…and rolling towards California.
Although we’ll probably end up flying there.
Of course, I am speaking of where my wife, daughter and I plan to relocate, with any luck by this time next year. It would seem that certain events and circumstances have conspired to help this happen. Mostly to do with C’s career. But also the behavoir of certain familial elements have only served to reinforce the desperate need for this move. Plus, The Woodward Dream Cruise this past weekend gives me yet one more reason to want to bolt Michigan.
For those not familiar with The Woodward Dream Cruise, and I’m assume there are at least a few, it is an annual event that takes place here in Southeast Michigan in mid-august, in which hordes of motor heads, car enthusiasts and other assorted automobile fetishists converge on Woodward Avenue, one of the major hub roads that runs from downtown Detroit up into the northern suburbs, and either drive their cars, many of which are sweet classic rods, although I did see this year one old Grayhound bus painted purple, up and down Woodward, or pop a squat on the side of the road and watch cars roll by. Yes, here in Metro Detroit cruising is a specator sport.
Anyhoo…before I lived so close to Woodward, I was pretty indifferent to The Dream Cruise (for short, sort of). Depsite having been born and raised in the Motor City, having a father who worked for GM for 35 years and a brother who worked for Ford for some time, and growing up with many friends that were really into cars, I’ve never been much of car person. To me they’re mostly just boxes with wheels that get you from one place to another. Don’t get me wrong I can appreciate a fine automobile as much as the next guy, but my appreciation for large hunks of metal on rubber wheels has diminished a bit since we’ve been living in B’ham, not far off Woodward. The traffic is a pain in the ass. The cruisers that lose their way and decide to turn my street into a drag strip are all being nominated for jerk of the year, and are just lucky I don’t decide to chuck eggs that their cherry rides. ( Plus, this year my wife and her friend, while on a walk, had the misfotune of encouthering a couple of 18 year-old little pricks waving huge signs with graphic pictures of aborted feteuses on them. Hey, I’m all for free speech, which apparently covers this sort of abhorent display, and yet if I want to parade around with a big photo of two lesbians going to lunch on each other I’d be arrested, but this sort of thing is just wrong. Not to mention these little dickheads feel perfectly within in their rights to accoust anyone that passes close to them, verbally pistol whipping them with thier self-righteous indignation. )
What I’d like to know is what is the environmental footprint of this event anyway? Cuz it can’t be good.
Ultimately, my unwillingness to kneel before the altar of the American Automobile companies (can’t really call them The Big Three anymore, now can we) probably disqualifies me for residency in this area anyway, at least in spirit if not legally. Hell, I drive a Honda.
Of course, one could argue that you need to move from the state entire to escape The Dream Cruise. But hell, if I’m gonna move, I’m gonna move. Besides, you know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific Ocean? They say it has no memory. And that’d suite me just fine.