Blues Ain't Noise Pollution

It's been some time since I've received a traffic ticket, and that is because I simply can't afford it. After a slew of speeding tickets, which have caused me to get booted from my original insurance company* as well as subjecting me to a $2,700 annual car insurance bill, I have to carefully monitor my speed every time I'm behind the wheel.

Sure, the conservative folk reading are probably thinking, "Damn right! You should abide by the rules set by society or face the gallows of public discord!"

Have you never felt the independence that comes from unadulterated celerity? If that is indeed the case, I urge you to at least experience speed, if only for a second, if only strapped to the car of a roller coaster, before passing judgment on me and my innocent addiction.

For as long as I can remember, I have always been a fan of speed. Whether it was bombing the poorly paved hills of Hopatcong by bike or the icy slopes of Mountain Creek on a snowboard, I have always enjoyed the rush that came from knowing one wrong move on my part and certain personal catastrophe would follow. The knowledge of that churlish result, which would come from losing control and wiping out, was what managed to prevent such an event from taking place. I was faced with the choice to either commit completely or avoid it altogether. However, doing it while coupled with doubt was purely moronic. Doubt is a toxin that will successfully cause a person's brain to seize up, making the loss of personal control inevitable.

Thinking back to my childhood, every crash or failure has been the result of doubt creeping into to my mind just enough to distract me from whatever I was trying to do. Distraction in general is dangerous, but distraction, which manifests from doubt, is of the most vicious kind. And in moments where certain ill-fate is hanging over your head, losing focus is not something you want to do. My four speeding tickets, which have led me to practice will power at the wheel, came at times when cops were the last kind of people I'd want to see. They say if you're going to break the law, do it one law at a time. Such a concept was lost on me during my teen years. I was invincible-or so I thought. Hubris among teens is common as are rumors and petty drama. To be so incredibly stupid and cocky at the same time is a mixture far worse than fertilizer and nitromethane.

Fortunately, I wasn't as stupid as I could've been; and I wouldn't say I was cocky but confident. When dealing with the law, being a confident and smart idiot is crucial to getting away with legal flesh wounds rather than punctured lungs. Those tickets were the sugar-free lollipop you get after a visit to the dentist. Sure it sucks. Sure it might be slightly uncomfortable, but it's over and you're on your way with nothing more than a bland and flavorless lollipop. Saliva or impatient teeth with make the sucker disappear just like money and a visit to the prosecutor will make a speeding ticket become a distant memory. While I took the lollipop analogy too far, it should be noted-if it wasn't clear throughout this most recent paragraph of jabbering gibberish-that I managed to steer clear of some serious personal catastrophes.

I was focused, devoid of any mental toxins such as doubt, fear, or extreme Hubris; and I managed to avoid making that fatal wrong move. With the exception of one time, when my speeding was the actual cause of the ensuing situation--go figure. For the sake of libel laws, you'll just have to wait until I fictionally record the incident. Until then, I should probably get to the doughy core of this piece seemingly centered around the dangers of doubt, cockiness, fertilizer, and a fondness of speed.

There must be someone or something smiling down on me because my last two encounters with the police were actually fun and ticket-free. The first came on an incredible spring day. The air possessed a crisp, clean aroma that would get enthusiastically pulled in through the nose and out through the mouth. As I tend to do on the first days of perfect spring weather, I played my music loud and drove with all the windows open. Out of respect for people who don't fancy heavy music or hip-hop, I chose to listen to Bob Dylan. Considering that I was in Sussex County, New Jersey, Mr. Dylan would not be considered intolerable as would be the case if I happened to be driving through Camden or Paterson.

Moving along the stretch of rt. 206 in the town of Andover, I noticed a cop hidden off to the side of the road. My car passed, with impassioned guitar riffs and the voice of what sounds like a jovial wino blaring from my open windows.

Doubt appeared, "Was I speeding? No, it couldn't be. Not another ticket," but I quickly gained control of myself as the cop pulled out behind me. Instead of accepting the situation of being stalked while both of my hands squeezed the steering wheel as I frequently check the rear-view to see if he backed off yet, I did something no rational human being would think to do. I pulled over. The officer passed, and before I could pull out he quickly stopped in front of me and turned his lights on, waving manically out of the window for me to remain stationary.

He exited his car, put on his hat, and sauntered back towards my car. I turned the music down enough so we could hold a civil conversation, but not enough to remove the sounds completely. "Do you know why I pulled you over?" said the stern-voiced lawman.

"No sir, I don't believe I do."

"Your music," he said.

"My music? Was it too loud? This is the first real day of spring; you'll have to forgive me." I cut myself short. "It is the Lord's way to forgive," almost slithered out of my mouth before I realized what a horrible mistake that would've been. Further north on rt. 206, closer to Newton, there is a billboard that reads, "When All Else Fails. Read the Instructions," with a bible directly below it. After all, Sussex County is predominantly Republican and therefore, Christian. But pretending to be of that demographic would've been overkill. I still hadn't been told why I was pulled over--it was not time for last ditch efforts.

"Yes. Your music," he paused again, his voice still very much accusing; resonating sounds of a man totally high on power. "Bob Dylan, right?" The tone had changed, suddenly and to the polar opposite of the former.

Caught off guard by this new shock and awe approach to traffic violations, I went with it. "Yea. You got some good ears there."

He laughed, "I just wanted to make sure of that. Subterranean Homesick Blues is probably one of my all-time favorite songs. Anyway, you have a good day."

"You too," I muttered as he turned and strolled back to his cruiser. It was hard at that moment, to understand what had just happened. A cool cop? What kind of strange alternate universe had I managed to wake up in? Something was severely out of balance in the world at that time-or maybe for the first time it was in perfect balance.

Whatever the case, the next situation, which occurred only a few short days ago, was also related to loud music and an unusually springish fall day. This time I was listening to an assorted list of blues musicians. Phone Booth by Robert Cray played from my Korean car stereo. The cop came out of nowhere; pulling me over before I could check my speed. I thought this was going to be the moving violation that would get me to the $3000 insurance range, but instead this stocky twat wanted to ticket me for noise pollution.

"You know your music is a bit loud? I heard it back behind those trees over there."

Taking a page from a Dave Chappelle comedy special, I took the best approach available: I played dumb. "I didn't know that was a crime, sir."

"It's called noise pollution. As in your music is polluting the air."

I couldn't stand by and let this ignorant brute make such deplorable statements. "Blues ain't noise pollution. Now if I was listening to the Insane Clown Posse or the Kottonmouth Kings then I could see reason to pull me over and subject me to this."

He seemed intrigued, "Kottonmouth Kings?"

Since I recently had my hair cut, I felt safe uttering the following. "Yea, some idiotic pothead rap group. It's bad enough they have to rap only about smoking weed and doing drugs, but they are horrible. No musical ability whatsoever. Absolutely terrible. That's noise pollution."

Similar to the shock and awe approach of the Dylan fan officer, my rant managed to mentally stagger the cop. "I see," still trying to regain composure he gave up entirely, "I'm going to do you a favor and let you go, but keep it down. Not everyone wants to hear your music."

"No problem. Have a good one," and with those words I drove off into the sunset. Well, not the sunset since I was heading east, but...right. Anyway, both of those encounters were not your typical run-ins with law enforcement. While some of it could be attributed to police generosity and luck, I'd like to believe that my unconventional behavior somehow managed to confuse both the officers enough to let me slip away ticket-free.

After all, confusion is the ultimate distraction. A confused person will react in one of two ways. They will become angry at the fact that they can't grasp the situation at hand and do something rash. Or they will avoid acting altogether because the course of action is not clear. Sometimes it is a gamble worth taking.

Besides this is America, if they get crazy and use a taser on you, there's always the option to sue. Remember that, even if you get fat from eating McDonalds, you can always sue and get enough money to pay for the forklift needed to move you from room to room. And people say freedom is slowly dying. I doubt that.

*After getting a notice from my previous insurance company, I decided to write them a letter challenging them to a driving challenge between employees of their choosing and myself. While I had a tendency to drive fast, I was capable of doing so and felt confident in my driving abilities. They never got back to me about it, but I'm going to assume they are cowards. They are an insurance company, after all. Yep. A bunch of greedy cowards. Oh and for those who want to read the letter, look no further:

To those at [insurance company name removed]

Recently, I received an unfortunate letter in the mail. I was eloquently informed that your company will no longer be providing my car insurance. Certainly, this is the result of the 4 speeding tickets, which I have accrued over the past year and a half. While I understand your paranoia and fear of having a speed freak under your insurance, I would like to offer a challenge to any [insurance company name removed] employees of your choosing. This would be a driving challenge; one that you can design yourselves. Just because I like to drive fast doesn't mean I'm a bad driver. I've seen terrible drivers struggling to drive the speed limit. Clearly, they are far more of risk and a greater danger to society than I, but it's obvious that [insurance company name removed] does not care for humankind. If you choose to accept my driving challenge, simply write back. I don't expect you to accept-mainly because I think you are fearful creatures by naturet-but this letter is more or less, my formal goodbye.Sincerely,Joe Dimeck

P.S. - I saved a ton of money on my car insurance by switching to Geico.