Roaming the asphalt prairie

On the freeway we travel like a pack of animals, alert, touchy, hierarchical, shifting in an instant from revery to battle.

By Ranted by Cary Tennis

Published September 6, 2001 8:00AM (EDT)

Steeped in the rough-and-tumble spoken-word movement, boiled in punk rock, roasted in alcohol, pressure-cooked in American literature and turned like a newel post on the lathe of American journalism, Cary Tennis brings his angry oratory on arts, politics and culture to Salon every Thursday.

This week, he performs a meditation on childhood and the freeway, and tries to evoke the peculiarly primitive yet often elegiac spirit we inhabit while driving.

For broadcast or other reuse, contact Adrienne Crew.

Ranted by Cary Tennis

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