“Merrily We Roll Along”

With visions of ocean waves breaking on ivory shores at sundown in beautiful Newport, Oregon, I dropped the gearshift of our trusty Expedition into drive and we were off. A mere two thousand miles of touring glorious America the beautiful, and we’d be there. And with Joan the TomTom, our now trusted GPS pathfinder pointing the way, we were (almost) certain to find our way west to seek any fortunes that lay in our pathway. That’s the nature of visions. But just between you and me, a person who wants to remain sane will allow for some minor deviations in theory vs. reality.

By now Patti and I had thoroughly put Joan through her paces and we felt reasonably comfortable in putting our welfare on the open road in her hands. But we had traced out our route on a conventional road Atlas just the same. And we had noticed interesting differences in the way men and women utilize maps and GPS devices.

Men will tend to argue with the way maps are drawn, and even much more so with the way maps are interpreted by female map readers. Full blown debates may develop when females try to give directions to a frustrated male driver from a map. The classic example is given when Lucille Ball instructs Desi Arnez (in the movie “The Long Trailer”) to “turn right here left.”

And now with the advent of 21^st century technology comes a machine giving the instructions. Men readily tend to take the machine-generated instructions as gospel and women become indignant when (altogether too often) they see their own instructions challenged and criticized for being incorrect or hard to follow. This becomes (much) more of a factor the sixth time that (male) jerk becomes absolutely thrilled with how well that little machine does the little lady’s former job.

But some women manage to find a way to stay in the loop of the navigating function. For example Bill Cosby recently related the following episode on The Tonight Show. Another couple and the Cosby’s drove to a restaurant in a car for a social outing using a GPS device. The other couple sat in the front of the car, and quite naturally the man did the driving, with the woman assuming her traditional role of observer and critic. From time to time, the machine would give instructions to turn one way or another. For instance the machine might instruct. “ in 500 yards, turn left”, and later, “in 600 yards turn right.” After each machine-given instruction, the other person’s wife would carefully repeat the same instruction to him, word for word.

After they arrived at the restaurant, Cosby called the other man aside and asked if it wasn’t distracting to have each and every instruction given by the machine repeated in such a manner by his wife. To which the man replied, “what machine?”

Despite some operational glitches such as those mentioned, this type of repetitive system might tend to promote domestic tranquility when husband and wife travel together. With perhaps as many as 99+ per cent of our GPS device’s instructions being clear and accurate, the casual observer might question what could possibly go wrong (go wrong, go wrong.)

The reader should none-the-less be cautioned that maverick instructions can occasionally get into the mix. For example, in two or three cases on interstate highways, Joan has generated instructions out of the blue to “turn around when possible” for no apparent reason. And one time in Washington state while traveling next to a cliff rising 1,000 feet straight up on our right side, we were instructed to “turn right”. (Perhaps if Joan were to preface the latter instruction to first get some dynamite and a jackhammer, it might work out.) And in New Mexico when there was no intersecting road for miles, we were instructed “in 250 yards, turn left”. In our experience the maverick instructions occurred primarily in rural areas where we easily could tell that they were incorrect.

Occasionally Joan will use unfamiliar terminology. For example, when approaching an on ramp to an interstate that one needs to take, Joan might say something such as “in 250 yards turn right and then take the motorway”. We figure that “motorway” must mean something similar to freeway.

In spite of all the teething problems that could arise in working out a viable system of travel, we pulled into Brookings, Oregon about three days later. And after making certain that the Pacific Ocean hadn’t moved or dried up, we looked forward to feeding the seagulls. Patti ceremoniously threw out the first slice of bread to the first gull to greet us outside our room, and the one gull quickly attracted 30 others with its cries for more.

With a rapidly diminishing supply of bakery supplies on hand, we quickly deduced that we needed more, and set out to do our part to bolster the demand for inexpensive bread. By dragging main we located a grocery store known simply as Grocery Outlet. It apparently met my number one shopping goal of making economical purchases (Patti calls it being cheap) by advertising “Bargains Only”.

We bought four loaves for a total cost of a little over three dollars. As we were leaving the outlet we also noticed that the store had a wine section, and one brand in particular caught our eye. Instead of having such traditional labels as Rose’ or Zinfindel, it had the exotic name of “Smashed Grapes”, and sold for the exorbitant price of $2.99. Despite my interest, Patti didn’t seem at all impressed.

We went back to our room near the ocean where we discovered that the number of squawking gulls would swell to perhaps 100 or more whenever we tossed out several pieces of bread at once. When we threw multiple pieces the individual gull that managed to gulp down a piece or two of bread before others could devour the same morsel could expect to get pecked on the back of its head by slower disgruntled competitors. Apparently neither sportsmanship nor good table manners seemed to be a part of a gull’s dining practice.

The next morning I set out to locate a source of pancakes, coffee, and philosophical discourse and I found all three at Fely’s Restaurant in the Beachfront RV Park. At Fely’s the food was served generous portions, and the conversation was pretty much the same as we find in Alva. And a waitress named Rosie made certain that our coffee mugs remained full and joined in some of the conversations – especially in those involving politics.

The political affiliations as expressed were pretty evenly divided between those who were concerned that Hillary Clinton might become President and those who felt that she could not possibly do any worse than the current administration. The local residents asked about my position on the matter, and I replied that some of my friends were for Hillary and some of them were against her, and that I tended to side with my friends.

The Beachfront RV park has 180 paved RV spaces and half of then are right on the beach. All RV spaces bordering the ocean rent for $30 a night and have 30 channels of TV. The only thing that was keeping me from enjoying one of these scenic but inexpensive RV spaces by the sea was the fact that I had no RV.

I had to be careful in selecting one of my two hats from my traveling wardrobe for any one day. If I wore my customary (old) Northwestern hat, I was asked how Nebraska was doing this year. If I wore my Oklahoma Sooners hat, I was asked what in the world was a Sooner. (Apparently football doesn’t quite have the following in Oregon that it does in Oklahoma.) In the future I plan to take a fisherman’s hat or one that says “Peg’s Furniture” on the trip.

At one of the many pier facilities located nearby, Patti and I were warned that one of the local sea lions “was on the peck.” He had selected one of the narrowest parts of the dock at the marina for his afternoon nap, and would charge anyone seeking to pass by. These creatures are perhaps eight feet long, can easily weigh over a thousand pounds, and thanks to federal protection laws tend to have a free run of the place..

In the Oregon and Washington area, any kind of a private structure located on the beach will command a price approaching a million dollars. Several of the guys in Brookings offered to sell their beach house to me at the sacrifice price of $800,000. To be offered such a bargain made me feel like a million dollars – all green and wrinkled.

Coming up on the Coffee House Philosopher, our tour continues to Cape Foulweather (Captain Cook gave it the great sounding name), Seattle, and the Little Bighorn. And as Roy Rogers used to say, “until we meet again, may the good Lord take a liking to you.”

“No Matter Where You Go, There You Are”

Ah the thrill of being in a car touring on the open road. With the wind in our hair, good music in our ears (classical no less), and our trusted canine companion (Daisy) at our side, my wife, Patti, and I set out to see the world. At least we planned to see the northwest part of America.

To assist us in finding our way and not getting lost on our journey, we also had our trusted TomTom, an inanimate GPS device. Now you’ve surely heard that some (strange) people treat some of their mechanical devices as having the traits of living creatures (e.g. planes or cars) by giving them pet names. However, on this trip, Patti and I also extended the practice to our (now beloved) TomTom.

This rather innocent hint of insanity began when we had to pick a voice for our TomTom from a choice of perhaps 20 or so voices. Of course voices for both men and women were available, and naturally choosing one almost immediately became a bone of contention. Patti was outraged that voices for either Julio Iglasias or Sam Elliot were not among the choices available.

I personally would have liked to have found the unique voice of W. C. Fields among the possible choices, but alas, such was not the case. We finally settled upon a female voice that didn’t have too much of a nagging quality, and thereafter dubbed the GPS device with its pleasant female voice, “Joan”.

We first had to read and digest the (ahem) simple and easy to read instructions. (NOT!) In any case, we had a differing approach in trying to gain an understanding of how to use the handy little “gadget”. (Perhaps I should also mention that during these initial stages of acquisition, Patti derisively referred to Joan as an “expensive toy”.)

Women are said by some people to be quite different from men. It’s a total violation of the hearsay rule, but I heard that when the aforesaid “difference matter” came up before the national French legislative body, they all stood to a man and shouted, “Vive la difference.” (This is totally irrelevant, but it makes for a nifty addition to the story, don’t you think?)

For example, when trying to figure out how to use a new gadget, the two sexes employ a totally different approach. Women tend to read the instructions word for word, line by line, and attempt to make a very literal interpretation. Men, on the other hand, tend to read an absolute minimal amount until they feel confident that they can argue effectively with the person who drafted them. Then by the time that they can also swear with feeling at the new product’s drafters, they will be confident that they have acquired at least a “working knowledge” of said instructions.

Next men will proceed to “fiddle with the device” and see if they can make it work. Actually, I’ve also noticed that the less a man reads before he acquires his so-called working knowledge, the more “manly” (i.e. technically advanced) he appears to be to the masses. For example no self-respecting plumber will allow himself to be seen reading instructions of any sort, or he must not be much of a plumber.

Anyway in trying to find out how to use our new TomTom (a/k/a Joan), I made a manly scan of the afore-mentioned instructions for two full minutes before passing them over to Patti. But not before I had properly labeled the author of said instructions a cretin for writing them in such an obtuse and idiotic manner. (And also thinking to myself that they were probably written by a woman.)

While Patti studied the bewildering printed explanation of how the GPS device worked, I networked by catching Ross Graham at a local coffee shop. I figured I could gain much more by cross examining him than trying to sift through such a collection of unintelligible hieroglyphics. Ross quickly phoned his wife, Charlene, to get a few things straight before showing me some of the finer points – sort of a courtesy call you might say..

By now I was fully armed with enough knowledge to turn Joan on, so I placed the suction cup holder on the windshield and pressed Joan’s “on” button. This immediately caused Joan to pop off the windshield and thud against the floor boards whereupon she let go one (perhaps as many as five) bad words in a male voice which sounded not unlike my own. It must have been the shock of the fall that caused the sudden change in her voice. (At least that’s the version I’ve been able to sell to Patti, and at least so far . . . )

Joan next completely lost her voice and would not display the roadway layouts. Then she went stone cold dead and refused to communicate with us in any way (i.e., the progression of events was not unlike most of my prior experiences in dealing with females.)

Anyway I found the source of the problem to be that Joan’s memory chip had popped out from the fall and was LOST in the (less than expansive) environs of the floorboard of our trusty Expedition. This took place in all of about thirty seconds into our first meaningful experience with Joan.

Strange, but I could almost hear musical strains to the theme of the movie, Titanic, somewhere in the distance, and the unspoken word “disaster” weighed heavily on my mind. While whizzing along at highway speeds through such cities as Reno, Nevada and Seattle, Washington at night, we were not likely to strike an iceberg. But when we considered that we would be following the directions of a fragile TomTom named Joan that might detach from the windshield at any moment, it gave both of us pause to consider.

Therefore one safety measure we both agreed upon was to have Stan Kline at K&K body shop install a permanent dash mount which was obtained from Sight and Sound. Then with a little epoxy and a customized mounting interface device acquired from MountGuys (on the Internet), Patti and I felt prepared to turn Joan on again – if we could replace the chip on Joan’s shoulder, so to speak.

A call to the TomTom factory revealed that we could buy Joan another two Gig chip at Wal-Mart, and she’d be just as good as new once we’d downloaded the digital maps from the manufacturer’s web site. Thank heaven Patti had the foresight to store the key instructions on a disk prior to Joan’s “shakedown cruise”. (This simply provides further evidence that those &%#% unnecessarily complicated instructions were probably written by a female.)

Stay tuned for the continuing electronically enhanced (mis)adventures of Patti and myself on a tour of the west coast in future columns. We also pay a visit to the Little Bighorn in Montana to get a little historical perspective into the trip. Oh, and by the way, the catchy title for this column was a phrase coined by the illustrious Hubert Humphrey. He was a man who ran for president in 1972 and who was much admired by Bill Richardson, current Governor of New Mexico and national presidential candidate.

In the former paragraph I’ve clearly resorted to pathetic practice of name dropping to impress the reader. But in my defense, neither Hubert’s nor Bill’s voices were available as TomTom selections. It possibly involves mere oversight on the part of the manufacturer, but it could also be the workings of a right wing conspiracy. The reader can bet the farm that The Coffee House Philosopher will check it out.

“It’s Ever So Green on the Far Side of the Hill”

Ah when that ol’ wander lust strikes and we get that “itch” in our feet (some experience the itch elsewhere), we just have to scratch it by taking a trip somewhere. Some of us are forced by circumstances to be a traveler “in mind only” (like Meryl Streep in the classic movie, “Out of Africa”). But when we have the necessary coins and time, we want to actually saddle up and move out. At such time we make plans to see what’s just over the nearby hill – and beyond.

When planning a trip, we can often find it helpful to get crumpled and outdated maps out of the glove box, and nostalgically relive prior sojourns to far away places by retracing the faded lines drawn on them. It can be a very good idea to lay them out and read them north to south (or from east to west), and then practice folding them back up. It would probably not be a bad idea to cover this last step several times – but some people need a reminder that maps can never be refolded the same way twice.

One might also want to go over the details of the last truce terms that were agreed upon between spouses when not under conditions of duress. Of course this usually depends upon whether he or she was driving when the agreement was made.

Key topics which will undoubtedly arise deal with inflation in gas prices, and how far below “E” the gas gage needle can safely go before “Lizzy” will sputter to a stop. As a rule the female of the household will “not feel comfortable” any time the gas gage registers under half a tank. But the typical male attitude is that if they will just go a little bit farther down the road, gas prices will be at least 2 cents a gallon cheaper. He will also claim to have somehow noticed that the “low fuel” warning light has only been on for eleven or twelve minutes. Thus the car clearly still has a full three minute’s supply sloshing around in the tank. And besides, he can (vaguely) recall reading somewhere that the fumes alone will propel the car for a considerable ways before the motor quits altogether.

It is of course, not mannerly to stereotype a situation, but we also must remember that not all trip experiences are pleasant. For example we can visualize an apprehensive female seated in the passenger seat at night with a death grip on a poorly lighted map that she turns first one way, and then the other. He, on the other hand, is barking out conflicting orders like a manic drill sergeant who has found a seat in Captain Kirk’s command chair aboard the starship, Enterprise. (Surely a couple of centuries ago Captain Bligh had a hint of developing mutiny under similar circumstances.)

Another dicey subject which might arise involves the infamous topic of stopping to ask for directions. It’s been alleged to be a matter of male ego that he prefers driving around in circles, trying to spot something familiar instead of stopping to get directions from a stranger. Actually the female faces a dilemma in that while she is undoubtedly aware that service stations have desirable (and necessary) bathrooms, but the male of the species has a propensity to get in an argument with the attendant as to which is the best route to go (e.g. the fastest, shortest, safest, cheapest, etc.).

But now modern technology has perhaps provided a better way. It is also one which has the potential to eliminate some of the less than civil “discussions” held whenever the family sedan unexpectedly reaches a road sign which reads “DEAD END”. Traditionally these impromptu conversations have been conducted at 150 decibels (or higher) around partially shredded paper maps. And the female can frequently be expected to shed copious quantities of tears when she acquires the questionable blame for causing the couple to become lost on a lonely road on a dark and stormy night.

Enter (Ta-daa!) the modern GPS device for cars. For those who’ve been under a rock for the past 20 years, it’s called a Global Positioning System. By using such gadgetry, the average work-a-day family has the opportunity to replace the centuries old cartographer’s product with modern space age technology. But it’s not always a good idea to totally chuck all your old maps, because gadgets have been prone to malfunctions of various sorts (including mis-programming don’t y’know.) Besides, glove boxes need to be stuffed with something that can be wadded up or folded.

Next, there needs to be a decision reached as to the brand and model of GPS to be acquired. It’s engaging in stereotyping again, but acquiring gadgets is generally recognized to be within a man’s sphere of family influence (with the possible exception of cell phone selection.) Women tend to be affected too much by emotional factors in their purchasing motives, and besides, we men like our gadgets with plenty of gages and dials with blinking lights and stuff.

Let’s see now, let’s get properly scientific in making a selection here. Ross Graham has a Tom-Tom. Steve Waldschmidt has a Tom-Tom. Larry Woods has a Tom-Tom. Ditto for Kenny Clark. I thought long and hard, and decided it was a Tom-Tom for me. (Radio Shack, here I come.)

It’s refreshing to be so logical and be able to use a little science in acquiring the “best” equipment. So next thing on the list was to be certain that my decision was cost effective and commercially practical.

“Networking” is a recently coined term in business which includes gaining useful knowledge from the collective experience of prior users. Steve Waldschmidt, being mechanically inclined, was near the top of my list of previous users to contact. He related that early on, he had established the practice of “allowing” his wife, Diana, to read the instructions and pre-program the GPS device in advance of their trips. He also exhibited good management and policy procedures by having Diana check with Betty Mantz for additional pre-programing tips.

When I actually had our very own GPS device in hand, I met with Ross Graham for tips on how to input instructions to the device itself. He quickly reinforced my confidence in the networking process by getting on the phone to his wife, Charlene, who naturally had a ready copy of the instructions close by. By this time I had a pretty good idea of how Larry Woods and Kenny Clark probably used their Tom-Toms.

Stay tuned for a future article which will detail our family’s first-hand experience of field testing the Tom-Tom on a trip to the west coast. Ah one can almost hear the Christy Minstrels belting out their once very popular refrain of, “Green green, it’s green they say on the far side of the hill . . . “

“The Best Gender to Reattach a Wiper Blade”

An incident happened the other day involving a minor defect in a key auto part. Both men and women labored nobly to make it non-defective, and at the same time, they sought to settle an age-old question as to whether men or women were the more capable and resourceful of the two genders. It is of course up to you, the reader, to make a judgment on the matter.

It all began in the fashion of the typical American nightmare – a failure of essential automotive equipment, in broad daylight, in front of plenty of I.O.s (interested observers), who have little to do but watch for the occasional embarrassing action that might arise among the usual patrons of what Dub Garnett used to call “the Breakfast Club”. The time: mid-morning on a weekday. The place: the center of crowded McDonald’s/Daylight Donut parking lots in Alva. The identity of the I.O.s: the breakfast crowd that specializes in coffee consumption and substantial “air temperature enhancement” (idle chatter commonly known as “shooting the breeze.”)

The central figure in this particular bit of drama was none other than Sir Irvin Hopper (frequently the case at McDonald’s.) He had just arrived for a bit of his customary jousting with the members of the Breakfast Club in his white charger and was switching the motor off when the left windshield wiper blade “just fell off.”

It was not too dramatic at first – just a little metallic “click”, and the offending device was on its way to the pavement where it alit with a muffled thud. The whole incident might have gone largely unnoticed except that one of the more alert I.O.s called in a loud voice, “Hey Irvin, your windshield wiper blade fell off.”

In a very short time, this scene became the focal point of a growing crowd in the center of the two parking lots. Both genders were represented in the initial group of “early responders” to this developing crisis. Fawn Kingcaid and Annette Schwertfeger (of the fairer sex), were returning from a morning “scurry” to the Daylight Donut Shop. Not only had they sought to assuage their own affliction (known as “having a sweet tooth”), but they had also loaded themselves down with pastries purchased for other members of the NWOSU business office.

Kingcaid and Schwertfeger both have well established reputations for keen hearing (and an unsurpassed talking ability, but this is subject matter for another day.) The first sounds of the developing crisis had hardly died away before the two intrepid females rushed up to Hopper and inquired whether anyone at the scene required CPR or other first aid. After quickly determining that the situation called for a mechanical remedy rather than a medical one, Kimcaid called for someone to hold their treasured armload of pastries and announced that she and Schwerteger could handle this little emergency themselves.

By this time the two girls had over a dozen I.O.s to choose from in selecting a qualified pastry holder. But in their haste to effect the needed repairs to Hopper’s vehicle, they failed to notice: (a) the identity of their assistant good Samaritan and (b) the fact that he was drooling all over the transferred sacks of donuts and rolls. The interim pastry holder was none other than Breakfast Club kingpin, Kenny Clark.

Be that as it may, the two women were soon hard at work, and (naturally) were discussing the best way to proceed. “You just snap this little thingy on there and it holds that gadget in place like that . . . .No Annette, that won’t work . . . . . see it came off again . . . hmmmmm . . . Well some of these men think they could do a better job – so let them try.”

Steve Waldschmidt was the next participant to have a try at attaching “the unattachable blade.” The fact that he used to run an auto repair shop seemed to carry no weight with the (now) highly critical crowd. He began to try to attach the severed device to the object vehicle – but after several innovative attempts, had no more success than the two women experienced. However he received substantially more criticism than the women, and far more derision. In fact Kingcaid and Schwertfegger had become the loudest of the critics of Waldschmidt, making a joke of how many men it takes to change a wiper blade.

The scene shortly thereafter degenerated into a vigorous argument between males and females as to which gender is the most mechanically inclined. As a general rule, the men took the position that since the time the pyramids were built, men throughout history have been the most mechanically adept. And the women pointed out that the female gender was just beginning to show its mechanical aptitude, stressing the fact it was a woman who had designed the recent Mars robotic rover . . . . .)

In the meantime a person (generally thought to be Jim Rhodes or an unidentified woman) slipped forward, deftly snapped the wiper blade in place, and disappeared into the crowd before the debate could produce a winner of the argument. Fawn Kingcaid angrily snatched the sacks of pastries from Kenny Clark’s arms, and shortly thereafter began accusing him of causing a sizeable shortfall in the contents of the bags. Clark’s sincere denials would have been much more convincing if he had first wiped the icing off his lips and not smacked them so loudly accompanied by annoying slurping sounds.

And the debate as to gender superiority goes on and on . . . .

Danger and Destruction in Alva

Life in a small town is supposed to be devoid of undue excitement. But recently the usual peace and tranquility of the local McDonalds restaurant was shattered by the sound of metal being demolished and the screeching of tortured tires by near-death circumstances.

Mallory Seevers, retired oil-and-gas energy professional and current youth transportation specialist, was entering the McDonalds parking lot when his vehicle was struck and torn asunder by a car being operated in the reverse mode by former hair fashion stylist and current real estate mogul, Sir Kenneth Clark. It was reported by scientists on the west coast that the tremendous impact of the resultant collision registered a record teeth-jarring 9.5 on the Richter scale. And corroborating eye witnesses estimated the closing speed of the two vehicles at two to three miles per hour and further, forensic experts were able to detect measurable skid marks and crash debris with the aid of an ordinary electron microscope.

When the dust cleared, it was readily apparent that Seevers needed help in extricating himself from the tangled wreckage of his vehicle. It is unclear at this time whether his many rescuers were trained paramedics or nosy busybodies who didn=t have anything better to do.

Seevers complained of bruises, lacerations, and contusions over 99 per cent of his body. Seevers can be seen in the accompanying photograph entering McDonalds restaurant on the following day with the aid of an ambulatory walker and a hemmoroidal pillow. Not shown are the extensive injuries to his teeth and bridgework. He is reported to have accused Clark of being completely blind, and Clark reportedly replied, ABlind? I hit you didn=t I.@ [This is an example of an excited utterance in legal circles.]

A law enforcement official trained in the investigation of complex automotive crash scenes was clearly required before excessive deterioration occurred in the quality of critical physical evidence. Therefore a priority request was sent out for an expert in the determination of crash scene causal factors, and due to the close proximity of the Daylight Donut Shop, his arrival time was expected to be minimal.

As is usual in a case of this type, some confusion and misinformation occurred when the officer began a reconstruction of the crash sequence and all contributing factors. He interviewed every credible eyewitness, and eventually settled upon Alva=s very own Ross Graham to provide valuable insight as to the salient facts of the case. Graham was quoted as saying, AI saw Kenney ditch his beer can out of his driver=s side window. It beats me as to what happened to Mallory=s. You know those two get downright mean and surly when they=re drunk.@

The officer inquired of Seevers as to whether the experience had been so traumatic as to cause his whole life to flash before his eyes. Graham, however, quickly interjected that the flash had most likely been that of a Coors Light beer can.

The investigating officer broke several pencil points in his notebook before departing the crash site muttering that he should have become an astronaut. It is understood that the matter is still under intense investigation. Hypnotically enhanced questioning of Graham has been suggested, although Graham has said that higher witness fees are more likely to get the job done B as a matter of Afact@ that his testimony will definitely favor the highest bidder.

Preliminary negotiations are rumored to have begun as to the movie rights to the story with Stephen Spielberg reportedly showing some interest if he can get Tom Cruise to play the part of Seevers and Brad Pitt to play Clark. But the chances of finding stunt doubles who are willing to duplicate the dangerous conditions of the relevant car crash are admittedly slim. And the cost of casting the many patrons of McDonalds and the Daylight Donut Shop may be prohibitive. C=est la vie in a small town.