Eight Feet Deep

Some days the behemoth I-10 here in Beaumont, Texas, resembles a giant parking lot. The bottleneck is usually work on the eastbound side of the Neches River bridge located at the eastern city limit. Such was the case yesterday when the seemingly stationary ribbon of steel became more than just an aggravation and annoyance, it became deadly.

Four people were killed around 7 o’clock last evening at the eastbound College Street overpass. Media reports indicated that the driver of a tractor-trailer came upon the jammed traffic suddenly and hit two other automobiles, causing a fire.

It’s hard to know when work will take place on the bridge. I don’t know what exactly is being done to the structure. I heard on TV reports last night that “emergency repairs” were being made whatever that is. But even though our state traffic reporting system shows no work today on I-10 in Jefferson County, something is being done most days in that very same spot. The result is also predictable. Once you enter Beaumont from the west on I-10 until, basically, you are in Louisiana, you’re in road construction hell.

If you absolutely, positively have to go somewhere that takes you east through Beaumont on I-10 during such road work, either bring your patience, or find a scenic alternative.

“Why is that guy behind the blinds taking my picture?”
Since about 8 o’clock this morning workers were removing a roof off the house outside my bedroom window. Presumably, they are removing the roof to replace it with a new roof. It’s a pretty common activity in my neighborhood and throughout most of Southeast Texas because of Hurricane Rita.

I don’t begrudge my neighbors a new roof. But s**t almighty roofing is one noisy activity. Between the pounding and shoveling of shingles machines are buzzing and guys are speaking en español about 10 decibels too loud.

The neighboring house, which actually is divided into two apartments, is a rather large structure so I don’t know how long it will take to place a roof down. Right now it is about eight hours after the workers started and they seem to have completely removed the roof. I guess I have at least another day or two of looking forward to this cacophony of irritating sounds. What can you do about it? Nothing. I suppose I am fortunate they aren’t building a large ship or something with a lot of loud metallic clamoring. The situation could be much worse indeed. But that doesn’t mean it’s a fun fest.

Carl Sandburg says get your cat’s feet out of the fog before election day.
When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for me to dissolve the saying that sits at the top of this blog, I do so by replacing that saying and retiring the old one. What? Did you think I was going to rewrite the Declaration of Independence?

The year “Ought-six” is almost upon us. It’s an election year. That’s a funny statement of course. When is there not an election year in this country? Whether the actual election takes place during a certain year makes no difference because someone — such as a congressional candidate — runs for office in perpetuity. What is different about 2006 from 2005 is actual elections will take place for Congress and state offices in Texas.

In a way I look forward to the prospect of spirited debate upon the many issues that face us in this country and state. On the other hand, the bulls**t which politicians spread as though they were growing vast planets of hay is sure to be thicker, more venal and of a greater volume than in the previous, non-election year. The politicians are literally going for the gold.

I have said before and I continue to believe that a better way of electing quality candidates to office must exist in some parallel universe. Instead of squandering all the money on running for office that could be going toward the betterment of our society; instead of the exponential employment of increasingly mean-spirited rhetoric used by rabid partisans; instead of shaking hands and kissing babies and petting show cows while singing show tunes; why not pick our office-holders in some way that doesn’t leave the citizen feeling as if they need to take a month-long shower? I will have to get back to you on just how that might be accomplished. In the meanwhile, I have this strange urge to whistle “Everything’s Coming Up Roses.”

If you don’t know me you might want to know what I look like. Or not. I could show you a picture but then I would sacrifice what little anonymity I have here. It’s not exactly like someone couldn’t put all the pieces together and figure out who I really am. Not that I am anyone of importance, great or otherwise. And of course, some who read this already know who I am.

So I thought I would post a picture of someone whom many people might know and with whom I have some semblance of resemblance. Dwight David Eisenhower. I look like Ike. I look so much like Ike that little old ladies come up to me and ask if I still wear that short-waisted Army jacket. Old guys ask me what my handicap is. I tell them my handicap is stupidity. They’re meaning golf I suppose. Ike liked playing golf.

I don’t know if I really look like President Eisenhower all that much. In profile I think I sometimes resemble Benito Mussolini. It’s a bald thing, don’t you know. I don’t know if I look like anyone famous at all. I’ve got a cleft chin like Kirk Douglas but I think the similarity with him starts and finishes there.

This morning I downloaded a new photo editing program. Maybe once I learn it I can do kind of a composite shot that has all the facial and cranial features I share with famous people. And maybe I won’t. It does sound like a whole lot of work just to come up with a photo of me that isn’t me. I think a glass of wine is a much better idea.

My friend Sarah and I had sliced turkey sandwiches for Christmas dinner at McFaddin Beach, just west of Sabine Pass. It was a beautiful day although it was a very windy feast as my first slice of Havarti went sailing for parts unknown.

We found this bucket while walking down the beach. I wonder if it belongs to Dick Cheney?