The mood on the street?

It Depends on Which Street

By Rick Horowitz

If you think about it for a minute or two, it makes a certain kind of sense. Not the kind of sense that jumps out of the box and knocks you on the head and announces itself even though it doesn't have to, that's how obvious it is.

The other kind. The kind of sense that sneaks up on you the way shaggy grass sneaks up on you, the way morning sneaks up on you. But once you see it, it's like it's been there forever, waiting for you to get around to noticing.

Noticing, for instance, how different the morning looks when you wake up on Incumbent Boulevard and when you wake up on Challenger Road.

The two streets may only be a little ways apart -- you can make it from one to the other in ten minutes when the bus is running -- but the view is so different they could be on separate planets. Something about the sightlines, people say. Or the angles.

Over on Incumbent Boulevard on this particular morning, the man who rents the pretty white house on the corner rolls out of bed before anyone else is awake. He fixes himself a bowl of cereal, and then he strides into the living room, toward the big picture window.

"It's going to be a beautiful day!" he exclaims. "Any day now."

If he wanted to, when he's done praising the future weather, he could pull on that long red cord alongside the window and actually open the drapes. That way, he could see the current weather. Most of the time, he doesn't bother. The only part of the weather that truly interests him is the forecast -- the part where he gets to say, "It's going to be a beautiful day!"

Since this particular man moved to Incumbent Boulevard (almost three years ago -- has it really been that long?), the weather's been overcast more often than not, but he doesn't beat himself up about it. In fact, he doesn't blame himself at all. He inherited today's weather, he tells everyone who'll listen. Yesterday's, too, and the day before that. So it's not his fault. His own weather will be along day now, he says. Until then -- as long as the weather stays bad, in other words -- it's not his weather.

Across town on Challenger Road, meanwhile, the alarm clock goes off in a modest little boarding house in the middle of the block, and everybody in the place -- on this particular morning, there are nine of them -- hops out of their beds, alarmed.

"It's a terrible day!" they shout. "Another one."

There are tiny windows in each of the rooms in the boarding house. If they wanted to, when they're done criticizing the weather, they could push aside the dusty blue curtains and see what the weather's really like, and if there's any new weather on the way. (Somebody heard from somebody that there's some new weather on the way.)

Most of the time, they don't bother. The only part of the weather that gets them excited is today's weather, which, without even looking out the window, they already know is completely terrible. Since they moved onto Challenger Road (almost three years ago -- has it really been that long?), the weather's been completely terrible more often than not, and they know exactly who's responsible:

The man who rents the pretty white house on Incumbent Boulevard.

Before he got there -- they still remember this, they still talk about it all the time -- the weather was wonderful, year after year. Not any more, though. Now it's terrible, and they know it'll stay terrible as long as he's there. (At least they hope it'll stay terrible as long as he's there. That might mean he won't be there as long.) They keep their curtains closed, the same way he keeps his drapes clothed. It doesn't matter. The view is totally different anyhow.

There are people who believe that the big white house on the corner is so big, it can even affect the weather. They just disagree on how long it takes and how long it lasts and who gets the credit and who gets the blame. There's a word for these people. Actually, two words.

Incumbents. And challengers.

Posted 11/8/03. Spread the wealth. Spread the word. Wherever you live, "Rick's" is worth a stop, twice every week!

Rick Horowitz is a syndicated columnist, TV commentator, writing coach and public speaker

Search the Web Search Rick's!