the rumbling of a sea change

I'm going to go on a trip to see the Yellowstone, the Mt. Rushmore where the four Presidents' Heads were carved into the limestone, to the alleged horror of many American Indians.

Let's hope I get to see the stampede of bisons, and I get a clearer sense of what this middle of America looks like. I have many stereotypical perceptions that I'm sure will either be fulfilled, be more understood, or be scratched off.

I'll be touching at least four states that I haven't touched, possibly skirting into Wyoming, South Dakota, Utah, Idaho, and somesuch. This will be eight days of driving in the dog days of August, when the gas price is highest.

Let us hope the gas price gets higher. As I think about it, some thirds of American families claim to have been affected by the high gas prices. Mine have not, so I claim they're all lying because they were unwilling to give up some packs of cigarettes, some cartons of beer, some cell phone minutes or a hot tub, a subscription. Anything.

They are living in luxury, and are less happy for it. Thanks a lot, Americans. We'll be driving and spouting our CO2 across this, your heartland.