100 MPH car crash caught on police cruiser cam

The 19-year-old driver in this horrendous accident has thus far survived, albeit in critical condition. Drive safely; the life you save may be your own. (Click the headline to view the crash.)

Stick a fork in 'em, they're done

Let's all sit shiva until after Labor Day, when Jaxonia will expand this article with some additional thoughts. Until then, click the headline for some trenchant, pithy Mets news.

The sad road of progress**

For more than half a century the premier train of the Erie Lackawanna Railroad, initially the Lackawanna Limited and later, more famously, the Phoebe Snow, whooshed through the Madison station at 7 AM, enroute to Buffalo and Chicago. Phoebe's last, almost empty run was sometime in the mid-60s; a simple elegy was scrawled in chalk on a pillar of her Hoboken home track: 'Phoebe Snow died an Erie death.'
Time marches on. Nobody was going to Buffalo any more, and Chicago was a two-hour plane ride.

Who was Phoebe Snow? Before she was a talented composer/musician ('Poetry Man' 1975) she was a fictional New York socialite who mysteriously rode the rails to Buffalo, her snow-white dress promoting the clean-burning anthracite coal of her luxury train.


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On April 14, 2008, here's what Obama said:

"But the truth is, is that, our challenge is to get people persuaded that we can make progress when there's not evidence of that in their daily lives. You go into some of these small towns in Pennsylvania, and like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing's replaced them. And they fell through the Clinton administration, and the Bush administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not. And it's not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations."

And here's what Jaxonia said:

OK, does anybody out there believe this is a FALSE statement? GEEZ! Haven't they been reading the bumper stickers? Haven't they heard the coarse jokes about Mexicans taking jobs, Pakistanis running Dunkin' Donuts, Indians in gas stations? Haven't they experienced trying to get their computer fixed with a phone call to a telephone help line that has been outsourced to God-knows-where? Haven't they read the signs outside churches, extolling the flock that Jesus will solve their problems? Far from being elitist, it seems to me that Barack Obama is right there at the crux of one of this country's gravest problems, the alienation of the middle class.

Who do you think has a better handle on the collective identity of this country, a mixed-race black man who has daily experienced the worst this country has to offer -- prejudice, favoritism and discrimination -- or two white breads who have lived the glossy American dream that continues to elude the majority of us?

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An Observation

For people over the age of 65, friends and family who are either dead or dying begin to encroach on everyday life. It just happens, is all, like the glut of engagements and weddings in your 20s and 30s, or the birth announcements in your 40s. 
 "Did you hear about Fred? Terminal Gout.  Young, too... just turned 80." It starts with a trickle, so innocuous as to be barely noticeable, but somewhere in the 70s this inevitable phenomenon kicks into high gear; scarcely a week goes by when some friend, relative, former classmate, business associate, neighbor or whatever has to turn in his or her Bucket List. 
All this is without benefit of any obituary notices.  Hell, if you're macabre enough to read those, dead people back up from your door to the street!
But that's not the observation hinted at the headline.  The observation is this: Men and women apparently approach these announcements very differently. For guys, it's like a casualty of war. No matter who it is, the reaction to the news is unvarying.  "Who? No shit. Of what? No shit. How old? No shit." And then it's back to Obama or the Mets or credit default swaps.
Women, on the other hand, Get very gender-specific. A female's demise is cause for an expository lunch, an afternoon of chain phone calls, a Proustian recollection of all that has passed before good old Prudence's eyes.
Men?  Hah! Maybe it's because they're kicking off faster, but the announcement of a male departure is treated by the distaff side as something like a geranium croaking on the side of the house. "Didn't get enough sun... surprising he lasted as long as he did... wonder what Mabel will do with that bare spot."
Fair warning guys -- if you want some respect after you're gone, start lobbying NOW.


(Click the headline for a neat funereal surprise!)