Polish Cruising

Dear Reader,

The blog site requested I give a title to this cohesion of rambling tripe. Insomuch as the current title may mislead some in my complete ethnic affiliation, it will do no small amount of good to state that I am not altogether Polish. I believe sections of my genetic pool consist of Irish, German, and Mandolorian, for I enjoy four-leaf clovers, Bach, and bounty hunting. Plus Mom told me.

If it is at all possible to replace the title with "Polish Cruising", I would hasten to do so. Thus far, I have not progressed to a knowlegeable level of the website's limitations, whether I am to be consigned to text alone, or whether I may program the service so that, in the course of reading said blog, a large rubber chicken may appear on your screen and squawk, bringing your trusting nerves to fever-pitch hysteria. In any case "Polish Cruising" seems to me a far more appropriate title for this blog.

For a Pole, the nationality, not the object, there is but one particular vice which grips him beyond all others. Other nationalities have vices; Americans, for instance, vest too much interest in the mindless activity of the cookout; Filipinos are friendly almost to vomit-inducing levels. For Polish people, thier vice consists of "Polish Cruising, and it occurs the moment he enters a parking lot with an automobile.

Even if it is a sleet storm with forty mile-an-hour gusts and there is a large crack forming in the pavement from an earthquake due to the planet's core melting, the Pole will daintily drive from parking space to parking space, sometimes circling the entire parking lot to find the ideal resting place for his vehicle.

What constitutes an ideal location? It can depend on many factors. If it is a hot day and he doesn't want the sunlight hitting his seat so it's egg-fry level temperature when he returns to the car, he'll park driver's side shadeward. He could drive around looking at the Denny's from all angles to determine which window seat he wants so he can view his car from there and possibly chase down the auto thieves because none of the doors lock on his car. Sometimes the genetics kick in and he putzes around the parking lot for no reason at all.

In any case, this vice grips me steadily, and it tends to bleed over into this typical typed tripe you see before you. If I look like I'm arriving at a point in my musings, oftentimes I'll drive right past it, and you'll wonder why that wasn't as good a place as any to pull the car in and end it. Now you notice this post is just as much warning as explanation.

Thanks for reading,
Josh GrablowSki