Thursday, July 28, 2011


We had dinner with some old friends we haven't seen in a while. Years ago, six or eight of us would get together now and then, eat good food, drink good wine, and talk. Given that we were all left-wing-leaning anti-war liberals and Former Occupant George Bush was the Prez, we always had lots to gripe about ...

Um, anyway, one of the group, a few years older than I, is a car guy, and since we saw him last, has taken up open-wheel racing. Got himself a Formula V car, which is a tiny thing powered by a souped-up VW engine, and capable of speeds around 115 mph.

I sat in it, and it's like putting on a tight glove. Have to take the steering wheel off to shinny into the seat. Can't shift it without moving your knee out of the way. 

On the one hand, I thought, Geez, Richard, you're too old to be zipping around a race track in a death machine! On the other hand? More power to him. Given that when I talk to people about silat class and I show off a bruise on my forearm big enough so it looks like I got a tan on that arm, and they look at me as if I am barking mad: How old are you? Are you nuts?

A man's gotta do what man's gotta do ...