Obamboozled
Two very different takes on the special election to the U.S. House of Representatives from the New York's 9th: B.B.C.-link & C.N.N.-link. The major difference betwixt the two pieces is American-Israeli relations, a central theme of C.N.N.'s piece & a single paragraph in the B.B.C.'s In a earlier version of the B.B.C. article, the subject of Israel was not mentioned at all; by contrast, when first I became aware of this by-election via a piece on N.P.R., the main focus was on "Hizzoner," former mayor of the Big Apple Ed Koch*, & angry reactions amongst American Jewry, traditionally a strongly Democratic-leaning constituency, against President Obama's cold, nearly hostile attitude toward the State of Israel. As has been pointed out in many other sources, this particular House seat is likely to be redistricted out of existence before the 113th Congress is convened in January 2013; nevertheless, with an Egyptian mob having ransacked the Israeli embassy & the increasing autocratic Turkish prime minister touring the region drumming up support for a U.N. General Assembly Resolution calling for unilateral Palestinian statehood, this was a bad week to be seen defending Mr. Obama's reluctant, lukewarm support for Israel.

Autobahn
The last sixty miles of the route to Where's Teddy?'s house are covered not on four-lane expressways, but on two-lane highways. The speed limit drops from Ohio's already objectionable sixty-five miles per hour (M.P.H.; even though M./H. would be more correct, here I defer to convention) to a scant fifty-five. I typically motor along that stretch of highway at a speed somewhere 'twixt fifty-five & sixty M.P.H. because I don't know how safe it is to go faster, "safety" in this context being defined as avoidance of interdiction & citation by Ohio's Highway Patrol. (As far as physical safety, the avoidance of a motorcar-destroying, life-&-limb-threatening shunt, I simply refuse to drive at what I feel are unsafe speeds, regardless of all other considerations.) As I motored southward last Saturday, I saw approaching in Lumi the Snow Queen's rearview mirror & was in short order overtaken by a gray Mini Cooper S. The Mini was flying. Judging myself to be safe as long as the Cooper S's speed exceeded mine own, I depressed the accelerator & set off in pursuit. Lumi the Snow Queen's speed soon topped eighty M.P.H. as I reeled in the Mini. In the distance, I saw a large gray truck, around which the Mini had evidently scooted. When I approached the mammoth truck, however, I found myself stuck. The cursed machine was enormous, blocking out the view ahead. Making matters worse, the truck's mirrors stuck out like the antlers on a moose, the driver's side mirror being perfectly positioned to cut off my view of the opposing traffic's lane. As if all that wasn't enough, the pilot of the truck had his Diesel-powered vehicle, the fuel guessed at because of the clouds of black smoke the truck belched whenever it accelerated up an inclined grade, in the extreme left of our lane. I could not see well enough around the truck to attempt safely a pass; I was stuck, plodding along between fifty & fifty-five M.P.H. I remained so trapped until we approached the town outside of which Where's Teddy? lives & the road widened. Even then, we both had to turn right; so, behind the truck I remained through the turn, & then whipped myself into the left lane & blew past him as quickly as I could, Lumi the Snow Queen's engine screaming as I piled up the revs.

On Sunday's northbound return journey, I again faced the speed safety conundrum. Certainly the pathfinding Mini had torn down the highway at speeds far in excess of mine, but that was the day before, & for all I knew the Highway Patrol chose Sunday as the day to wait in ambush alongside State Route 68. Not long after executing a pass on a motorcar crawling along as a ridiculous fifty miles per hour, I was in turn passed by a pair of mismatched Hondas, one sporting a comically large-bored exhaust pipe &, from the sound of the thing, all but no muffler. As the pair rocketed into the distance, I decided to join their parade. Not long after, I was forced to slow dramatically, having caught up the duo who were not puttering along at forty-five. They continued to accelerate & decelerate in concert, & it became clear they were playing a game, the trailing motorcar trying to pass the leader & the leader accelerating to stay in front. Their behavior was recklessly irresponsible, though it must be said that they knocked off the shenanigans whenever they caught up another vehicle, at which point they would execute a perfectly reasonable pass, just as they had done to me. Nevertheless, for twenty miles or so they made great time, as did I, acting as a remora. They turned off the highway together, at the last intersection before the county line. I resumed my normal cruising speed & had a largely uneventful drive back to sacred Michigan. There was a two-minute stretch of a blinding downpour between Findlay & Toledo, but fortunately everyone kept their heads & no one panicked & slammed on their brakes, a move almost guaranteed to lead to a pile-up. I let out a cry of exultation upon passing the ever-so-welcome "Welcome to Pure Michigan" billboard, as is my habit upon exiting the place where happiness goes to die.

In other motoring news, I've been monitoring Lumi the Snow Queen's fuel economy. The procedure I use is to start with a full tank of petrol & the trip odometer set to zero (000.0). It does not matter how far I drive, I then refill the tank & note how many gallons of gasoline were required to top off the tank's seventeen-gallon capacity. I then note the mileage on the trip odometer, do the division via the calculator on the mobile, & hey presto, I learn how many miles Lumi the Snow Queen will travel per gallon of petrol combusted. The fuel economy I've measured is pretty lousy, but that is unsurprising given the aggressive manner in which I motor. Nor is it surprising that the fuel economy I observed on the expressway/highway journey to Where's Teddy?'s house was better than that which I observe in my normal city driving. What did surprise me was how much better the highway mileage was, ten miles per gallon! One more reason to love long, solitary drives. Wow!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of New York of the Day
Fountains of Wayne, "No Better Place" from Welcome Interstate Managers (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Mr. Skeeter, Esq. (né Jimmy From Queens) thinks I am a natural New Yorker. He arrived at this conclusion rather soon after we had first met, but he's not the sort of fellow to be plagued with self-doubt; he made up his mind swiftly & will not be shaken from that belief. (Things to consider: he is a born & bred New Yorker, as his original code name suggests.) I have quite a different opinion on the matter, but as often as I have been wrong who am I to say I'm not wrong now? I won't ever know if I am Mr. Skeeter, Esq.'s natural New Yorker unless & until I live in N.Y.C.

"And it's running back and forth inside your mind
Just how that town defined you,
Dressed you up and painted on your face,
And now you're leaving New York (aaah-aaah-aaah)
For no better place."

*I have encountered three disparate pronunciations for the surname Koch: {a} "Cotch," as in the irrepressible Ed Koch; {b} "Coke," as in the Koch bros., the bête noire of left-wing conspiracy theorists; & {c} "Cook," as in an old professor of mine. Kochs all, & all differently pronounced.