Truth is stranger than....

Today's court calendar included this entry: "Forfieture. State of Minnesota v. 1997 Red Geo Metro."

Forfieture cases (where the state is siezing a vehicle or other property used in a crime -- usually a drug crime) aren't all that common in the county where I work. We should all be glad that the heavy artillery of the criminal justice system has been fired up in this case, eh?. That nasty person will no longer be able to enjoy the use of his 1997 Red Geo Metro! Ha! Take that!

(On 2nd thought, instead of taking it away from the miscreant, the court should make him drive it for the next ten years.)

ULEV and baseball

Before last week, I'd never heard of a ULEV. It stands for "Ultra Low Emissions Vehicle." Shopping for a fuel efficient car, I settled on the Honda 'Fit.' In the first week of ownership, I've used it on the regular daily short commute (25 miles round trip) and one longer drive (just over 100 miles round trip). The results: 42 and 47 MPG respectively. That's even better than expected. Fuel economy and low emissions? Nice.

I do not generally get excited about cars, viewing them as a necessary evil. This one certainly is less evil than most.

----

The end of the baseball season is always an uncomfortable time. For me, baseball is part of the rhythm of summer. Following the standings and my favorite team and players is a pleasant ritual. It always takes a while to adjust to the short, dark days with no box score, no game summary, no baselball blogs to check for highlights and funny stories.

Reading baseball books is one way to fill the off-season days. One of my favorites is "You Gotta Have Wa," about American ballplayer Bob Horner's experience playing in Japan. It's fascinating. I'm re-reading it in light of my new-found interest in Haiku and my son's studies on Buddhism. Look for a review soon.

In the meantime, think about spring training. I wonder if President Obama will wear his White Sox hat in the White House. I hope not, but won't get all worked up if he does.

A Sort of Poem

This started as an essay following a brief visit to Los Angeles. But somewhere along the way it morphed into more of a poem. The main problem (for me) is the ending. The piece feels incomplete, like it needs some kind of profound or clever thought to tie it all up. I don't know. [Edit: The last two lines were added to fix this problem. It's better, but...]

Since I admire Greg Luce's courage in putting his poems out there for comments and suggestions, I'm doing the same with this one, so have at it if you care to.


Shake

Exhaust fumes rise and swirl, merging with the sea mist
The rumble of the surf is overmatched by the growl of engines and the steady hum of tires on pavement

Every vehicle in this town seems to have tinted windows, as if every driver has something to hide

For decades, this place has been called a car culture, which may be a slight understatement
At least one third of the land area in the county is paved, habitable only by vehicles parked or looking for a place to park or on their way to or from a parking place
Pedestrians are rare, and half of them are panhandlers working the exit ramps

They’re saving the fruits of their begging to buy cars

The carcasses of worn out tires pile up in ravines
Huge ships crisscross the oceans hauling cars and car parts and oil
Acres of buildings are devoted to car insurance companies, car repair shops, highway engineers, car rental agencies, chop shops, race tracks, junkyards, DMV offices, car dealers, gas stations, courtrooms jammed with traffic offenders and jail cells with car thieves, emergency rooms, lawyers’ offices

It is a ceaseless, merciless hammering of our senses, yet we cannot seem to quit

We are drawn to the sounds of our own undoing, like the citizens inside a walled city mesmerized by the beat of Attila's battering ram

------

Pastoral, yes?