Blow the drummer up?

- I wrote this before rushing out the door last Thursday, May 8, 2008:

My mother thinks I may be blown up today while playing a drum roll at an Israel 60 Years of Statehood flag raising ceremony this afternoon. "Jews are hated around the world! I'd rather die in my own home of (bronchial conditions) than get blown up!" Well, if I am blown-up, I have enjoyed my short time here on the planet, and my even shorter time here in Blog Land, interacting, free of religious zealot-ism, with all of you virtual friends!

Keep making music, and if you are in the music business, don't give it away for free!

Hug and kiss your loved ones every day - Dakota, I love you!

See you on the other side!

Ben

Post Script,May 9th, 2008
No one was hurt, or blown-up, at the ceremony. Only the wind blew.

Go Speed Racer, Go!

The chipmunk was speeding across three lanes of impatient traffic.
It stopped, twisted, and darted forward again as my car closed the distance in the third lane. Come on, come on - go little guy! I really hoped it would make it to the safety of the sidewalk on the other side of the road.

I imagined myself sprinting across a massive highway, the width of Hoover Dam, while gargantuan machines the size of cruise ships came bearing down upon me. I imagined myself being very freaked out.

I wish that darting animals would just commit to the run, and go for it, because most of us behind the wheel are really pulling for them, and we're willing to make minor adjustments in speed to avoid hitting them, and it's easier to make minor adjustments in speed based upon straight trajectories then it is upon the erratic zigzagging-start-and-stops of those cute, but panicked, little creatures.

Responsible drivers basically have their hands tied: swerving is out of the question when surrounded by other cars on all sides; slamming on the brakes is a guaranteed three-car pile-up; and slowing to a complete stop for a tiny animal to make up its even tinier mind is not only likely to confuse the little bugger even more than it already is, it's likely to draw exasperated looks of "Are you freakin' kidding me?" from motorists impatient to get home after a day of sucking up to clients and a boss they despise.

Perhaps all of us face gargantuan monsters of some kind or another everyday. I hope that we all make it to the other side safely, as, on this fine day, my little friend was able to do.