California curiosities, part deux
There are interesting things around every corner in Santa Cruz. At least once a day I see something I've never seen before. Some are things I never imagined existed. Yesterday while walking from the beach back to my car I noticed a bumpersticker on the car next to mine. It read, "I fucked your grandma." I didn't know what to think. I stood in place, with my key stuck in the door lock, dumbstruck.
Here's one thing I'd like to proudly confirm, something my mom had been telling me for years. California drivers are courteous, patient, and nice. They let me change lanes on the freeway when I turn on my blinker; they even brake to give me room. When I'm pulling out of a parking lot or side street and traffic is stopped or slow, someone will always give me space so I can turn. My cousin told me about The Zipper Effect. When lanes are closed on the freeway and cars are trying to get over, or if traffic is slow near an on-ramp, one car will let someone in, then the person behind them will let someone go ahead of them. It's one car at a time, one after another. It is, in essence, a big zipper.
In comparison, drivers in Iowa are cold-hearted, greedy, thoughtless bastards. It's every man for himself. There's no camaraderie or fellowship between drivers. There are very few "California drivers" in Iowa. My mom was one of them. She always let people pull in front of her. She always let people change lanes in front of her. I tried to do the same, but I'll admit to being thoughtless and greedy, too. There were lots of times when I thought, driving along First Avenue in Iowa City, "You knew that lane had to turn, so you should have though about merging five blocks ago." I'd zoom by, watching their blinker, hoping they wouldn't choose to pull in front of me. But there were times when I was kind. I let people in. Once, when traffic was backed up on Highway 6 due to an accident, I let cars merge in front of me. My friend Mike kept yelling at me. "Don't let this guy... No! What are you doing?" he yelled. I replied, "Being a California driver."
Here's another California curiosity about cars. When I go to the grocery store, beach, or tool around Santa Cruz, I always see people sitting in their parked car. They're just chillin'. It's especially true for the parking lots along West Cliff Drive. I like to park in the lot near the lighthouse, and always see people sitting in their car, reclined in the driver seat, and listening to music. You can't see the beaches at all; they're below the cliffs. Some of the bay is visible, and on clear days you can make out the mountains on the Monterey side. You can't hear the waves well, either. It made me curious, so I tried it myself one day after walking the beach and getting my feet wet. I sat in my car, rolled down the windows, let the breeze flow through, pulled one of my notebooks from my backpack, and started writing. I liked it. I was close to the ocean, to the park, and could write in peace. I had no cares and no worries. I sat back and people watched while putting together words and sentences in my head. I've done it twice now, and, assuming I don't sell my car, I'll probably make it a common occurrence in my life.
Here's one thing I'd like to proudly confirm, something my mom had been telling me for years. California drivers are courteous, patient, and nice. They let me change lanes on the freeway when I turn on my blinker; they even brake to give me room. When I'm pulling out of a parking lot or side street and traffic is stopped or slow, someone will always give me space so I can turn. My cousin told me about The Zipper Effect. When lanes are closed on the freeway and cars are trying to get over, or if traffic is slow near an on-ramp, one car will let someone in, then the person behind them will let someone go ahead of them. It's one car at a time, one after another. It is, in essence, a big zipper.
In comparison, drivers in Iowa are cold-hearted, greedy, thoughtless bastards. It's every man for himself. There's no camaraderie or fellowship between drivers. There are very few "California drivers" in Iowa. My mom was one of them. She always let people pull in front of her. She always let people change lanes in front of her. I tried to do the same, but I'll admit to being thoughtless and greedy, too. There were lots of times when I thought, driving along First Avenue in Iowa City, "You knew that lane had to turn, so you should have though about merging five blocks ago." I'd zoom by, watching their blinker, hoping they wouldn't choose to pull in front of me. But there were times when I was kind. I let people in. Once, when traffic was backed up on Highway 6 due to an accident, I let cars merge in front of me. My friend Mike kept yelling at me. "Don't let this guy... No! What are you doing?" he yelled. I replied, "Being a California driver."
Here's another California curiosity about cars. When I go to the grocery store, beach, or tool around Santa Cruz, I always see people sitting in their parked car. They're just chillin'. It's especially true for the parking lots along West Cliff Drive. I like to park in the lot near the lighthouse, and always see people sitting in their car, reclined in the driver seat, and listening to music. You can't see the beaches at all; they're below the cliffs. Some of the bay is visible, and on clear days you can make out the mountains on the Monterey side. You can't hear the waves well, either. It made me curious, so I tried it myself one day after walking the beach and getting my feet wet. I sat in my car, rolled down the windows, let the breeze flow through, pulled one of my notebooks from my backpack, and started writing. I liked it. I was close to the ocean, to the park, and could write in peace. I had no cares and no worries. I sat back and people watched while putting together words and sentences in my head. I've done it twice now, and, assuming I don't sell my car, I'll probably make it a common occurrence in my life.
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