Joe Cool

I just returned to Ithaca from my hometown of Saugerties. On the way I stopped in Albany to visit and dine with one of my favorite, most talented, and most beautiful friends. It was really great.

My trip from Albany to here was somewhat eventful. The first event was when I was at a tollbooth exiting the NYS Thruway onto Route 88. There was only one lane open for cash, and there was just a single car in line there. I assumed that by the time I came to a full stop, it would be my turn, and I could pay my quarter and be on my way. Unfortunately, this was not to be. I was actually waiting in that spot for a full five minutes, mere feet from freedom.

During this time, the toll-person and the driver exchanged pieces of paper several times, the toll-person performed several unknown actions in her booth and pointed in several directions for the driver, and, judging by the amount of time and gesticulation, solved what I can only assume was the problem of world hunger. Or perhaps war.

Out of context, five minutes doesn't seem like a lot of time. But these minutes flowed with the same syrupy lack of speed as "waiting for Christmas morning" minutes, or "waiting for the bus" minutes, or "stuffed in the back of a non-ventilated, non-air-conditioned car" minutes. Or "football minutes."

The time waiting at the tollbooth, behind a single car that was already there for several minutes before I was, defined for me a new type of minute. This minute is a goliath, standing in for almost an hour's worth of its brethren. It was incredible. But, as alluded to in the title of this entry, I was as cool as a cucumber, and waited out my subjective hour, without going any further than the merest contemplation of violence.

There was no further excitement until I got off of Route 88 and started on the smaller roads. These are not roads where lighting is a high priority, and it makes driving at night very interesting. I had just come over a hill and shut off my high beams for an upcoming motorcycle when I saw something dart across the road, inches from the front of my car. It was a (very lucky) deer. It was freaky, but I was Joe Cool. I had been whistling along (I had already lost my voice from too much singing) to a Billy Joel song, and I didn't even miss a beat. This was even more amazing if you consider the fact that my heart stopped for about half a minute. Apparently heartbeat is not a prerequisite for whistling, at least not locally.

A bit later on the road, I had to steer a quick bump into my path to avoid a possum who was hanging out on the road in the middle of my lane. (He didn't even have time to pretend he was dead, although he did give me a panicked look.)

Finally, a bit later on, as I came to the top of a little hill a bat performed a nice swoop tangent to my windshield.

This is not to mention the other deer and the several cats I saw who didn't cross my path.

So I claim credit for not running over the possum, but the deer and the bat did it all on their own.

Crazy, man.