You Say You Want a Revolution

Something happened and now I seem to think of the winter solstice as the marker of a new year, rather than the round number calendar date previously used.  Christmas seemed anti-climactic, not surprising given my advanced age and level of cynicism combined with a modest but adequate amount of buying power--witness the two motorcycles--but hopefully I haven't gone off the deep end yet.

No resolutions.  At least, not the formal kind where you announce them, take credit, then go on as if nothing happened.  A couple of things are actually changing for me, but it's hard to tell because it is sort of a dynamic process involving no one event. I suspect the lack of resolutions might actually be serving to keep the way clear for the real changes that are coming.  You can build a levee to stem the tide, but in the end, the sea will win. It always does.

And speaking of dynamic, I did play around the Google's "dynamic" views but, wow, talk about over-eager development and premature release.  If the steam powered locomotive was introduced while the technology was in its explosive infancy, we would all be going to Chicago on donkey carts and stuff at this point. Google--wait until it actually works before releasing it.  No, not everyone wants to be a beta-tester.  I allude to a variety of mixed metaphors, for which I apologize.

I am driving to south Missouri today to look at a motorcycle. It is a Moto Guzzi.  I am attracted to the idea of owning one since I am in part, after all, of southern European ethnic extraction.  I live in North America, so this would make me molto internazionale!  By the way, in my research, I stumbled across an Internet forum argument concerning the proper pronunciation of the name, Moto Guzzi.  I understand Moto is going to roll of the American tongue as, "moh doe" but Guzzi is another matter, as we already have a handy reference point in the word, pizza.  All of this said, "moh toe GOOTS tsee" kind of sounds affected.  As I am going to be in south Missouri, I will of course be careful how I pronounce those eye-talian names so as not to draw undue attention to myself and get beat up. I kid the southern Missourians.  They are actually a pretty sophisticated bunch, and quite easy to get along with. As long as you're not from Kansas, which I am but I don't tell them. As Steinbeck points out, I and the boys always throw an old shop rag over the license plate . . .