A Fresh Commute

Yesterday morning I was able to go into work a little later, thanks to a friendly schedule. I had planned on taking the longer and far more scenic route over the usual interstate highway grind. It was a wise choice.

Everything was shaping up for a pleasurable commute. The weather was decent. Time was plentiful. The work day was guaranteed to be gravy. And yesterday, this Thursday, was actually my Friday. Swell conditions, for sure.

My usual route is Interstate-83, which runs clear into the heart of Charm City. Although it’s surely the fastest way, the traffic is sometimes unpredictable. This makes other roads more attractive if one has the time. Too much traffic breeds contempt for one’s fellow man. Another road many are wont to drive is York Rd. It runs roughly parallel to I-83 from the east. Until recently, commuters were assured of little traffic, but due to the nature of the road itself, one would be hard-pressed to ever top more than 50 mph. I say “recently” because Maryland’s ever diligent road planners decided to post traffic lights at two most idiotic places and thus created a glut of traffic. One final alternative is Falls Rd. It runs fairly parallel to I-83 from the west side. However, to get to it from my house, you have to take several winding back roads, which until very recently were unknown to this writer.

Some extra time on my hand, plus the directions to the school I would visit guiding me to Falls Rd., I took this new route for the first time a few days previous. It was still before daybreak, though, and after having five close encounters with deer variously placed, I was a little reticent to take Falls Rd. in the morning. Deer are wonderful creatures, of course, but better on your dinner plate than your windshield.

This morning was set to be different. The sun was higher, and the deer in hiding. No old yankers or Sunday drivers seemed poised to thwart my ambitions for speed, either.

I live in Pennsylvania, but my state of origin and heart is Maryland. Five days a week I cross the state line going down into Baltimore, MD. Five days a week I am reminded of the natural superiority of Maryland to Pennsylvania, no more so than my morning Falls Rd. commute on Thursday.

Everything about Maryland is of a higher strain. This axiom rings even truer after my commute. There was no “Welcome to Maryland. Buckle up. We care and it's our law” sign to be found since with such a pronounced contrast it would have been redundant. When I hit Maryland I knew it. Her sun was brighter. Her smells more pleasant. Her air friendlier. Her leaves crisper and more colorful. Her trees wiser and more majestic. Her roads wider and better paved. Her homes grander. Her landscape more breathtaking. Her yokels wealthier and less vulgar. Her birds chirpier. Her horses handsomer. Her cattle milkier. Her swine plumper.

This isn’t mere biased patriotism, either. All objective observers notice the same thing, my Brazilian mulher, to name one. Maryland is more aesthetically pleasing.

Too, her people are jollier than those of PA, whose gloom and doom is well documented. Everything about PA has a touch of melancholy and meanness to it. Hell, it should come as no surprise that most of my family started on Prozac after their mass exodus to the Keystone State.

Oscar Wilde, in his trip to America, thought PA similar to Switzerland. How he arrived at that conclusion is quite unclear. He must have bypassed Maryland.

By the way does anyone else also find the sight of an extremely gay Wilde, sophisticated European man of letters, chatting it up with the unwashed natives of Altoona and Yocumtown, PA, a hoot?

So, after several miles of gorgeous back roads, I made it to Falls Rd. A few minutes later I passed a large roadside “McCain Palin” sign. A few minutes after that I passed an equally large “McCain Palin- Country First” sign. The first sign was straightforward enough, but that second one sent me a’thinkin’. “Country first,” they say? Off the top of my head, I can think of at least a few thousand things I’d prefer to “country,” just whatever that means, anyway. Me, myself, and I, to name a few. My son also demands a chunk of my heart. And so do you, dear reader. I also prefer Maryland to “country.” Baltimore and Tokyo, too. My book collection, a decent tune, changing seasons, a timely cigarette, regular bowel movements, rainy days, sunny days, a cheerful buzz—these are all things I prefer to “country.”

Why such blasphemy, you ask? Because it’s all a sham, my friend. When politicians speak sweetly of “country” and sacrifice, you’re being taken for a fleecing at the cleaners. Nations are like religions, anyway. Doubt first entertained, later becomes irrepressible. Although, in fairness, the skeptic would sooner return to religion before the state. Even our friend, Wilde, became a devout Catholic on his deathbed. What expatriate would bother professing his love of country, his loyalty to the Department of Education or to the Carter administration, in his fading last few?

Call me an optimist, but I don’t think such a cheap appeal to folks’ misplaced sense of patriotism will work this time. Maybe four years ago, but not now. People are on to the game now. This scam won’t work. It’s about wallets, not flags.

Oh, there’ll be suckers sucked. But not enough. Barring the unforeseen a majority will dive into Obama’s siren song, where they’ll get their “change” minus the change.

If team McCain were smarter, they’d throw the dogs their meat. Change things up a little and ditch the “Country First” nonsense. They should try something like “Babe before Biden.” Or maybe they could have the next VP debate in lingerie only. This would surely tip the scales.

Whatever, I continued my drive into civilization without much event. Good mornings help to make good days, this one no less than any other.

Such were the sights and sounds yesterday morning on the Falls Rd. circuit.