The fact that one can make it from the Avenues to the SLC International Airport, pick up a Misty Renee friend at 5:10, drive to the Red Iguana, wait five minutes for a table, order margaritas and mole, pay the bill by 6:30 and have said Misty back at the airport by 6:40 for a 7:25 flight makes Salt Lake a fine place and record-breaking driving a fine talent.
Driving across town is less pleasant. I drove twice to sugarhouse today and hit every light red--1st South through 17th. You would think Rocky would fix this for me--all that waiting is bad for the air. But with the rain, I suppose no one cares about how many PMs I'm idling into the air.
Erik's work requires that the photographers drive Chevy Suburbans or equally gas guzzling monstrosities. Plus, they need to idle their live trucks constantly to keep their battery power optimized. Mini-generators, these beasts.
All of this is by way of saying, if we (and by "we" I mean people who know what sort of disaster we create) can't get it together to stop spewing toxic chemicals into the atmosphere, who can?
Erik, as the unofficial photographer of the apocalypse--landslides, floods, flying locusts, raining frogs--will be the first to recount the End Times. At least the environmentalists and the fundamentalists agree on something.
More on thislater.