The Scott Johnson Blog

I’ve been experiencing a strange sensation over the last 15 years or so that time is speeding up. I have a notion that plenty of people are feeling this effect as they get on in life, and much of what I am saying probably feels cliche and old hat, but the idea never really held much sway in my mind until the last few years.

Time is speeding up. For me, anyway. How do I know this? Unfortunately, I don’t have a good way to quantify this phenomenon in any sort of scientific way, and to someone watching casually from their teens or early 20′s, this sounds like bollocks, if I might borrow a term from our British friends.

I know that time is speeding up for me because I have way less of it than I used to, but more importantly than that, my perception of time is nothing like it was when I was younger.

As a kid, an hour seemed like three. Now, an hour seems like 15 minutes. Week long vacations seemed to last for months. Now they feel like a day and a half.

As a teenager, 2 years sounded like a lifetime. Now it sounds like not enough time.

I provided this simple chart (shown above) to sort of help explain my notion of time. The large labeled lines represent major points on my life, and all the little red ones represent various sub-events. As you can, later in the chart, these sub-events start to go up in volume. I think those are the key.

Would love your feedback as to whether or not I am feeling this way on my own, or if others share my plight.

EEEEEEK!

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I hate Vegas. I don?t want to hate Vegas. But I do. I hate it.

I could end this blog post there, but that seems a little unfair. I feel compelled to express precisely why I have a hard time with Vegas, and what I think should be done about it.

I should mention here that all this Vegas talk comes from the fact that I was considering heading down there this week for a peak at CES, and perhaps lunch with Tom and Veronica. Clearer heads have prevailed. CES makes Vegas crazy.

On paper, I should love the place: I love the spectacle of it all. I don?t need to be reminded that there is a damn pyramid, a replica of New York City, and an Eiffel Tower in the middle of that desert.

Which reminds me, I love the desert. I live in Utah, which is largely a desert state, despite the tons of snow we get every year. I love southern Utah, where the rock gets red, and the horizon makes you feel like hopping into your land speeder and shopping at Mos?Eisley for the afternoon.

I also only live about 4 or 5 hours away from Las Vegas, so driving there is really not all that hard or time consuming. We often stay in a town called St. George, about an hour north of Vegas, and I LOVE that place. It?s a strange combination of college town and retirement area, with incredible bike trails, hiking, canyons, etc. Lots of hippies and art and music and cool stuff there. A wonderful place that I would not mind living in permanently, truth be told.

Anyway, as you can see there are lots of things to love about the ?idea? of Las Vegas, Nevada. I?m also a big fan of any movie using Vegas as its setting. It makes for the perfect backdrop to just about any genre I can think of: Comedy, mob movies, post-apocalyptic disaster flicks, etc.

I?ll waste no more of your time, and just tell you where my problems lie. Let?s break down why Vegas exists. I mean REALLY exists. I?m going to treat Vegas like a big cake in this blog post: Pushing all that frosting to the side, and see what this thing is really made of.
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What? Yes…I got hit by a car this morning while jogging. It happened about 7am, in front of an exit point for a bunch of condos near where I live. It was part of a 2 mile route I often take when running. Nothing fancy, just a big loop from my house, out to a main road, along a jogging path I should mention, and back around again.

I was at the half-way point when the hit happened. Here’s how I remember it. I approached the condo exit and noticed that a small grey car was heading out of it, so I slowed down. I noticed that he started slowing down well ahead of the exit, which told me he’d seen me and was ready to let me by. In fact, he came to a near stop, which a jogger can usually take as a green light.

So I sped up, got in front of him, when he suddenly slammed on the gas pedal and lurched forward, whacking me in the right butt-cheek, hurling me into the ice-encrusted snowbank on the other side.

Now comes the part that I can’t really explain. I simply got up, kept running, and listening to “Over The Line”, by The Crystal Method on my iPod, as if nothing had happened…I just kept running. I never looked back, but I heard the driver yell something that sounded like, “Sorry car flinder stern mace!” I can only imagine what he meant by that.

Did he hit gas when he meant to hit the brake? I’ve done that. Did he mean to slam into me? Was his idea of a new years resolution so twisted that I’m simply lucky to be alive?

No idea. Honestly I’m more concerned about why I just kept running. There’s a lesson in this somewhere. I think the lesson is, “Keep running”. Or something.