What a pack of losers! Oh, wait, that’s me, right there in the thick of things! Brad Paisley, I guess you were right! There sure is a fascination about water, especially when it’s in the twin powers activation form of a flood.
So for those of you who missed it, it’s been raining in the Midwest. And I don’t mean a couple of days here and there, we’re talking build the ark complete with a working toilet, a fridge with adult beverages, lots of chips and dip, and the right company 2 by 2. Stat.
So the Mighty Mo decided to venture out of its banks and into the real world. The thing about the Missouri is that it’s known as the muddy Missouri for a reason. To say that its water is the stink-stank-stunk variety is an understatement. Plus, what comes with your nasty, skanky, dirty water? Mosquitoes. And about a half billion people mourning their camping locale, the bike trail, and the bathroom bunker that are officially underwater!
Kid you not, I flashed back to my hometown cruising days! It felt like I was 17 again! There I was driving down the street following a bunch of other bug-eyed Bellevue-ites in a slow meander gawking at the view. We did a “whip around” next to the baseball/football field and headed back the other way all the while checking out the scene. Of course, then there were the others that stopped, parked, and gossiped next to the rising waters. Brilliant plan, I might add.
Now, in my hometown if they were staring at the water, it was to decide whether to start sandbagging, or not. Here, I think they just don’t have a Casey’s to congregate at and shoot the shit. People were just gaping at the water getting closer and closer to their feet. Are we really that taken in by mammoth amounts of scummy-ass water? I’m all for a breath-taking waterfall or a hot, tan, muscular guy diving into an ocean-blue pool, but really? Who wants to watch muddy water, litter debris, and slimy river-life take over my eastern route out of town? Apparently, the swarm of river-rats mourning their nests, or people who can’t help themselves from sneaking a peek at a natural disaster in progress.
Does some part of me want to make fun of all those people who get washed away in flood waters or say they ain’t leavin’ even when they’re sittin’ on their’s roof of them there houses? Oh yeah. Do I have a lot of room to talk since I will watch hours of TV flood coverage and even do the drive-by up-close-and-personal viewing? Probably not. I guess I, too, am a sucker for a train wreck. Another one of my fatal flaws.
But don’t even try to plead innocent. Don’t tell me it’s not your flaw, too! You know you’re right there with me. Everybody has some kind of uncanny need to see a freak show. It’s like when you point out the obese 60-year-old non-bra-wearing sagger in the tight muumuu at the grocery store to your hubby and tell him that’s who he gets to marry if you die. If that’s not your cup of tea, maybe you spent 40 hours or more watching the 9/11 footage trying to track down your sister’s-boyfriend’s-best friend’s-mother’s-doctor’s- pet walker’s son in the aftermath interviews.
Then again, you may think that you’re above all that… until you guffaw hysterically while covering your kid’s eyes when you notice that the giraffes are “doin’ it” in the non-running memorial fountain at the zoo. Extra points if you got out your cell phone to take a picture. More bonus points if you sent it to friends with a comment about the size of the giraffe.
So, yeah, we all have our weaknesses, the outlandish nightmares we can’t help but watch. Luckily, we live in a country full of them. This week, we’re cruisin’ flood water depths. Next week, we’re slurping up the Drudge Report doling out Lindsey Lohan’s prison reading list.
Come on. Own up to it with me.
Bolton Carley's BS-O-Rama 