Gizmo

When someone makes that classic assertion, “I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid,” I take them to mean  that while they might be dull or uneducated, at least they aren’t willfully ignorant.  You can fool them once (or they can fool themselves once), but shame on them if you fool them (or they fool themselves) a second, third, even 327th time.  

The dumb person screws up because they aren’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but they learn from their mistakes and exercise greater discrimination and acumen next time around.

If that’s the case, then you can certainly count yourself as one of the stupid, because after nearly 500 Thursday nights out on two wheels with the usual suspects, including a truly vintage collection on the most recent one, all you’ve really learned from your mistakes is how to reliably make them again and again and again.

Good judgment is probably overrated, anyway, and indubitably, the concerted exercise of stupidity results in many more memorable memories, many of which you can’t even hardly remember, along with all the ones that, despite your best efforts, you’ll never be able forget.

It was, indeed, an unforgettably beautiful spring evening here in the Upper Left, with an almost full moon blotting out all but the most persistent stars and planets.  We won’t be surprised to see the typical “Juneuary” upon us at any time, but for right now, at least, wool and Gore-tex remain in the bag all night.

And in spite of a tendency towards technological Ludditism, one has to hand it to the satellite tracking gizmo that made it all possible. You would have ridden right on by had not the little round “Drain” button shown itself on your mobile screen.  

Welcome to the 21st century, it ain’t all bad.

“You can’t fix stupid,” goes the old saw, and to tell you truth, it’s not obvious you’d want to; think of all you’d miss if you did.