the broken glass and the potential for crepes
I don’t quite understand why there are broken bottles littering the side of the road out in the middle of nowhere. Well not the middle of nowhere really, but relatively removed from society at large, as there is little there but road and trees which are inaccessible by foot. {ask me, I know. It wasn’t so long ago that i received a “hiking ticket” out there. There is a reservoir, and apparently ‘they’ are concerned about terrorists putting something in the water. Jesus. Uh-oh, maybe those beer bottles are filled with some terrible biological atrocity, and the wackos are trying to throw them in the water to poison us all.} Anyway, all I can figure, is that a bunch of assholes drive around out there drinking beer, and throw the bottles out of their windows. Or maybe they’re not assholes per say, but I don’t like that they do that so I call them assholes. There. To me, it seems an act of aggression, or potentially rebellion, but easily definable under the umbrella of stupidity.
1. Drinking and driving is most likely involved, which is stupid.
2. It is not beneficial for the environment, which is stupid.
3. There is no 3.
Well there is, and I could carry on I suppose with some intellectual banter about the inherent problems with throwing bottles out of car windows, but I don’t want to at the moment. Incidentally, when I was stopped 24 miles from my home yesterday, picking the remains of a bottle of Budweiser out of my tire {flat tire #2 of the day}, I wasn’t feeling all that intellectual then either. I was tired and cold, the rain had begun, and the patching process wasn’t going all that well. I spent some time imagining that these people would be caught, and their punishment would be that they would have to stand out there on the roadside and repair 20 flat tires. Who knows how long it could take, but they would have to stand out there every Saturday and Sunday until they had paid us back. Wouldn’t that be great? I get a flat and just walk my bike forward to the next “drunk, bottle throwing, piece of shit, tire fixing station” where I stand and stretch. Have a snack. Perhaps we could make them prepare crepes out there too, and tea on cold days. Ah well. I rode home watching for broken glass, ignoring the still water off to my right. The hawks searching out their food. The deer. I was though, still able to drift off with my thoughts. What amazing places they take me.
Posted by jeff pitcher at February 22, 2004 10:21 AM
....................................
Get a truck, pitcher. No more flat tires. And those bottles are filled with a biological atrocity,- non-alcoholic beer. How's that for a conundrum. It's a good thing you own a magic car that runs on fairy dust 'cuz you wouldn't want a combustion engine driven car to pollute our oh so fragile environment. But you only ride your bike. Your life is a flaming contradiction. How many byproducts of petroleum do you own? How much shit do you throw away each day? How many guitars do you own with metal strings strip mined from someplace in Georgia? Where'd the rubber for your bike tires come from?
The only true environmentalists in the world are bums, pardon me, Homeless people. And remember, the word "environmentalist" has the word "mental" in it. Oh, and "list".
John Rensing
Posted by: John Rensing at February 23, 2004 02:09 PM
That's why I live in a hole in the ground, making my garmets out of strands of hair I collect from my pillow, drinking only rain water, eating only fruit that has fallen from free growing trees. There's nothing more important than making sure nothing in my life contradicts itself. Nothing!
Posted by: summer at February 24, 2004 12:43 PM
And then again, broken bottles and other people's trash can be subject matter for poetry:
"...and Hells of the Eastern rivers, bridges clanking Joes greasy Sandwiches, dead baby carriages, black treadless tires forgotten and unretreaded, the poem of the riverbank, condoms & pots, steel knives, nothing stainless, only the dank muck and the razor-sharp artifacts passing into the past--" I posted Allen Ginsberg's entire poem today in my journal and then read your entry...maybe the pieces of shit could recite it as they serve the crepes?
Posted by: Samantha at February 24, 2004 03:05 PM
Why not a broken-bottle-chain-gang, shackles and pine-tarred hands to collect the shards.
We could elect Rensing to be the line-boss, constantly pointing out how pathetic they are, while he uses his lead and mercury filled computer to check the latest observations of life.
Posted by: ChinRingDingO at February 25, 2004 09:37 AM
Chin- you finally made me laugh.
John
Posted by: John Rensing at February 25, 2004 09:17 PM
