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No Dive-ing, or, Don't Tread on Me:P - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
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No Dive-ing, or, Don't Tread on Me:P

I'm told today was National Dog Day.  Here's ours:



During the day proper, before the evening redeemed it, Dog Of a Day was more like it.  I've resumed bimonthly pilgrimages to the Bankruptcy Court's outpost in Olean, reachable by either of two expressways for about half the journey. It's the southern halves that are very different.

Taking the 400 south to its end, as I did on the way there, puts you in the heart of Trump Country. Within a mile or two is a diner with a dozen American flags and a matching number of Make America Great White Again signs in the window. They continue, with the occasional Confederate Battle Flag to break it up, through little towns with strange names like Machias, Chaffee, Ischua, and the far-flung Lime Lake of Langerhans. Eventually, though, you're dumped onto 17 I-86 and your blood pressure drops.

Court was court. Nuthin' special.

The other way to travel the trail is to head west out of Olean, through Seneca Nation territory with their indigenous road signs that could be pro-Trump for all I know, and then onto 219 north.  This road is also two-lane for most of its southern half, but it's a very different world, passing through the village known as


Ellicottville is Trumpinista anti-matter; its lush lawns host fancy wine bars and posh B&Bs and cater to the hoity-toity Buffalo and Canadian ski crowds, who come this time of year for golf and ziplining. Then you make the left turn beyond the village limits, which is a far-right turn in ideology, and you have about 15 more miles of Stars and Bars and REPEAL THE SAFE ACT demands before 219 turns into four lanes of THE 219 for its final 30ish mile stretch into Buffalo proper.

It was somewhere in that last two-lane stretch that I got screwed. Or rather, my left rear tire did.  The CHECK TIRE PRESSURE warning came up on Kermit's screen, just as I'd turned onto the expressway proper after turning up my nose at lunch and possible air opportunities at fine establishments like YELLOW GOOSE and ASHFORD EATS. By the time I got off the eastbound 90 (which THE 219 spills onto) and into familiar enough territory to find a gas station with air, that tire was down to 7 PSI. I refilled it to factory (33 PSI) and headed back to my office.

When I left it to go home, two hours later, the idiot light was back on. I grumbled; for one thing, I'd need to waste much of tomorrow getting it repaired or replaced. For another, I'd planned on going to Eleanor's Friday night chanting session tonight, but then to check out Lake Street Dive, a band I discovered last year and which was in town at a decent hour tonight.  Couldn't take the chance of being stuck downtown with only 7 PSI, so I begged out of the concert and Eleanor drove me in her car to the SGI session- not downtown, but a member's house within a couple miles of our home.

And,... it was wonderful. She was welcomed as a full member in their group, received the scroll she will use in centering herself in the faith here, and we both made meaningful contributions to the evening discussion.  Even before we left, it was clear that the tire was in sad shape, so I resolved to call AAA as soon as we got home.

The guy got there quickly, and with options for dealing with the screw that had gotten into my tread: he could put my donut on the axle, which, last I remembered, was all AAA did. If he did that, though, I could get a free patch at a designated Goodyear joint tomorrow (subject to availability). Or, for just over ten bucks, he could patch the flat on the spot which is guaranteed as to its patchiness for the life of the tire.

Of course I went with the third.  The guy was quick and personable, and as long as it holds, it's a Hamilton well spent.

He had the Bills game on his radio; they were losing, but nobody had been hurt.  I was listening to the Mets; they were blowing an 8-run lead (they finally won 9-4), but more importantly and unusually, nobody got hurt.

Buddhism emphasizes the achievement of a state that eliminates suffering. Clearly this religion was founded before either the Mets or the Bills were.

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angledge From: angledge Date: August 29th, 2016 07:56 pm (UTC) (Link)
Or the Phillies.
Or the Eagles.
Or the Rockies.
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