A few thoughts tonight from Tucumcari, New Mexico:
1. Why are even the crappiest motels in the bumfuckiest of places still almost always sold out of rooms? The parking lots don’t look crazy full, but for some reason, every place you stop is always down to their last room, and it’s usually a “Smoking Queen” (but aren’t they all).
Perhaps motels alongside America’s highways have reached the point of perfect supply-and-demand capitalism: years of winnowing out competition has left the exact number of rooms available to every prospective traveler. No less, no more. If you take a road trip, the Market somehow knows it, and adjusts so that you have the last room in a town you can’t even pronounce.
2. God, the “Master and Commander” books sure are amazing. How did Patrick O’Brian do it for so many years? Just when you think he’s coasting on laurels, he kicks your ass about 3/4ths through every book. Do yourself a favor and read the ones you never got around to.
3. I have remarked before about the blinding proliferation of asinine Republican propaganda that used to plaster every car: the Democrat-hating, gay-bashing, the condemning of non-Christians to hell, the Hillary is a Lesbian kind of shit one was subjected to whilst traversing this nation’s southern freeways. I have to say that kind of rear-window sloganeering is largely gone. Even the “Support our Troops” stickers have dwindled to a trickle. Deduce from that what you will.
4. Why did we go for that chump field goal on third down? My heart is still a little broken.
5. Tessa’s best friend Jason has his own small P.R. company that we’ve used for years, and he has always held firm the following principle: nothing worth knowing about you can come from you. That is, information gleaned about you from a third party is exponentially more meaningful than anything that can be said by yourself.
In essence, this is the same thing as a conspiracy. If a third person is involved in creating a reality, then you have the building blocks of any deceptive relationship. All you need is that one “other” person to return a phone call, to give you an alibi, and the story of truth can be infinitely altered.
I used this “seemingly innocuous third party” all the time, especially when I made my roommate – a frequent commenter on this blog – assume the position as my very cautious, very caring family doctor who got me out of pretty much anything I didn’t want to do.
I don’t know why I’ve been thinking about how easy it is to bend reality to your wishes as I looked at the immutable bleak hills of New Mexico, but there you have it.