Idle American: Zooming in Arlington

Media - both print and electronic - have slathered us with minute details of Arlington’s Grand Prix. Surely their slatherers are either bent or broken for putting undue strain on us who are feigning interest when we’d sooner watch paint dry.

 After all, if we want to see cars zoom past by day or by night all we need do is jump on any Metroplex freeway. There, three-figure speeds are yesterday’s news.

 By many important measures, though, the races are sources of pleasure, interest and attendance for the racing enthusiasts.

 Maybe, though - just maybe - there are among us folks who are more interested in sobering topics such as numerous wars, economic challenges and heavy coverage of political races, the latter invariably replete with untruths, allegations, hearsay and lies.

 One might think the 80,000 or so people shelling out $40 to park their cars, $12 for corn dogs (but made with real cornbread) and hefty admission charges might buckle under the financial strain of it all. Could they not better choose other options for their recreational hours?

 Looks like Cowboys owner Jerry Jones - his fingers in all financial pies - knows there’s money to be made when fans crowd a temporary set-up - most of them standing - to satisfy their need for speed.

 I am obviously in error, thinking that citizens have seen it all while driving in heavy traffic. There are times - particularly at 5 o’clock Friday at the factory - when workers willingly jump into the mayhem.  

 My own flesh and blood headed for Arlington.

 Me? I noticed their absence at home, but was happy to opt for television’s final flurry of collegiate basketball games known as March Madness.

 These goings on in Arlington cause Uncle Mort to think that it might be time for him to get into the storage business.

 He was astounded by the enormity of changes needed near Arlington sports venues, where some 3,000 concrete barriers provided temporary walls on both sides of the 2.7 miles of track.

Upon learning that each is 12 feet long and weighs about 4,000 pounds, he wondered where they’d later store all the stuff.

 Flipping open his Big Chief tablet, he penciled his thoughts about what he thinks might be easy money. “They’re bound to need these items again next year, and don’t tell me we can’t offer cheaper storage here in the thicket than in Arlington,” Mort bragged. “We can simply stack ‘em up in the corn field. They’d be perfectly safe; bad guys aren’t likely to steal concrete barriers.”

 Aunt Maude, who has been married to Mort for most of the 20th century and all of the 21st so far, ordered him to go to the doctor recently.

 To say patient/doctor didn’t hit it off would be putting it mildly. “He won’t last long in our part of the woods,” Mort predicted. “I’m not about to take a medication for blood thickening, and I told him so.”

 Mort also finds another of the doc’s prescriptions hard to believe. On the label, it claims to have no side effects, but could have serious upper and lower effects.

 Aunt Maude, always the picture of reserve, can be loud and clear when need be. On a recent unseasonably warm spring evening, the couple slowly glided to and fro on their old porch swing. Minutes of silence prevailed.  

 As if on cue, he offered a penny for her thoughts.

 Knowing that he wouldn’t pay up, she offered a free answer. “I was just thinking that exactly 364 days ago, you forgot that the next day was our anniversary.”

 Finally, a guy declared to be in excellent condition after his annual physical examination, crumpled in the doorway as he exited.  

 “What do we do now?” the nurse asked, staring at the lifeless patient.

 “First, turn him around,” the young doctor ordered. “We need to make it look like he was on his way in.”

 Dr. Newbury, longtime president of Howard Payne University, lives in the Metroplex with Brenda, his wife of 60 years. Website: www.speakerdoc.com. Email: newbury@speakerdoc.com