Deportment of Monster Vermicules

On the drive to Nags Head the green Soobie will have 4 drivers--3 girls + Tyler--and the silver Soobie will have me. Chauffeuring Jeff and Gabe. But it’s totally fair I guess, because as I drive for 7 hours I’ll get to listen to a streaming monologue about how the best superpower in the world would be “iron face” or “air-cannon sneeze,” while Jeff sits shotgun, forgetting that he just downgraded from a driver’s license to an official Maryland State I.D. card.

I had a plan. (I admit, it was a really lame plan.) Gabe would have his learner’s permit (which we would have obtained today,) and I would make him drive part of the easier slow road down the southern tip of the Delmarva Peninsula, and we’d cross to Norfolk via the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. The lame part of the plan was that this would not exactly be a restful break for me. I would be insisting that taking out a few trees as we rounded bends too fast was undesirable, while Gabe would be extemporizing on why his first car should be a tank with a rubber-band Gatling gun instead of a horn.

But, in any event, having the permit pre-beach is now an iffy proposition at best. We lined up in front of the DMV this morning, 10 minutes before the 8:30 opening, behind roughly 20 people. It is a strange thing to have to help process 2 people, both of whom appear to be humans who should be able to handle their own affairs. The desk lady gave us our numbered slips--C1 to Gabe, B12 to Jeff, and I tried to sit us where we could see the numbers when they popped up on the magic screen.

C1 popped up first. (Illogical, I know, but it did.) I accompanied Gabe to the proper window, where almost the first thing was looking into the eye-testing machine. “Read the 4th line,” said the man. “GMDV” says Gabe. “Read the rest,” says the man. “The part that comes after that.” Gabe couldn’t. Ok. Give me the dumb award now. Gabe hasn’t had glasses since about 6th grade when he stopped wearing them and never complained that he had trouble reading or seeing the board at school or anything else. It was, after all, a correction for his toddlerhood “lazy eye,” as opposed to a more clearcut case of myopia. But evidently, that right eye is really not up to snuff, and now we’re going to have to do something about it. (And how crazy is this? Gabe having to remember both his wallet and his glasses when he drives?) Still, and fortunately, the optometrist gave us an appointment for tomorrow...so we may yet be able to fulfill my dream of getting to Nags Head with my nerves shot to heck. So Gabe, insouciant as ever, struck up a conversation with an DMV employee about how the room should be filled with bumper cars, while I realized--with slight panic--that the magic board was now on B14, not B12.

”Jeff,” I say to Jeff, who is looking everywhere except at the magic board. “Did it ever say B12?” A man sitting 2 benches back points to one of the service windows. “There’s B12,” he says. I thank him, and Jeff follows me to where a lady sits rapping her nails on the desk. As the lady takes Jeff’s paperwork, I scuttle over to where Gabe is having an animated conversation with a DMV person about candy bars. All seems ok, so I hurry back to hear Jeff say “I have Alzheimer’s.” Ok, I think...guess those cards are on the table now. See, the thing is, Jeff didn’t want an I.D. He wanted a driver’s license, even acknowledging that he can’t use it because he’s uninsurable. So we were just going renew the license, and not mention anything medical...really, just to avoid that step of finality which was troubling to him. But he said it. So when the lady (nicely, in fact,) asked whether it impaired his driving, I confessed that he isn’t actually allowed to drive anyway, he just needs I.D. for airplanes and whatnot. So he has an I.D. card. Yep. That’s that. And there’s this: Next time I go to the DMV with Gabe I’ll only have to watch for one number to pop up.

behoovedness, cloven

People do the stuff they have to do. If the stuff they have to do does not occupy all of their time, they do stuff they want to do. If either the stuff they have to do or the stuff they want to do produces a result that turns out to be especially popular with or helpful to other people, then--one could argue--that they have found purposes in life.

The problem with assuming that people have purposes though, is that there is a much larger subset of humans whose activities prove neither particularly popular nor useful in any notable way.

So, you have to posit that either only a small subset of humans have a purpose (and the others do not,) or that no one does, but the smaller subset have just happened upon fortuitous occupations.

Actually, I suppose you could contend that many among those whom I’ve deemed “purposeless,” do indeed have one--it’s just smaller and quieter. Not notably popular, but possibly helpful.

I don’t know which of those is the case, if either. No purposes at all, in particular, or merely unflashy, under-the-radar purposes for most. I lean toward the former, but in case the latter is true, and one is to be assigned a purpose later in life, it would behoove one to exercise the mind and body so as to be fit to take it on. It would behoove one to exercise the mind and body even if no purpose will be assigned, also.

And that will have to do for a philosophy.

(The amazing thing is that there is a noun, singular, form of behoove that looks like this: behoof...meaning benefit or use. That's a pretty good word which appears to have nothing to do with feet.)