Last night I was at Ph.’s soccer match. They play in a park several
miles from where we live. Was going to be a match between N’ham and
Westhill, but there was as scheduling screw up, so N’ham played Westhill for a
half, then Westill played Fowler for a half, then Fowler played N’ham for a
half, round robin style and also precious-time-wasteful style. I was
irritated because N’ham just played Fowler on Wednesday night with yours truly
as the unsuspecting surrogate coach and the match between the two was the
notoriously chippy clash everyone knew it would be. It ended prematurely,
called due to an outbreak of shin-kicking and resulting kerfluffles, scuffles,
and back shuffles. "We’re done!," declared the field judge.

So I didn’t see any reason that the two clubs should be back at it just five
days later, especially when it wasn’t scheduled to be that way. I did my best to zen out on the sideline,
chase down the
mosquitoes sneaking off with bellies blimped round with my blood, etc.

One thing I noticed was an exchange between a high school student and an
older, grandfatherly man. No telling whether they were related; maybe they
were. But the older man snarled at the kid about leaving his car running.
Something like, "What is your car running for? You should shut that thing
off!" He was fired up. The kid obliged the elder’s request, and as the
younger walked to the parking lot, the older continued to vocalize his rant about gas
prices, wastefulness, and gas prices. He even made his hand into a tight fist as
he spoke. Memorable, that.

Then, on my walk to campus this morning–to campus so I could open shop in
the Writing Center from 10 until 2–I was thinking about the intensity of the
older man’s reaction. He was really keyed up, fierce looking. Maybe this is
the latest "rage"–petro rage–the sense of anger, frustration, and deep disgust
someone experiences when they see another who seems to be wasting fuel. Is
this the new road rage? The new cell…["Pump Up the
Jams" ring tones]…hold on, I’ve got a call.

Hey.
Nothing much. You?
Writing a blog entry.
Yeah, I heard. I don’t know what they see in Kwame Brown.
I’ll check in tomorrow.
Yep, later. You too.

Where was I? Cell phone rage. Will folks develop a new
rage toward those they perceive to be extravagant with gasoline?

When I walked closer to my building, I saw one member of a lawn crew
"sweeping" the sidewalk with one of those gas-powered blowers. Whirring
along, pointing it to the left and then to the right, the sort of slow dance for
which grass clippings enthusiastically clear a pathway. Only, there were
none. The sidewalk was clean, as far as I could tell (I didn’t bend down
to check it more closely). But it seemed unnecessary, wasteful. I
was somewhat relieved the fella from last night was nowhere in sight.