Archive for the ‘Nonclassified Nonsense’ Category

Lorena, TX

Driving down to Austin, we were just outside of Waco when the radar detector started going crazy. We have a radar detector because police pull the red Miata over all the time, whether or not we’re exceeding the speed limit, I guess because it just looks like it’s going fast.

So Berck slowed down to the speed limit, and as we crested a hill, sure enough, there was a police car sitting on the access road facing oncoming traffic. “That’s a good place to hide,” Berck declared. A pick-up flew past us in the left lane. As we approached, the patrol car pulled out and then got on the interstate behind us. “Guess he got somebody,” Berck said, continuing to drive carefully. But the cop didn’t turn on his lights, just kept heading the same direction we were. “Watch him pull us over,” sighed Berck. I laughed.

But sure enough, the cop pulled up behind us and switched on his blue lights.

What could he possibly have pulled us over for?

He came up to the driver’s window and asked for license and proof of insurance then asked Berck to step out of the car. “I want to talk to you, and then you’ll be on your way.”

He talked to Berck for a while, then came over to my window and talked to me. “How you doing today? Do you have anything illegal in the car? Any illegal weapons or drugs? Have you picked up anyone who might have had anything illegal? [The Miata is a two-seater.] Where are you going? Do you live with Mr. Nachzen? What’s your address?” I told him we’d just gotten married and were on our honeymoon. “Well, congratulations! When did you get married?” I suddenly drew a blank about whether it was the 28th or the 29th. Wasn’t the 28th a Saturday, and then we’d decided to have it on Sunday? (No.) I told him December 29th. He wrote down “12-29” on a pad of paper.

Then he went back and talked to Berck. Berck told me later that the officer told him he was involved in interdiction, making the streets safe, blah blah blah blah, and could he have a look in our trunk?

Well, the 4th amendment to the U.S. Constitution protects us against searches without warrants. If there’s one thing that I learned in my Con Law class, police have no right to search your trunk without your permission. If they really want to see what’s in your car, they can bother a judge to issue a warrant. But otherwise, never let the police search your trunk. It’s not a matter of hiding anything. It’s a matter of Constitutional rights. If civil servants think they can poke through your personal property any time they want, what’s to keep them from inviting themselves into your house?

Besides, it’s an ordeal to repack everything in the Miata’s tiny trunk.

So Berck did what I would have done. He said, “Sure, you can look in my trunk … as soon as you show me a warrant.”

Then the police officer told him, “I don’t need a warrant. I’m the police. We’ll wait for the K-9 unit to arrive, and then we’ll search your trunk.” I guess he figured the dog would smell drugs, and then he’d have probable cause to search us? The cop went back to his car, then came back and said, “Today is your lucky day. The K-9 unit can’t make it.” Then he wrote Berck a warning for “Following to closely [sic]” which is ridiculous. He added, “You better not have anything illegal, because you’re going to have to talk to the DPS further down the road!”

Berck got back in the car and told me the rest of the story. The cop had told him he’d pulled him over for speeding and following too closely. He also told Berck that he had been sitting at a truck stop when we’d passed (even though he wasn’t). He’d asked Berck a bunch of questions and then came over and talked to me to make sure our stories matched.

And that was that. We continued on our way, paranoid every time we passed another police officer, relieved when we finally reached our destination and parked and went inside.

Our host Dave tells us that race relations in the area are strained lately, racial profiling and such. So he guesses that the police were busy pulling over and harrassing as many whites as possible … to make things even.

What I want to know is, why would we be smuggling drugs SOUTH?

Irving, TX

Instead of watching ads on the Super Bowl last night, we had over some friends for dinner, our first hosting of a dinner party as a married couple. Awwww.

Since Berck hates both television AND football, I may never get to watch it again.

I was watching CNN while cleaning up the kitchen this morning and got to see all the ads plus Janet Jackson’s boob anyway.

After doing last minute laundry, we’re off for Austin now.

Norman, OK

We got an apartment!

Even better news… Berck got his student pilot certificate!

All around, today was a pretty productive day, I’d say. We got started off right with breakfast with the Wolfes, then headed straight for Airman Flight School at the airport. We got shown around and put in contact with Dr. Lynn, the physician who does medicals for everyone at the flight school.

In fact, doing medicals for flight students is all Dr. Clyde Lynn does. He’s 84 and has an office in his son’s house’s ground floor. He’s a slight man with a white beard and head of hair. One eyelid is scrunched up. He didn’t have any appointments scheduled for the morning, so we walked right on in. He had Berck perform some agility tests, read an eye chart, and prove he wasn’t colorblind, all the while telling stories about medical practices in WWII. He gave Berck a bonus, testing his “eye-Q” by getting him to recall as many numbers from the colorblind test as he could. “I’d say you’re at least 120, maybe 140,” Dr. Lynn decided. I perused the Apartment Guide in the waiting room, trying hard not to burst out laughing at the conversation in the examination room.

“Now we have to test your urine,” Dr. Lynn said, “but my sister cleaned up in here and threw away all my little cups. That’s fine; we do it without a cup.” He had Berck step into the bathroom and pee on a strip. “And that’s a good color, so on to the next item…”

Once the examination was complete, Dr. Lynn inserted a certificate into his typewriter and carefully typed up Berck’s clearance to take the controls of an airplane. He complained about malpractice insurance rates. “This is all I do anymore,” Dr. Lynn said, “flight medicals and writing prescriptions for Viagra, and nobody’s going to sue me for malpractice for that.”

“Well, I guess you won’t be around a whole lot much longer to worry about it,” said Berck. (Berck insists he didn’t mean it mean.)

Dr. Lynn didn’t pause to consider his mortality. “Then they can take it away from my kids. They didn’t earn that money anyway.”

$60 later, Berck received his first pilot’s license.

Several hours later, we filled out an application for an apartment on the western edge of Norman. Ironically, it was the first complex we looked at, but it was the only one in town with a one-bedroom with washer/dryer hookups … that wasn’t next to Oklahoma University. It’s not terribly nice, but it’s cheap, and we like the location. Plus, they seem willing to rent to us despite not having employment yet.

Memphis, TN

We spent last night in Memphis with Berck’s Aunt Robin. She fed us fillet minion from her boyfriend’s restaurant. Berck’s grandmother Ida took us to breakfast to Perkins for pancakes in the morning. Then we were off for Oklahoma.

It got pretty cold overnight. I bought some long underwear back in north Georgia, but I couldn’t find any men’s for Berck. When we stopped for gas this morning, I told Berck to park next to the pump that was in the sunshine. Even so, there were still blue ice crystals clinging to the squeegee I used to clean the windshield. I came back from the bathroom to find Berck checking the oil in his father’s parka, saying, “I’ve GOT to get some warmer clothes.” But so far today the weather has been sunny and beautiful. I keep trying to get Berck to let me drive so I can sit in the sun. Despite my wool socks, my toes are getting cold.

Knoxville, TN

After taking a detour north, we’re finally heading west. Memphis is tonight’s stop (and the last chance for Krystals). I-40 our home for today and tomorrow.

We left the Schwarzbarts’ this morning (well, a bit after noon). Visiting them is always interesting, particularly because they keep a kosher kitchen. Food becomes a major production because we can’t help or clean up after ourselves. As Arnold put it the first time I visited them, cleaning up incorrectly makes life a lot more complicated for them, “So just let us do it.”

Keeping kosher means not eating meat (beef, chicken, etc…) and dairy for the same meal. Each has its own dinnerware and utensils. The Schwarzbarts’ kitchen has a butcher block bar in the center, divided in half by two grooves that go around each side. One side is for eating meat and the other for dairy, with the grooves keeping spills from contaminating the other side. Parve foods (that contain neither meat nor dairy, like fruit, vegetables, grains, eggs, fish, etc…) can go on either end of the bar.

Kosher meat is a little more difficult to get a hold of than other foods. Animals like pigs and shellfish cannot be eaten. A clean animal must not be sick when killed; it must be slaughtered humanely, it’s veins removed, and all the blood drained out. Arnold and Mary Linda’s favorite brand of kosher chicken costs a couple times over regular chicken in the grocery. But it also tastes much better.

Typically, we have dairy for breakfast (usually lox) and meat for supper. When Arnold discovered I liked herring, he broke out some of his special stash, and I had some last night for a late night snack, as well a few bites this morning. Both Arnold and Mary Linda are wonderful cooks. Berck’s challa bread recipe comes from Mary Linda, though his is his own creation and not exactly parve, since he uses butter instead of margarine. Berck makes challa only on special occasions, while Mary Linda tries to make hers often enough to keep a supply on hand. Smoked salmon and cream cheese doesn’t seem to go with it as well as with rye, so I’m afraid we put quite a dent into Arnold’s bread supply he imports from New Jersey.

We had omlettes our first morning this trip, a dish that Arnold has perfected the process of making. Berck arrived at the bar later than I did and exclaimed, “Mushrooms?!”

Arnold looked at him. “What would you suggest as an alternative ingredient?”

“Bacon.”