The Human Mapanoid, Elvis, and Waze

            
            I'm the son of a World War Two Air Force navigator. I seldom if ever get lost and take great pride in knowing how to get places. Maps are a form of entertainment to me. It's not uncommon to have perfect strangers ask me for directions. I guess I look like a man who knows how to get places without doubling back.
            Most times I'm accurate with my responses. I'll point the person in the right direction and they're forever grateful, and I'll feel good about it too. But there have been cases where I realized I sent the person in the wrong direction. Those were tense and introspective moments. I wonder what happened to those people. How long did it take before they figured it out. Did they curse me when they realized they were heading in the wrong direction? Did they slam their fist on the steering wheel in frustration? Did they have to stop and ask somebody else for directions, (did the somebody else give them the right directions)? If they saw me in public and remembered me, would they walk up to me and say, "hey man, you're the guy that gave me bonk directions!"
           I don't get asked for directions as much now-a-days with advent of GPS and all. Everybody knows where they're going. Unless you're using Waze and taking directions from Elvis. That can be a dicey proposition. Elvis likes to wait till the very last minute to give his commands. Ah' keep a right. Ah' take a left.  

Santa Anita

            I spent my Saturday at Santa Anita race track. I had an urge to look at pretty horses. There's something about a thoroughbred that I find majestic. I like the paddock area best. You can get a good look at the horses there. We were looking at the horses when the eight horse suddenly reared up out of anxiety or bravado, I'm not sure which, and nearly fell over backwards. He most have been ten feet tall as he stood on his hind legs. He was scratched from the race. He didn't look injured, but I'm guessing his owners didn't want to take a chance with him before having a veterinarian check him out.
            We got to the track kind of late and we didn't bother to buy a racing form. I wanted to place a bet just for fun so I looked over the horses in the paddock and based on bone structure, coat coloration, and general demeanor, I placed a bet on a long shot to win. He came in the money, but I was still out two bucks.
            I used the same technique for evaluating horses in the next race. I noticed a chestnut that just looked better than the rest. It was the five horse. I bet two bucks on him to win and he came in. He paid fourteen-seventy. 
            I was going to bet on a couple more horses for the next race, but we got to the ticket booth too late and weren't able to place our bets before the race started. The horses I picked for that race were losers and out of the money, so I felt like a winner even when I was losing.
            I bet the next race. This time the nine horse spoke to me. There was something about his haunches that said winner. I like a thoroughbred with a nice ass, and he had a nice ass. I bet him to place. He won. Winning is good. Who needs a racing form when you have nice asses to look at.