than calling them a LIBERAL and then crossing your arms and smiling... job done, NAILED IT. It doesn’t work the other way around. Trying to stuff someone by calling them a (gasp!) CONSERVATIVE gets nothing but blinking eyes and a sense of ‘Yeah… and?’ I’m often confused about how The ‘L’ Word came to wield such negative force.

I'm not ashamed to call myself a LIBERAL.  I'm not concerned when someone calls me a LIBERAL, whether their intention is upbeat or not, and I don't shrink away from it.  It is what I am, and since words matter, I'm more than pleased the active online dictionary defines the word LIBERAL in such a positive manner.

I'm proud to be a LIBERAL.

Conservatives will never stop trying to poison the waters with their vilification of all things LIBERAL, but that's just how they roll, innit?  They fear change, they fear the unknown results of doing things differently.  They like everything being the same as it always was, because it is a known known.  The problem with conservative philosophy is the stagnation that results from never changing, doing things the same way, day after day, year after year.

"Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future.” ~ John F. Kennedy

For myself, I'll keep on pushing for the egalitarian, diversity/equality/inclusion-infused society that I will likely not live long enough to experience.  I'll strive to support anyone who sees injustice, inequality and unfairness as the old way of doing things, the way that I do every day as a self-proclaimed LIBERAL.  I'll continue to educate myself with the facts of modernity, while never ignoring the past for fear of repeating it.  

I AM A 100% MOTHERF**KING LIBERAL.

Don’t like it? Too bad for you, boo hoo.



Lead image, gracias de Google Images; ZZ Top "I'm Bad, I'm Nationwide" and Johnny Cash "The One On The Right" videos, muchisimas gracias de youtube.com. Harris/Walz 2024!!

Bumper Sticker Politics

Note: This essay is political commentary by a Radical Progressive Liberal DemocRat. If you have delicate Conservative fee-fees, can't name the three branches of our Federal government, or don't understand that inflation is a natural by-product of free-market capitalism, please be advised - this ain't rocket science.

******************************************************

The 2016 Presidential election now seems like a lifetime ago. Before the dust had settled and while the nation was still in collective shock over the results, I asked my (then) graphics vendor to produce a white die-cut vinyl sticker with these words: 

POTUS 45: LIAR. PREDATOR. RACIST. TRAITOR.

I applied the sticker to the rear of my Dirty Hippie Van and rocked it there for over six months. I took some flack, but also got the thumbs-up from many other drivers. I finally removed it when The Artist expressed concerns that her customers at a venue in a very conservative area might get their noses out of joint. 

I always follow her advice because she's much smarter than me.

That sticker would come to describe 45 perfectly. I knew he'd be bad, but he exceeded my worst nightmares by a lightyear. It wasn't even cold comfort to say "I told you so" to his supporters, because they were blinded to his horrific behavior with a mixture of cognitive dissonance and willful ignorance. In his book titled 'The Demon-Haunted World', Carl Sagan described this phenomenon with a single word: they had been 'bamboozled'.

45 was so unrelentingly awful that 76-year-old Joseph R. Biden, then considering retirement from the political world, decided to oppose 45 for the 2020 Presidential election as a shield to protect our democracy. Against formidable odds, Handsome Joe won the election and, in spite of disloyal opposition from Congressional Republicans and 45's MAGA jihad on January 6, Joe took the oath of office and spent the following years steering our Ship of State into much calmer seas. 

Joe Biden and his team are responsible for the most progressive and positive national outlook since the Roosevelt Administration.

These are facts. If you don't believe me, look it up.

When the 2024 election cycle began, many leaders in the Democratic Party were worried that Handsome Joe was too old to run against 45, who had completely taken over the GOP and transformed it into a cult via lies, abuse and stochastic terrorism. The DNC were hoping that 'Johnny Unbeatable' would rise above the other Democratic contenders to take on Handsome Joe in the primaries, win the nomination and smile with benevolence when Joe handed off his Captain's spyglass.

It didn't work out that way.

The entire political world is reeling after a chain of events has seen 45 become the GOP cult's deified Chosen One, picked by the hand of God as the next POTUS, even though the election is still months away. At the same time, Handsome Joe was compelled (pushed?) to withdraw from the 2024 election to concentrate on completing his landmark term as POTUS and, in classic jiu-jitsu Biden style, supporting Kamala Harris as the logical choice to receive the nomination at the top of the Democratic ticket. 

Joe has done a stellar job as POTUS. He's created a thoughtful and progressive Administration that exceeded every real-world parameter for governing excellence. He's tapped his amazing second, Vice-President Kamala Harris, to take the helm and spyglass and move the Ship full-speed ahead if she succeeds, just like our free and fair election system is designed to do... a peaceful transfer of power.

Joe knows how this shit works, whether you agree with him or not.

I'm totally mystified why any sentient adult would vote for a convicted felon. I know many Americans typically pay little to no attention to facts and reason these days, relying on 'vibes' about which candidate makes them 'feel' better. I blame an uninformed electorate, untethered social media and a profit-driven and compliant mainstream media, so I'll use a bit of bumper sticker politics to help clarify things a just a wee bit.

LIAR. 45 lied about Obama's heritage, Hillary's health and her service to our country. He lied about his taxes and the crowd size at his inauguration. He lied about immigration and healthcare and 'Infrastructure Week'. He lied about his private business dealings with Russia while also enriching himself in office. He lied about blackmailing Ukraine during the 2020 election cycle. He lied about fucking a porn star and then tried to cover it up. He lied about Covid and hurricanes and climate change, and lied incessantly about the 2016 and 2020 elections being rigged. During his Presidency, he lied over 30,000 times about anything and everything because he's a pathological Liar.

PREDATOR. He barged into backstage dressing rooms at beauty contests he owned to ogle underage and undressed contestants. He speculated about why he'd date his own daughter. He publicly insulted the physical appearance of many women. He fucked a porn star right after his second wife had given birth, then bragged about it to others while golfing. He sexually assaulted a woman in a department store dressing room, with credible evidence he'd assaulted numerous other women as well. He bragged on a hot microphone that he was a celebrity and could grab women by the pussy and get away with it. He's the very definition of a sexual Predator.

RACIST. He demanded the execution of young Black men accused of raping a woman in New York's Central Park even before they were convicted. He and his Father were convicted of refusing to rent apartments to Black people. He falsely accused undocumented immigrants of being criminals, rapists, murderers and of poisoning the blood of our country. His first official act as POTUS was to institute an illegal and unconstitutional ban of Muslims traveling to our country. He separated immigrant children from their parents at the border without any mechanism for reuniting them. He targeted Black election workers in Georgia with lies about election fraud. He aligned himself with racist groups and Nazi-adjacent organizations. His life-long pattern of being a Racist is well-documented.

TRAITOR. He begged Putin to intervene in the 2016 election. He gave Top Secret military information to Russian Foreign Minister Lavrov during an Oval Office meeting. He held high-stakes intelligence meetings in public areas at Mar-A-Lago events. He insulted and demeaned the military, POW's and Gold Star families. He publicly sided with Putin instead of his own country's national intelligence services, and had private meetings with Putin without any official witnesses or documentation. He professed love and admiration for authoritarian leaders and regimes. He shared classified military information on social media platforms. He rejected defeat in the 2020 election, conspired to overturn the results and incited an insurrection on the Capitol to stay in office. Upon leaving the White House, he stole classified documents, lied about having them, fought against their return and tried to hide them from investigators. He is an obvious Traitor.

Ladies and Gentlemen, your GOP Nominee for POTUS!

My previous essay discussed why, in this most important upcoming election, citizens should vote the the person, not their politics. It's OK to disagree with an administration about many different issues and how they need to be addressed. However, the Leader of the next Administration needs to be, at the very least, a decent human being. When you know they are, you know they'll make decisions based in-part on the strength of their character, which really, REALLY matters.

Kamala Harris, the presumptive Democratic nominee, was a successful District Attorney, Attorney General, Senator and Vice-President. She is not a liar, a predator, a racist, or a traitor. She is a decent human being, and has a record of behavior to prove it.

Donald Trump was a failed businessman who was unfit to be President of the United States, and his behavior before, during and since then only confirms that he remains unfit to serve. He is not a decent human being, and has a record of behavior to prove it.

He is a Liar, a Predator, a Racist, a Traitor, an adjudicated sexual abuser, a business fraud and a convicted felon. 

These are facts. If you don't believe me, look it up.

In November, please cast your vote for the person, not the politics of that person, to ensure that a decent human being takes the oath of office as our next POTUS. American citizens have the Constitutional right to vote for whomever they choose, and I know millions of people will happily vote for 45 again. 

Their choice will say far more about themselves than it does about him.

This isn't rocket science.

"Rarely do we find men who willingly engage in hard, solid thinking. There is an almost universal quest for easy answers and half-baked solutions. Nothing pains some people more than having to think." - Martin Luther King, Jr.

Lead image, Gracias de Google Images; DEVO 'Freedom of Choice' and Beach Boys 'Sail On Sailor' videos, Muchisimas Gracias de You Tube; DEVO was right all along!!

Works Well With Others

 

Note: this essay was updated on 9/5/2024 to reflect the new reality of Kamala Harris taking the handoff from Joe Biden to be the 2024 Democratic nominee for President of the United States.

"The philosophy of the school room in one generation will be the philosophy of government in the next." - Abraham Lincoln

As we careen towards the upcoming Presidential election, I'm reminded that in a society as divided as ours, it's easy to let politics get in the way of who(m) we choose for that important office. You're probably saying to yourself, "Well... DUH!" 

Seems pretty obvious, right?

But if you think about it for a moment, choosing a President is just about the most important thing we get to do as American citizens. Participatory small 'd' democracy will always be an experiment in how we live our lives and create the world we live in We need to be serious about the choices we make for the common good.

Voting for the person who will be our next POTUS is a de facto requirement for adults who consider themselves citizens. Withholding your vote from the better Candidate because of a few philosophical or ideological conflicts is not adult reasoning. 

Does that statement upset you? Too bad, so sad.

An individual's politics is a major element in making that choice. The myriad shades of ideology and culture and personal beliefs involved can be a minefield when trying to decide who and why to put someone in charge of our Nation. With that in mind, I have a proposition to offer anyone who's planning to vote this coming November:

Focus on the person, leave out the politics.

That may sound counter-intuitive, but let me explain why it may be the only objective way to make the best choice for President in the 2024 election.

The image at the top is a 3rd Grade Progress Record for my younger brother Chuck (R.I.P.). I recently found it and several others, along with a short stack of his photos, stashed in a box in my garage. I flipped though the images, some familiar and some not... neat little time machines. The Progress Records caught my interest and shoved me into a direction of thought I hadn't thought of before.

As I read through Mrs. McEuen's report, I was fascinated by the areas of scholastic and individual growth Chuck was expected to achieve under her watchful eye. Language Arts, Arithmetic, Social Studies, Science, Health, and Citizenship. He was expected to show improvement in all these areas so Dad would know he wasn't a Big Dummy.

The Progress Record was a benchmark for the kind of person the school district hoped they could help create: a good student, a thinking adult, a well-rounded citizen. After reading all the ways in which Chuck was being evaluated, I realized they're excellent categories to apply when choosing a President, too.

Dig this: The categories were important guidelines used by educators to help kids grow and prosper in thoughtful, positive and meaningful ways. The student's measured progress was a hopeful promise for success in the future. Parents typically understood this without question and deferred to the education professionals. 

We should vote for a President with that same level of hopeful promise, and choose the Candidate using no less a measurement than was applied to a 3rd Grader.

Focus on the person, leave out the politics.

The Progress Record format used by Lassalette Elementary in 1967 is a summary of what they believed was a 3rd Grader's potential. For 2024, measure the Presidential candidates using these basic guidelines. Leave out the politics or your personal biases, whatever they may be. Most of all, be honest about your conclusions.

The category of Language Arts is a good place to start. Do the Candidates understand and comprehend what they read and say? Do they express themselves well, understand words, and can spell and use them correctly? Do they misuse or misunderstand words and their meanings?

Arithmetic is vital. Do the Candidates know the meaning of numbers and show reasoning ability in their use? Do they understand basic rules of mathematics and how they work? Do they 'show the work' to demonstrate how they reached the answers?

Social Studies is just as important. Can the Candidates learn and understand about different people living and working together? Do they strive to learn about their communities and develop positive ideas about the world they lives in? Do they understand the importance of the creative arts?

Science and Health couldn't be more important. Do the Candidates understand themselves? Do they have good health habits? Do they show growth in their observations of the world around them? Do they engage and take part with others in intelligent discussion? Are they open to new ideas and facts based on science?

Citizenship is key. Do the candidates work well with others, show respect for property, practice good self-control, and display good work habits? Are they courteous and treat others with respect? Do they understand and respect the Constitution and the Rule of Law?

Focus on the person, leave out the politics.

Given our divisive political climate, it's easy to focus on narrowly-specific issues relating to the Candidate we'll be voting for (or against) this coming November. I developed this mental exercise as a way to be as objective as possible, yet it also needs to be honest and relevant.

When we evaluate someone to be part of our business, civic, social or personal circles, we're drawn to those who demonstrate the traits most suitable for that role, will be able to function normally, and will demonstrate intelligence and positivity.

Some areas of concern may arise, but that doesn't mean a person isn't right for the role.  Rather, it's part of a spectrum we use to gauge the overall quality of that person, and it's up to us to use our best judgement. We're not evaluating their personal beliefs or if they agree with our political stance (unless that's your jam), but instead on their capability to perform the role or task at hand. 

Are they the best choice overall?

And so it goes with choosing a Candidate for the US Presidency.  It's easy to pick one or two areas of agreement or disagreement and forget the rest... maybe too easy.

Focus on the person, leave out the politics.

Chuck's 2nd Quarter Progress Record showed a marked improvement over the 1st Quarter by a country mile. He received  'High Quality Work' marks for many categories, and not a single 'Capable of Doing Better' mark. He did GOOD.

The Presidential Candidates for 2024 have demonstrable track records about how they operate as adults, citizens, and human beings. Their performance, based upon the categories of the Lassalette Elementary School Progress Record, is the best way to judge the person running for the office this year. 

The person most likely to do a good job.

Bonus: their politics will also reflect their humanity.

Sadly, many voters can't be bothered to utilize 3rd Grade measurements of progress when deciding who(m) to choose in November. It's their right as American citizens to ignore consideration, facts or reason. 

Plus, it also requires reading, spelling, understanding words and their meaning, taking part in thoughtful evaluation,  learning about people living and working together, and gaining a growing knowledge of their community and the world we all live in.

On the other hand, Recess is easy.

Chuck and Me, prox 1967-68

 

"The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled."

Plutarch - Greek biographer, philosopher (45-125 A.D.)

Progress Record images by the Author; Scouting image, muchisimas gracias de Manuel Macias Jr.; Rockpile video, gracias de Youtube.

Throw Down Your Arms

Much has been written and said about Sinead O'Conner, both during her life and now after her untimely death. I've been a huge fan since I first heard 'Mandinka' from her 1987 debut LP 'The Lion and The Cobra', a truly excellent first effort.

I admired her as an artist and a strong proponent for peace and equality. She was also a polarizing voice and garnered much hatred and antipathy when she tore up an image of the Pope on Saturday Night Live in 1992 after performing an a capella version of the tune 'War', first made famous by Bob Marley and The Wailers, to protest corruption in the Catholic church.

I remember watching that performance and cheering her on, knowing how much she would pay for an act of open defiance on live television. She was a self-professed protest singer, and I loved her for it.

This post is about what I consider her finest release, the 2005 CD titled 'Throw Down Your Arms', also known as her 'reggae album'. Recorded at Anchor and Tuff Gong Studios in Kingston, Jamaica, it was produced by reggae studio heroes Sly and Robbie and includes amazing session musicians that give every tune the rock-solid honesty they deserve. She donated 10 percent of the sales profits to support Rastafari elders in Jamaica.

'Throw Down Your Arms' has become one of the all-time favorite CDs in my collection, a real go-to no matter the mood or occasion. Here's a sampling of several tunes from that release which I believe exemplify her reggae cred.

'Marcus Garvey' 

Written by Burning Spear from their 1975 LP of the same name.

'Y Mas Gan' 

Written by The Abyssinians from their 1976 LP titled 'Satta Massagana'

'Throw Down Your Arms' 

Written by Burning Spear from their 1977 LP 'Dry and Heavy'.

'War' 

Written by Allen 'Skill' Cole and Carlton Barrett, it first appeared on Bob Marley and the Wailers' 1976 LP 'Rastaman Vibration'. The lyrics are almost entirely based on a speech made by Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie before the United Nations General Assembly in October of 1963.

'The Untold Story' 

Written by Buju Banton from his 1996 LP 'Til Shiloh'.

"Thanks first and foremost to the great men who wrote and performed these songs and whose inspiration has kept me nourished with strength at times when I might otherwise have lost faith in myself. These men were part of a battle fought for self-esteem and for the freeing of God from religion.  

"As such, they are my heroes, my teachers, my masters, my priests, my prophets, my guides, and my godfathers. And I could never in a million words or years express the love and gratitude I feel towards them, for the truth and rights which they benevolently taught through their music and which raised God from the dead in the soul of a little Irish Catholic woman. Nor could I express the influence they have had on my own singing and songwriting. 

"The originals of these songs can never be bettered, and so all I can hope in recording them, is to honour the composers and pass on their teachings, in the hope that doing so will carry the message of Rastafarai to some who might otherwise not know that God and religion are two very different things. And that God is alive in, and around all of us." 

Sinead O'Connor liner notes 

'Throw Down Your Arms'

Kingston, Jamaica, 2005

*******************************************************

Extra-credit tunes for those who took the time to read this entire post.

'Mandinka' 

Written by Sinead O'Conner from her 1987 LP 'The Lion and The Cobra'.

'The Emperor's New Clothes' 

Written by Sinead O'Conner from her 1990 LP 'I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got'.

Lead image, Gracias de Google Images; all videos, Muchisimas Gracias de You Tube.

The Old Man in the Tortilla Mask - Chapter Two

 El Viejo had gotten used to the hallucinations he'd been having over the last few months. They were so consistent that he knew when they'd occur, but he still didn't understand why. He refused to think that he was losing his mind, but he was worried he'd just learn to accept it.  This he would not do.

However, he had his suspicions.

Every morning he'd wake up before sunrise, walk across the dark yard between the house and his shop and check on the fresh pinto beans that had been slowly cooking overnight. Then he'd begin grinding wheat flour from the bags of grain he'd harvested from his field, turning the wooden handle that rotated the grinding stone as the sun rose on another day.

This was his normal ritual, and he rarely hallucinated during those times. 

The rest of the day could be filled with hallucinations that came and went, and he was both comforted and alarmed by them. If he was taking a break outside behind the shop, the chickens and dogs in the yard all appeared to be chicks and puppies, and his wife would appear to be 50 years younger. While he worked, his customers would look and sound like children. The visions came and went, yet by the end of each day, they stopped and everything appeared normal.

He'd even gone to see the town Doctor under the pretense of feeling poorly, hoping for some insight. He was pronounced as healthy as a mule, given some vitamins with a smile and a pat on the shoulder and sent home.

On a quiet Sunday morning, with his shop closed and his wife gone to do some shopping in town, he sat in the shade of a tree on on the far edge of his wheat field and brooded about his situation. He'd not told his wife about the hallucinations for fear she'd worry about his mental state. He wanted to tell her, but he also wanted to be sure about the cause before he did. 

The more he thought about it, the more certain he was about why these visions kept happening. At the same time, his certainty was more worrying than the visions themselves. He rolled the facts over and over in his head and considered everything he knew. The answer was so shattering, he forced himself to say it out loud:

"Es el trigo. Estoy cultivando trigo que me hace ver cosas, alucinar. Dios mio, es el trigo! Que voy a hacer?!?

(Translation: "It's the wheat. I'm growing wheat that is causing me to see things, to hallucinate. My Lord, it's the wheat! What will I do?!?")

He was now certain the flour he ground in his mill that was causing him to hallucinate. There was no other explanation for it, and he used his El Viejo wisdom to figure it out by listing the reasons in his head:

1. He never had the visions in the mornings before he began his work.

2. The visions happened only on the days that he ground the wheat grain into flour in his shed, which caused flour dust to build up in the air that he was breathing.

3. Soon after grinding the wheat into flour, he would start to have the hallucinations that his wife, animals and customers appeared to be far younger that they actually were.

4. Later in the day, the visions stopped and he was back to normal, which meant the flour effects had worn off.

Once he was convinced that it was the flour, he began to have many other worries. Was it just the flour dust, or was he causing his wife and his customers problems when they ate his tortillas? Was the flour toxic, or could it cause serious illness? Why didn't the flour dust cause the problem years ago, as opposed to just the last few months? What made the wheat he grew do such unusual things to him? Did the ranchero who gave him the original seeds so many years ago know about it too?

He knew one thing for sure. He had to find out why the wheat he'd grown for decades was now creating a problem for him and if there was anything he could do about it.

He sat under the tree for hours, thinking about his situation. When he'd finally decided what to do, he went back into the house and waited for his wife to return. 

The next morning he followed his normal routine. When it came time for him to mill some grain, he did two new things: he opened the shed's window to allow more air flow that would keep the dust to a minimum, and he wore a bandana tied tightly across his face to filter out any floating dust. Then he set to work, furiously milling the wheat grain into a fine white flour.

He kept the bandana on his face while he brought the flour into his shop's kitchen and mixed in the ingredients that turned it into dough. Only after he was done making the dough, opened the windows and made several dozen fresh tortillas did he remove the bandana. Then he went about his usual chores to get ready for his lunch customers.

He did NOT hallucinate that day!!

He followed the same morning procedures for the next two days and the hallucinations did not return. Once he felt the answer had been found, he went back to his regular activities on the fourth day and the visions returned. Now he KNEW what was causing the visions, but he was more concerned than ever.

Was his tortilla flour dangerous?

He decided to have the wheat grain and milled flour analyzed to find out if they contained any bad or dangerous elements, and the results would help him to figure out what to do next. It was a risk because if the wheat or flour was found to be bad, his thriving burrito shop... his entire livelihood... would be lost. He knew in his heart it was the only way to make sure he wasn't harming anyone.

Using his new precautions, he milled some freshly harvested wheat into flour and placed it in an airtight container, doing the same with a handful of grain. The next day he told his wife he needed to go into town to look at some new restaurant equipment, which she'd been trying to get him to do for months. He made a small sign that read 'Closed until tomorrow, please come back!' and taped it to the inside window of the shop door. The he got into his old truck and slowly drove into town.

His plan was simple. Since there were many small working farms in the valley, the local co-op had a lab where all kinds of tests were done on agricultural products to ensure they were safe and grown in a manner that was approved for human consumption. He knew the lab technicians well, as they were all from the valley and many had stood in line for his burritos.

As he drove, he practiced his cover story to make sure he sounded concerned but not worried, just another farmer with a problem to solve. He'd noticed his tortillas had a slightly different flavor lately, nothing serious but... different. Was it the way he was fertilizing his field (organically, of course)?  Was he milling the grain too soon or too long after harvesting? Could it be the lard causing the flavor change? Was he cooking the tortillas at the right temperature? 

He would explain that after all, he was just a viejo and didn't know about all of these things. He just wanted to make sure his customers were happy with his burritos.

He pulled into the co-op parking lot, stopped his truck and sat there, talking to God.

"Mi Señor... Me pregunto por qué me has peusto a esta prueba? (My Lord... I wonder why you've put me to this test?) No te he exaltado y alabado siempre? (Haven't I always exalted and praised you?) No estas seguro de mi lealtad y fe? (Are you unsure of my loyalty and faith?) He hecho algo en mi vida que hace que me crees esta dificultad? (Have I done something in my life that causes you to create this difficulty for me?) Solo peudo esperar que mi honestidad e integridad sean dignas de su aprobacion. (I can only hope that my honesty and integrity are worthy of your approval.)"

After a few minutes he felt comfortable with his story, got out of his truck and went inside the co-op lab with his containers of grain and flour.

(To be continued...)

Lead image, Gracias de Google Images; Tower of Power video, Muchisimas Gracias de YouTube.

Nanook of the North

 

1994 was a strange year. It was also the year I attended and endured the most extreme motorsports event in my performance marketing career: The World Championship Snowmobile Derby in Eagle River, Wisconsin. 

In January... IN WISCONSIN.

Let that sink in for a moment.

As the Technical and Motorsports Manager at NGK Spark Plugs, I was sponsoring several amateur and pro 'sled' racers with dollars and product. It was decided I'd be on-site to support the competitors and our Regional Sales Rep who wanted a corporate presence for the 1994 event. 

The Plan: I'd fly into Minneapolis to meet with Sales Rep Chris, we'd pick up a rented RV and, after loading it with food, gear and corporate goodies, I'd drive the rig North to Eagle River with Chris leading the way in his company car. We'd park the rig in the race pits as our base camp and spend several days spreading the gospel according to NGK. A typical race event plan, no biggie... except NORTHERN WISCONSIN IN JANUARY.

My arrival in Minneapolis was met with extreme cold and snow, and even though I'd been in town the previous year right before Christmas, I was shocked at the huge snow banks everywhere. I'd already learned about indoor self-service car washes, which seemed strange until my education about how ice, snow and mud can pack a car's chassis and needs to be removed with heated and pressurized water. Otherwise, it can fall off in large chunks on the freeway and impact cars following too closely.

Chris' advice about driving the rented RV on icy roads was very helpful:

1. Accelerate from stops slowly.

2. Never stab the brake pedal.

3. Use the 'thousand-yard stare' while driving.

4. When approaching a stop, begin braking at twice the distance than normal, with half the pressure on the brake pedal than normal.

The trek to Eagle River went well. The weather held off and gave us a clear run, covering the 275 miles without incident. I slid the RV only a couple of times, keeping it nice and straight. We arrived at the track on a sunny and clear zero-degree afternoon, parked the rig in the pits and made our way 20 miles North to the hotel in Land O' Lakes, hard on the border with the Michigan UP. 

Thankfully, I'd borrowed a pair of high-end snow boots and had NGK snowmobile clothing, goggles and other cold weather gear to keep warm. I had no idea how critical this kit would be over the weekend. 

The day we arrived in Eagle River would be the warmest and clearest we'd see for the entire race weekend. Nighttime temps would drop to minus-35 degrees, and I learned that Chris always parked his car with the nose partially buried into a snow bank. This prevented the wind from freezing the engine block solid and allowed the engine block warmer to actually warm the engine enough to start safely.

The next morning, Chris and I headed to the hotel restaurant for a hearty brekkie. We'd just ordered when a guy sat down at a table next to us. I glanced over, then looked again and realized it was Stan Fox, a notable sprint car and IndyCar driver from Janesville, Wisconsin.

Me (whispering): "Chris... do you know who Stan Fox is?"

Chris (whispering): "Yep, sure do... but why are you whispering?"

Me (still whispering): "Well, Stan Fox just sat down at the table next to us."

Chris (still whispering): Oh man... that's so COOOOL."

 

Without missing a beat, I went over and introduced myself to Stan, who couldn't have been friendlier and accepted my invitation to eat with us. It turns out he was a MAJOR sledding fan and attended The Derby every year, was staying at the same hotel, and wound up meeting us for breakfast each of the following mornings before heading to the track (we both loved oatmeal). He also loved NGK spark plugs and used them exclusively in all of his personal toys. 

Snapshot: The Derby track is a self-contained high-banked half-mile oval of snow and ice, where several classes of sleds (snowmobiles) race at speeds of up to 100mph. The 'hot pits' is a Staging area just outside of the track where sleds and riders line up to enter the track and then cool down after each race. During my first walk through the Staging area, I noticed hundreds of small wads of multi-colored tape littering the area and asked Chris what they were. His answer: pieces of duct tape the racers stuck to their faces underneath their head socks, helmets and goggles to prevent facial frostbite while racing, then pulled off and discarded after each race. OUCH.

                  2021 Eagle River Derby Pro-Mod 800 Final Highlights

Snapshot: One evening just before dusk, Chris and I went to dinner at a family restaurant/bar overlooking a frozen lake. Before ordering, we heard what sounded like a flock of angry chainsaws. We looked out the expansive window and watched a group of six sledders speeding across the lake towards the restaurant. They stopped and came into the adjacent bar to tilt a few. After about an hour, the drunk sledders left the bar, mounted their rides and blasted off across the pitch-black frozen lake at high speed. This seemed pretty dangerous to me, but Chris said it was normal Derby-time behavior. "They're filled with anti-freeze and if they crash, they'll feel no pain."

Snapshot: We attended the Friday night grudge match races between the Super Stock and F-1 sleds, a very popular event. With the wind chill, the temperature was about minus-40 degrees and the ground was so cold that I couldn't stand in one place for more than a minute before my feet began to hurt. The solution: bounce back and forth from one foot to another, which everyone standing around the track fence was doing, resulting in a crazy group dance. Every time the sleds raced by, we had to duck below the top edge of the fence or we'd be instantly enveloped in a thick coating of ice dust and wind up looking like a weird snowman. Note: the track fence height has been extended since my visit.

Snapshot:  We spent Saturday morning visiting every race trailer in the pits to hand out spark plugs, contingency stickers and ball caps in minus-25 degree weather. We took a break inside the RV to warm up and have lunch. Without a word, Chris dug out a hibachi and some charcoal, pulled a big pack of bratwurst outta the fridge and started a barbecue outside the RV. I was stunned at the idea of grilling brats in such cold weather but it was normal for him, a Minneapolis native. We grilled brats and shared them with anyone who came walking by. We ran out of brats.

Not the actual brats, but a reasonable facsimile.

When we arrived trackside on Sunday morning, the weather had turned ugly enough that Chris suggested we bug out early or we'd never make it back to Minneapolis before dark. We were soon on the road South in a horizontal snowstorm, and the temperature was still around minus-25 degrees. The RV's heater was useless, and the full-blast defroster kept one square foot of windshield semi-clear. The engine belts kept freezing up with a loud squeal, then would heat up and work only to freeze again, over and over and over. The volt gauge kept bouncing from zero to 18 and back again. I was wearing ALL of my cold weather gear but still froze inside that cavernous RV.

As I carefully drove through the blizzard, the road ahead was covered with icy snow, visible only by two barely perceptible tire track lines. I drove like this for hours, thinking the whole time that I'd skid off into the forest and die, get buried by the snow and be found only after the Spring thaw. Luck was with us and we arrived at Chris' home before dark, so we drank several beers to celebrate not dying in a blizzard.

Epilogue: Stan Fox entered the 1995 Indianapolis 500 and was involved in a truly horrific crash that ended his racing career.

He was severely injured and in a coma for a week but survived. In 2000 he was killed in a head-on road collision while driving to a race meeting during a visit to New Zealand. R.I.P. Stan Fox. So it goes.

By the end of 1994, I'd lost my job at NGK and Mom was rehabbing at our home after suffering an alcoholic coma. 18 months later I was supervising regional personal watercraft (PWC) racing events for the IJSBA all over the country, and my spark plug technical background made me a very popular guy in the pits. So it goes.

I've been incredibly lucky to have enjoyed a long career that was so directly involved with the automotive performance and motorsports industries. I have Dad to thank for my love of racing, which he infected me with at a young age. Many people think race fans only like to watch because of the crashes. They're 100% wrong in every conceivable way.

Motor racing of any kind can be exhilarating and dangerous, and the threat of mayhem, injury and death is always there. However, as Steve McQueen's character Michael Delaney said in the film 'Le Mans': 

"Motor racing is important to men who do it well. For them, racing is life; anything that happens before and after... is just waiting."

All images, Gracias de Google Images; all videos, Muchisimas Gracias de YouTube.