Something Stinks

I keep hearing about the Gas-out or Gas-off or No Gas Day (which I could really use around my house) or whatever the fuck angry SUV drivers are calling it. I'm trying to figure out how one day of people not gassing up their cars will make a difference. Even if you got every person in America to boycott gas stations Friday, what about Thursday? Saturday? And you aren't even hurting Big Greezy. You think oil companies care if you decline to partake of their magic Elixir of Wonder for one day? It may hurt the local gas station owners, but not Daddy Greezy.

Honestly peeps, I'm not sure we Americans have the fortitude to do what it takes to evoke change. I don't exactly see the entire city of Chicago participating in a general strike. I just can't envision the Wall Street barons of the world's financial capitol staying home for days on end, lounging unshaven and unshowered on their $5,000 baby seal-skin sofas in their Cantonese Jumping Spider-silk robes, scratching pimply asses while gnoshing on Beluga caviar and 24K gold-dusted truffles, flipping channels back and forth between The View and Glenn Beck. Remember when the entire city of Paris went apeshit in 2010 over the retirement age? I'm pretty sure all the cannabis in Paraguay couldn't motivate San Diegoans to block traffic and set fires. Unless those fires were Zippos sparking a doobie.

If you really want to bring down oil prices, invest in a nice skateboard. Some quality sneakers. Perhaps buy a horse. A buggy for those long trips. A hang glider would be helpful. Cover your roof in solar panels. Consider geothermal heating. Sadly, there is no way to reduce our dependency on foreign oil unless we reduce our dependency on oil, period. That requires the complete cooperation of the automobile manufacturers, electric companies, global corporations, politicians, and even Big Daddy Greezy.

Don't hold your breath. Unless, you know, it's taco day at the company cafeteria.

Highway Signs are Fun

...and please don't jump, because it will just be a big ol' hassle for everyone. And you really don't want that guilt now do you? I hear Pennsylvania has some bitchin' bridges, and they're named after important people! You want to be important, don't you? As important as Benjamin Franklin? I know you do. Thanks a bunch. Love you! (Mean it!)

Hugs & kisses,
The Delaware Memorial Bridge

You Know How I Feel About Hellholes

One of my favorite quips from the Simpsons is from Season 9, Episode 1, "The City of New York vs Homer Simpson," in which he describes this fair city as a hellhole.

Pothole on 67th. Close enough, anyway

Unless you want to lose a tire, you've got to swerve and weave like a drunken fool which shouldn't be too hard for any of you. On my early-morning drive to work, I find myself looking at the road instead of at what's around me. Semi-important stuff, like other cars, pedestrians, etc. I almost ran a light a few weeks ago because I was scanning the pavement ahead for a monster 7-incher I knew was coming up. (This is the only time a 7-incher is a bad thing)


Seriously, how many others -holes do I have to contend with on a daily basis? Now I have to watch for potholes, manholes, loopholes and assholes (usually on bikes).


I need a damn hidey-hole.

Note to self...stop being stupid



Is this thing on?

I was so tired at work yesterday. Some of you may know, I work unhappy hours, starting at 2am. That's in the morning. That sucks. Mondays are, as a result, difficult for me. This particular Monday, I was actually nodding off at my computer. One of those eyes rolling back head-bobbing yourself awake when your elbow slips. I may or may not have been drooling on the keyboard. Can't say for sure.

To remedy this situation, I decided to take a nap. Those 10-minute power naps are supposed to be good for you, invigorating or some such shit, right? 10 minutes, no biggie, no one would ask questions; maybe I went to drop a deuce or something. So I very responsibily set the alarm on my phone for 10 minutes and snuck into an empty edit room, laid down on the floor, (not the first newsroom floor I've slept on, but that's another story) and zonked out within 46 seconds.

I awoke some time later to the sound of conversation in the next edit room, feeling refreshed, yet wondering why I hadn't heard my alarm. Did I wake up early? A quick check of the phone and I had my answer. I set the alarm all right, but I keep my phone on silent at work, so it was a silent alarm. Sonofabitch mother effer Jesus crap! My silent alarm had been buzzing away for 30 minutes. 30 minutes! That is one serious deuce. I snuck back into the newsroom, slid into my chair, and was greeted with, "...are you feeling ok? I've been looking for you. You can go home if you're feeling sick, we're good."

Shit. At least I have co-workers who are sensitive to the implications of a 30-minute potty break.

In which I validate every stereotype about women drivers

Let me preface this by saying I am an awful driver. Truly. I speed, I weave, I shoot the gap...I am the penultimate aggressive driver. But, I am a very good bad driver. No really, I am.


I am not, however, a very bright individual. As evidenced by my adventure in ice driving. I'm rolling along, minding my own business, doing the highway hypnosis thing, and it starts snowing. I don't realize what's happening until I'm coming down a bridge overpass at 75mph, and the car starts wiggling. Damn it's windy, I think, until the rear end starts flailing around like a stipper on stage, and it dawns on me, I'm hydroplaning, on ice, on an overpass, at 75 miles an hour, with no control. Nice.


Again, I may be a bad driver, but I know my limitations. It's slow and steady for me the rest of the way home. I watch sporty little coupes fishtail by me, pumping their brakes. Uh huh, I think. You doucherocket. Serves you right. Approaching a traffic light, I begin the braking process waaaaaay early. But not early enough, it seems, as that bitch locked up tighter than a virgin in the back seat of her brother's best friend's Pinto. My turn to pump the brakes. Nuthin. Wonderful. I'm watching the light as it glides toward me, yellow going on red, and I'm damn near standing on the pedal in my 3-inch ankle boots. The car is freaking out, the ABS thrumming, as I slide gracefully to a stop in the middle of the intersection. It's quiet. It's cold. And I realize the car isn't running. Stalled. I turn the key, and yep, you guessed it, nuthin.


Let me just say, this has never happened to me before, breaking down in an unsafe location like the middle of an intersection on a busy highway. The phone calls commence. As I'm speaking to roadside assistance, which turns out, I am not signed up for, I look in my rearview and very calmly tell the woman, Hold on, I'm about to be rear-ended. I closed my eyes and braced myself as a BMW much like mine pulls a stunt just like mine and slides toward me, also unable to stop. Did you know you're supposed to call 911 when your shit is waving in the wind like that? I didn't, until that moment, when I realized holy shit this is an emergency.


Dude didn't hit my car, but I had to change my pants, it was that close. He actually had to back up several feet to get around me. At this point I called 911, and waited calmly until the 5-0 arrived. Shortly after that, the tow truck showed up. Apparently you get a lot faster tow service if you call 911 and tell them you're blocking traffic. It was 8 minutes, tops. I must now get out of the car, and step onto a thin sheet of ice covering the road, in my 3-inch patent-leather ankle booties. Not exactly weather-appropriate. I inch my way around the car, past the poor cop, who is standing there about to shit his pants because holy God it is slippery and cars are flying. He had to call in another cop to block his car, which was blocking my car. He was a cutie, too. Considered falling to get his attention, but realized I would likely shatter my ass-bone and sprain my wrist. Perfect end to a perfect evening.

Let's wrap this story up, because I'm tired of telling it. Next day, I call the tow yard and ask if they can tow the car to a service station. There is a pause on the other end of the line.

                             Tow guy: It started just fine.

                             Me: Really. The black one, stuck in the middle of US 1?

                             Tow guy: Yeah, picked it up myself around 1. Went out this morning, it started just fine.

                             Me: What in the hell...?

Another pause.

                   Tow guy: You didn't put it in park.

                              ** blink **

                            Me: Sonofabitch! I am an asshole!!

That little story cost me $90.43. I hope you enjoyed it. I accept PayPal and personal checks.