Dec. 28, 2005 - I'm a Loser
Over time it has become abundantly clear to me that I just don't win races despite motoring around in, and pardon me for being biased, one of the greatest road going race cars ever made. Everyone kicks my butt. It's always the same.I'm usually rolling at the speed limit on the highway, though I can just as easily be stopped at a red light humming along with my music or even cruising sedately down a boulevard when, without warning, I find out I've lost yet another race. My 'lousy' car, and it's driver, have been 'put in their place' yet again by autos of lesser distinction -- old Celebrities, ancient Impalas, even K-Cars joyfully prove their metal at my expense. With their cars straining, heaving, wobbling and with smoke and fluid squirting out from every imaginable place, 17 year old wannabe Barney Oldfield's flirt with death (theirs, mine and that of any inoffensive bystanders in the neighbourhood) as they 'race' my Porsche to their latest glorious victory. It doesn't matter, of course, that I didn't see them coming or even know their intentions.Similarlly, it doesn't matter that I didn't know I was even in a race. It also doesn't matter that I DON'T race on the street. A seemingly never ending string of morons clank and heave their way past me, often accompanied by the impotent roar (sometimes helped by those awful braying aftermarket muffler-noise things that I figure, given their universality, must be issued to youngsters on their 17th birthday) that comes from redlining a commuter engine. Then they invariably turn to their girlfriends, or buddies, for 'deserved' accolades. Clap. Clap. Good job. Whoo-who. Although, mind you, it is starting get to me. I worry that, if these unmanly showings of mine continue, I may end up needing couselling. Although it helps when I later catch up to the mighty victor within just a few minutes - and get to watch a police officer asking for an autograph on those little blue pads they seem so fond of. Once, in a further display of derring-do, one of the mighty who drove me down to defeat later drove himself into the ditch.He was okay, but his fine detroit iron was done for. Now, unlike those of clearly superior driving skill who are possessed of such thoroughly mighty machines, I just carry on after these 'races' and have to be content with not getting requests for autographs, not crashing and not putting other people's lives at risk. I guess it really isn't if you win or lose but rather, truly, how you play the game.but I really did enjoy the ditch part a lot. So much so that I think I'll go trolling this afternoon......... Do you know the one about 'fish in a barrel'?
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