I, Clausius

I wish I could do justice to the picture of Santa and Mrs. Claus ascending the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum between a double rank of glittery Roman soldiers. Also, hundreds of gospel singers in choir robes. Seriously, it was like the vision of America in George W. Bush’s head crystallized and made real for one glorious crest-of-empire moment. A Russian poster artist wouldn’t have been able to change a thing, except maybe to give Santa some mighty biceps, and add some fighter jets dropping toys.

I didn’t mention that the 2002 Turkey Pro National was held this weekend, with bikers riding in from all over the East coast. In really cold weather: “colder than a well-digger’s asshole!”, according to one authoritative source near the chili-dog table. I competed in the slow race this year, and am proud to say that I did not put my foot down during the 52 seconds it took me to circle the hundred-foot course. This put me up among the top five finishers, but I was distressed to learn that there had been some headshaking in the crowd. I had set my bike’s idle way, w-a-a-a-y up, which made it easier to ride the clutch, which apparently lost me some style points. Considering that the race was won by a contestant on a stand-up electric scooter, I don’t feel too bad, but I’m determined to re-enter clean next year and restore my good name!