@ 05/04/2007 – 03:24:50 pm
So, having gone the day with virtually no Doctor Who for the first time since July, I'm feeling sort of...lost. Weird, huh? I keep saying to myself, "it's just a TV show for crying out loud..." but it's not really working.
Still, the experiment goes on...
@ 05/04/2007 – 02:23:10 pm
My first car--same colour and everything--'cept mine was a bit on in years by then, of course.
One of my co-workers, who works night shift, 5 to 9, is taking her roadtest today, up at the municipal center in Lake George. She's 17 and quite nervous. I was too, as I recall.
Ironically--because now I love to drive, and have driven many thousands of miles in my life--I was terrified of driving. No, really. Positively petrified.
But, mom--rightly so--was tired of driving me around and I was tired of walking and taking the bus, anytime I wanted to go anywhere (our street was a good 15 or 20 minutes fast walking to the nearest public transit stop, and going any distance often meant loads of transfer stubs to catch other buses, and lots of waiting on cold and windy street corners.
So, first I needed a car. As it happened, mum's "crazy" (there's another story altogether) Aunt Mary was going blind, and she gave us her car--which she'd bought new--an old 1968 AMC Rambler. (Similar car pictured above). We had to drive an hour to Pittsfield, Mass. to get it--taking a commercial bus over across the border, so we could drive the car back.
Not the best car to be learning to drive. It had no power steering, so drove like a Mack truck.
It had a MANUAL choke, that...usually...worked. Sometimes you had to mess about with it, to get the car to start. Bit like a ratty old lawnmower I used to have. Didn't have a radio or air conditioning, or a working heater--basically, it was a tin can with wheels and an engine. But it usually ran really well-so quiet, you didn't always know if you'd turned the key--which probably wasn't good for the starter.
I was about 20 when I learned to drive. But not in the Rambler--mum thought I'd be more comfy in her '76 Buick Skylark--great car, very comfy to drive. So, starting in summer of 1979, I began learning how to drive. I'd just graduated high school, and was preparing to enter college for the first time (yet another story).
First, mum took me to the the Capital District Regional Farmer's Market. It was located in our village, and had this huge, huge car park--one that could house the dozens and dozens of big rig tractor trailers that delivered the region's fruits and vegetables daily to the numerous warehouses lodged there.
I drove back and forth through the car park, learning to parallel park, and stuff like that, drove a lot of circles, parked in the parking spaces, just got a feel for it--later, in the spring of 1980 when I uhhh--okay, flunked out of college (not one of my prouder moments), she handed me the keys to the Mack truck--ummm-Rambler, and off we went to the Albany Rural Cemetery.
By now I had taken the pre-driving test--passed on the second go. Gah! I was so devastated when I didn't pass the first time--anyway, drive the thing up to the cemetery and began learning to drive on--sort of--proper roads.
Of course, the thing about learning to drive in a cemetery, is that you don't have the worry about running over someone--everybody's already dead.
Albany Rural Cemetery dates back to 1841, and the roads--though some are well-paved, if narrow, are extensive. In the Victorian era, there were some 32 miles of roads in there. I learned first, on the straight roads--then graduated to the twisty-winding one's and finally, to the rutted dirt tracks--to this day, I adore a winding country road, and perhaps that is why, dunno'.
There was this one double curve--a very tight "S" curve on a hill--that has a blind spot. I started to get a bit cocky with this one, and it almost proved my undoing! I took the curve at speed (I was by myself that day, having dropped mum off at the cemetery office so she could do some genealogy research--a good portion of her family was buried there, dating to the 1700's). So, I took the hill--and came face to face with a REAL Mack truck--a dump truck!
So, I wound up on the grassy shoulder--just missed driving down into a creek--and he passed by with a blow of his air hooter and a shake of his head--and I became a lot more careful driver--still probably too cocky for my own good, but I learned the lesson of hooting my horn on a blind curve--and, slowing down!
@ 05/04/2007 – 08:44:51 am
Nothing much to write today, I'm afraid.
Have to lose another day's pay--the pain was distracting the heck out of my at work last night--and I can work phone's in my sleep--in fact I frequently pitch the script with my eyes closed, so when I have a hard time concentrating, that's really saying something--so anyway, I left an hour early--and this morning the pain's really wicked, so I'm losing yet another's day pay--my check next week will be less than 125 dollars, I suspect--will pay for the internet/phone--but the rent's in doubt, and my food's cupboard's looking to be a bit bare this month--no Easter dinner for me then, ey? Ah well. Franks and beans for Easter, yummy. 
My swelling's down, but the bruising is actually getting worse. The doctor thinks it's a bad tear, and an operation isn't being ruled out--but can't get another appointment until the 10th, so it's just a wait and see game--at least, being home, I can take the stronger pain killer...I hate the way I feel after--all groggy and grumpy--but, no choice.
Well, it snowed like crazy, last night...typical heavy wet snow we tend to get in early spring...only about 3 inches or so, no big deal--roads are clear, and it's starting to fall off the trees and eaves, and is melting a bit already. Lost power for all of 5 minutes last night--much better than when I lived in Lake George, where the power went out at least once a month--sometimes in dry weather--for hours on end. I and many other New Yorkers, really miss Niagara Mohawk Power---National Grid totally sucks. Nobody likes National Grid--except maybe the people who work for them.
Anyhow, Not much more to say. I wish I had something positive to write--but, I'm sad and miserable and afraid for my existence (I don't like the word "future" any longer), and there's no hiding it today. My life is rubbish, at the moment. As my late mum used to say, "there's no joy in mudville."
Casey at the Bat
by Ernest Lawrence Thayer
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that—
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despisèd, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt;
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped—
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, "Strike two!"
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate,
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate;
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,
But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.
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