2001-07-25 - 11:50 p.m.

Drag Race '88

One of my least favorite things about paintball is that the bruises heal slowly. They're just burst capillaries, so they don't hurt to speak of, but they look mean and yellow/blue for a week. Ugh.

Anyway, since paintball, I've been mostly trying to clean off my metaphorical desk before I leave to attend the wedding in Arkansas. I don't think I've done very well, but hey, it's like that sometimes. I did get to see Dan and Jill for a bit, and that's worth something.

On my way home from the store tonight, some guys in a Prelude made a token effort to entice me into a little stoplight derby action. I refused, but was reminded of an incident from high school.

My then-friend Chris and I were driving down one of the usual cruising roads in my Mom's Accord. A man bearing a striking resemblance to Will Smith (who was about 16 at the time, I think) pulled up next to us and tried to get something going- revved his engine, made challenging gestures, etc. We just waved.

He kept it up for a few blocks, and finally I decided to settle matters once and for all. Next time he revved his engine, I revved mine. I looked over, I pointed. It was ON. We were going to pit my white Accord vs his red Civic hatchback against each other in the ultimate battle for suburban dominance. Or whatever.

When the light turned green, he mashed the gas pedal to the floor. Tires squealed and his car sped away. Mine didn't. I waited a full second before I drove away at a nice sedate pace. Nearby drivers seemed to think our former competitor was a bit of an ass, precisely as I intended. When we saw our opponent again, he was trying to glare at us, but mostly looked sheepish.

There's a lot to be said for letting people kick in open doors, when you can arrange it.

I'm off the net for about four days. Catch y'all later.

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