The Average Blogger

Snow Place Like Home

So, that shows what I know. We got about 8 inches in our predicted Big Snow.  School turned out to be canceled three days of five this week.  The roads are clear, the cars are not trapped, we have power and Internet and all that.

Unfortunately, the 8 inches we got all came down in the space of about 2 hours, during the worst commuting hours, which meant stuck/abandoned cars blocking some roads, fallen trees blocking other roads, etc.

The worst commute I've ever had before last night was 2.5 hours. I figured it would take me about five hours to get home last night.

Turns out I was four hours too optimistic.  To pass the time, I liveblogged the whole thing on Facebook. It was actually pretty fun.  It was just me in the car, and I didn't really need food or a bathroom; I knew that Not Your Average Blogger and the Young Prince were safe and warm at home, and I knew they'd be able to meet me at a motel if the power went out and things became less warm.

What follows, then, is the item of record, with selected comments from friends who were following my tale.

5:46: leave office garage.

5:54: 4 blocks traveled.

5:55 -- prick behind me leaning on his horn that I should move while dingbat pedestrian thinks putting up her hand like Wonder Woman would stop my car from sliding into her. If I were moving, natch.

6:04: First instance of people pulling into intersection they clearly won't exit before the light changes. Dorks. 1 mile from work.

6:14: 2 miles from office. 38 to go. Kaliforna Gurls on radio. Not that I'm questioning this life choice, or anything.

6:25: 3 miles from work. Some chick with a purple umbrella stops dead in the middle of the street, snaps a bunch of photos and then examines them on digital readback. Nobody even honks.

6:30: 3.5 miles from office. Radio talking about vehicle fires. Srsly? Colleague e-mails that another colleague's power is out. Wondering if mine will be when I get home -- in time to start my 5 am shift... ‎

6:53: 6 miles from work. Guy leaning out apartment window over Whitehurst Freeway is pointing and laughing. And taking bong hits. Party on, Garth.
Neta: I'm having a glass of wine and laughing at your posts! 

7:13: 8 miles from work. 32 to go. Never noticed before that there are No Parking signs along this stretch of road. Go figure.

7:18 - figuring I might make the DC-VA line at the 2-hour mark. "The Wa-yay-yayi-ting is the Hardest Part." Just what we need, a clever DJ.

7:26. Huh. I've never watched snow accumulate on my car hood while it was running. It's about like watching paint dry.
ChrisH: You need to rev the engine more to melt it off! Just kidding
AB: Nobody mentioned this downside to the Prius!! :) 

7:36: ok, maybe 2 hours was optimistic. But at least I'm not like the guy I just saw hunching across the Key Bridge on foot with his umbrella blown out the wrong way.

7:45: Just had to get out of my car to give my rear windshield wiper an assist. Damn! Slippery!
Jill: Wait to you get out here. It looks like WW3 with all the trees down and I bet we are out of power by the time you get here. Good Luck!
AB: Yeah, I'm kinda worried about that. Watch me get home and hafta go to a manasas hotel so I can work! 

7:53: I've been listening to WTOP for an hour and still haven't heard why the Key Bridge is not moving. (Though I'm guessing it's cos all the people Not in My Lane keep moving into My Lane at the last minute.) Nor any mention of 29 or 50 or the other surface streets I take to get home. Sigh.

7:59 Hahaha. DJ on WTOP is harassing Pepco guy about lousy voice mail/response time. Awesome. And I'm now under the bridge, on my around to go over it. Man, there is just no good side to a bridge, imho.

8:17: Bound to happen -- someone 3 cars ahead of me got stuck and needed a push. 

8:25: Well, it is official. It took less time to put together a newspaper than it has taken me to escape DC. Yay to my staff, at least!

8:36: Mmmm. Aspirin and snow. Rounding the corner to the bridge!

8:49: Watching another stuck car get pushed on to the bridge. Thinking I really should have worn socks and flats today. Durh.

8:57: I'm on the bridge! I'm on the bridge! Any over-unders on when I'll be off it??
NYAB: Woo hoo!
Jill: Gosh, who the heck knows? I have a couple friends stranded on 66.
David: Not betting, but I am following this saga closely. Godspeed!  

9:02: Looking down at the cars on the curve up to the bridge. Pointing and laughing. Sadly, no bong hits. 

9:07: Waiting for the guy with the walker from the opening of Office Space to pass me on the bridge. No more blown out umbrellas. Sad.

9:14: Snow appears to be letting up. Just saw a guy walk by with a snow shovel. Brilliant! Fantastic!

9:23: I hate bridges. That is all.
Jill: Since you have been on the bridge we have watched a complete basketball game, did a load of laundry, the dishes. At this rate we are hoping you will be back for Thomas high school graduation.
ChristopherH: So sorry you are stuck :(
AB: Haha. It's not the stuck -- it's the bouncy bounce while getting a chance to do intensive study of all the pavement cracks and patches. :)
ChristopherC I think you're losing it.
AB: Nah. I just keep chanting, "it isn't the skyway ... It isn't the skyway..."
Beth: Skyway is the worst.... I've been stuck there!!
AB: Beth, I have been known to go 2 hours out of my way to avoid that thing. I really do freak on that one. Too steep to see the other side, too long to hold my breath.
Beth: I hear ya sistah! After being stuck for four hours on the "up" side, I don't drive it either.
AB: Guh. You're made of tougher stuff than I am!! 

9:34: All angst aside, it really is quite beautiful out. Snowy trees, reflecty brake lights, the almost-visible Washington Monument. I do like living here. Just not Here, on the bridge.

9:45: Off the bridge! Off the bridge! Who had 48 minutes in the pool?
ChristopherC: Look. You made two Facebook friends in the time you spent on that bridge, so it wasn't time entirely wasted. 

9:52: Why, hello, Welcome to Virginia sign! So nice to pass you! Have you been here this whole time?

10:02: Just called the kid to say goodnight. Not that it sounds like he is anywhere near ready to sleep.
Chuck: You should turn around now and begin the morning commute.
NYAB: I'm pacing, which is making him pace. It's a vicious circle.
Pam: It's not as if he's going to school tomorrow....  

10:14: On 29. It reeks of burning rubber cos of a stuck bus or something spinning its tires.  

10:21: Stupid speedtrap camera strobe keeps going off. I wonder if offenders will get a pass?

‎

10:27: Just went an entire half-block without stopping. Streak ended next to a "speed checked by radar" sign.

10:29: Just passed first abandoned car -- a Jeep 4x4. WTF?!

10:49: Continue to share the road with jillions of my closest friends. Hey, Mr. Bicknell, what's the iphone say about the weather in Fairbanks??
NYAB: 2 below, but no snow. Snowing all week in Seward, but warmer than it is here. 

11:07: I'd be feeling stupid about doing this if I weren't having so much fun. Am wondering how much I'll pay tomorrow with the sleep-dep hangover, though.

11:13: it is kinda funny how fast 10mph feels after sitting at 0 for minutes at a time.

11:23: ZOMG. 29 down to one lane with cars every which way. After that, a speed rush thru Arlington at 20mph.

11:29: Freakout sounds: spinning tires, groaning branches.
Chuck: FYI, since you left, I've gotten on a plane, flew to SoCal, got In-N-Out (Animal Style, natch), flew back and am back home.
AB: Impossible. I remember the lines at In-N-In-N-In-N-Out! You're posting from the baggage claim!
Chuck: Yes, back home. Still licking my fingers of the grilled onions and the fries. 

11:46: O hai, Falls Church. If it were 7 years ago, I'd be home. As it is, I'm not even in the right county.

11:52: wow. Snow piles at curbs and on lane lines creating big lake-y puddles. Yayyyy!

12:08: Happy Thursday! Just saw the beltway from an overpass. Uuuuugly.
NYAB: Guess I could have made the round steak, huh? It’d be thawed by now.
AB: Guess so! Heh. 

12:23: 29 gunked up again. I'd make fun of the stuck/abandoned cars but I'm too afraid of joining their ranks. Though I must say the car has handled marvelously so far!

12:31: Vienna. Gonna try the interstate. (Crosses self.)
AB: Or not. Stuck semi blocking onramp. Heh.
AB:OK. U-turn, unplowed ramp, and on.

12:42: on interstate. 20 or so more miles to go. Alarmed by sudden and strong smell of gasoline, but it's gone now.

12:46: Safe to say I'm regretting the choice to wear a girdle yesterday morning.

12:55: guh. Way slippy and zero regard for staying in lanes!

1:01: at some point, doesn't it make more sense to list the schools that are still open?

1:04: Traffic conditions sign:"Expect delays to Exit 47." Ya think?

1:16: 525,000 people with no power. Not that they care, they're still trying to get home.

1:24: in keeping with chuck's earlier scenario, in the time I've spent in this car, I could have driven from LA to Vegas, emptied my bank account and drunk myself into a coma.
NYAB: Yeah, but those last two don't take all that long.

1:35: now seems like a good time for one of those infamous I-66 toppling lightpole episodes.

1:52: just passed string of plows. Wondering how I'm gonna get from left lane, over midroad snowbank, to offramp.

1:59: hello, rest area!

2:14: wow. No streetlights, lots of downed trees.

2:16: offramp offramp offramp!

2:17: hwy 15 plowed, wet, lovely!

2:25: one way to avoid your car being buried by the plows? Get home after they've left.

2:30: car parked at end of cul de sac, hopefully not in the way of any of the other cars parked down here.

2:33: home home home!
My husband is the best, y'all. He shoveled a path up our mile-long driveway so Little Miss No-Socks could get to the house.
Well. Just shy of nine hours. That wasn't so bad, except for how far off I was in guessing my commute time. My legs are kinda tingly, though.
P.S.: the kid is still up. Watching Creepshow. Bwahaha.
NYAB: And of course, she logged on and started working.

More Life Changes

So, about a month ago, the effin' squirrels in our yard once again went for their favorite dessert and chewed a hole in my car's fuel line. This is the third time my car's fuel line got a hole ripped in it, so it's old hat, a familiar drill.

Except, we own Saturns.  And Saturn, apparently, has stopped making fuel lines.  None, nowhere, not gathering dust on any shelf in the nation.  I suppose I could have told my mechanic to pull one off a junker in a salvage yard, true.  But then some other discontinued part would have broken, and I just don't have the time, patience or energy to deal with a Frankencar.

So we bought a new car.  We bought a Prius.  It's the first foreign car I've ever bought, and it's only the second New Car I've ever owned. We doubled the mileage on it getting it home from the dealer.  We fill the gas tank once a week instead of three times. It has a speaker plug so the iPod plays directly through the speakers without needing a radio tuner. It has satellite radio, if we want to sign up for it. It's a cute little car, and astonishingly roomy. We went to Costco and got our entire haul into the trunk without having to put the back seat down. It is also astonishingly tall. It is as tall as I am. I find this odd. 

And we park it in the garage, by god. Where the squirrels can't get it.

My mother says I'm disowned. This from a woman whose father said she was disowned for not getting an Irish setter. Huh.

All in all, not a bad purchase.  I'm quite fond of it.

Strasburg, With a Souse Chaser

It is ironic that I am doing Booze Week over on That's What She Said, because last night's outing ended in with us playing bit parts in an episode of Angry Drunk in a Cab.

So, the ballgame was awesome. The suite was fantastic. It was a lovely, lovely night, and photos will be forthcoming someday maybe.

But then there was the inevitable "OK, how the hell do we get home from here?" problem at the end.

First, we stood outside the doors to the Metro entrance for about 5 minutes watching the rent-a-cops not let anyone through the turnstiles.

Then we wandered over to the inaccurately named "cab stand."  We saw lots of people standing, mayyyyyybe one cab.

So we started walking toward the Capitol.  We got to the Capitol Skyline Hotel and called for our own cab (which, you know, is a stupid and pointless exercise, they never dispatch cabs in my experience -- or if they do, we've never gotten the cellphone call saying they were doing so and I have to assume someone else got our ride. And, what is up with a cab company that "needs a street address" on where to send the cab? Don't these dorks have GPS? Google? I should be able to name a hotel and not have to give them precise longitude and latitude, for chrissake.) And then we dug in and watched and watched for an empty cab that we could flag down. 

After about 30 minutes of this, we finally see one on the other side of the street and flail wildly at it.  Lo, and the driver makes a U-turn. Off we go, sprinting over to him. The windows are all down, and we see someone is in it.

"Oh!" sez I. "Sorry! We thought you were turning around for us!"

"Well," says the driver, "I am dropping her at the corner up there at I Street."

"OK," we say. "We'll meet you there."

As we walk, I ask Not Your Average Blogger, "Why wouldn't that woman just get out and walk? I mean, look, we're already at the hotel door and she's still 2 blocks back."

NYAB counters, "Why wouldn't the guy just let us sit in the cab for the 2 blocks?"

"Well, maybe it's a fare thing? I don't know."

So we go up to the corner, and then watch as the cab stops half a block back in front of the hotel ... NOT by us. With a bunch of other loser pedestrians like us about to descend on the cab.

"No, no, NO! I don't THINK SO!" I hear this come out of my mouth as I pound back to the cab. "No way," I say to the guy sticking his head in the front window. "We claimed this cab 2 blocks ago and he said he would meet us at the corner. No way."

The guy stands up and I realize he is a large, rather imposing fellow. "What?" is all he says.

"Ours," I say firmly. "He's driving us. We saw him first. Ask him."

I hear the guy say, "Are you KIDDING me?"  but I'm already distracted by the woman getting out of the car.

"HEY!" she slurs at me. "THIS IS MY CAB."

Wowwwee.  No wonder she didn't get out and walk that last block. 

"MY CAB." she says. "Why are you taking it before I'm ready?"

I'm so taken aback that all I can do is answer simply and honestly. "No, I'm not. I know it's your cab. We want it when you're done."

"Then WHYYYY are you running up here trying to take it?"

"Oh. Well, because I didn't want any of THEM to get it." (pointing to the other people on the sidewalk who are now moving along -- including Mr. Imposing Guy, who apparently didn't want to deal with two crazy bitches at once, or something.)

"Ohhhh." She looks around and seems to understand. "Well. I'm not ... Yeah. I'm a li'l slow right now. But you can go." She's out of the car now and facing me, with the door between us. She closes it.

NYAB is standing a little behind her, just gaping at how gone this woman is. I start smiling, mostly because of him, but she thinks it is at her. The cab driver is saying something and I see she's left her purse in the car. I'm about to open the door so she can lean in and get it and the backpack she's also left in there, when she dives through the window after it.  She grabs her purse and carefully -- and sloooooowwwwly -- maneuvers it through the window. I say, "You got it?" She says yes, and starts to move off. Without the backpack.

The cab driver, who looks like he's just so exasperated he doesn't even care any more, is trying to call her back to get her stuff but she ignores him. He looks at me like, "Dude. Help?"

I say, "Hey, wait a second, you forgot your backpack." Rather than try to repeat her acrobatics, I open the door and heave it out. It's frickin heavy. I don't know if it's her overnight bag or what, but man, you'd know you'd been shlepping it around all night.

"Tha'ss nah mine."

"Oh, I think it probably is.  Here, hold out your arm."  I maneuver her into the pack in much the same way I do the Young Prince in the morning before he heads off to school.  NYAB and I then get into the cab, while the woman leans in the front window and hisses at the driver that he's some string of unintelligible epithets.  She winds it all up by flipping him off.

The last I see her, she is sitting on the curb by the hotel flowerbed, looking sick and disoriented.  I feel ever so slightly bad for not getting her into the hotel, but ... well, you know, I'd already fought one guy off for my ride, and I wasn't about to lose it.  So NYAB and I get in.

"Wow!" I say.

"Yeah," answers the driver.

"Did you even get paid?" NYAB asks.

"Well, I picked her up in Chinatown and she said she wanted to go to I Street Northwest.  So I took her there. And then she got mad and said it was wrong, and wouldn't pay me for the ride, so I made her pay in advance before I brought her to I Street Southwest."

I can't stop laughing. "Jeez," I say. "That's a long ride to sit wondering if she's gonna throw up inside the car. You, sir, have a truly thankless job."

He thanks me, and then takes us back to our office with no further excitement. 

Never a dull moment. Really!

When I See the Future, I Close My Eyes

I think I've whined before about my crazy-early work hours. (Gee, AB, you think? Only about 500 times a post or so?)   Well, Congress has been in recess these past couple weeks, which means a few of my company's products go on hiatus. Which in turn means I don't have as much to check in the wee small hours. Which in another turn means Mama cheats it and sleeps in a little bit and coasts into work around 5:30 instead of 4:45.

At least, that's what had been happening this week. Not today. 

Today I woke up at 4 and dragged myself up at 4:08 and bumbled around and packed the YP's backpack and forgot to put in a snack and did my hair because I'm getting my picture taken today for a new press pass and lalalala.  Left at 4:30 and realized I had to go to the gas station, so, oops, I might be a bit later than my already late self.

I'm coasting along down our dark two-lane road and I see a car about that has had about 5 years to pull out in front of me off a side street but hasn't. And beyond that I see ... something? Strange? Like a car's flashers, but they are ... vertical?

Nope, not LIKE a car's flashers but vertical. It actually WAS a car's flashers, turned vertical.  The car was tipped on its side in the ditch and as I pulled off on my side, another car coming the other way pulls off on that side. Oddly, the person who was waiting to turn as I approached? Yeah, they just turned and went on their merry way.  WTF?

So I get out and I'm calling 911 as the other woman who stopped said, "Oh, good. I was just going home to get my phone because I forgot it! Figures."  Well, she got to help, because as always happens to me, I'm standing there on a telephone trying to tell someone where I am and my brain goes completely flooey.  "Uh, I'm on Waterfall Road, between Dogwood Tree Court and Route .... um ..." Frack. 55? 15? 102? I have no recall. Nice Phoneless Lady is all, "FIFTEEN. AND WE ARE ACTUALLY CLOSER TO LOG MILL ROAD THAN DOGWOOD."  I'm not at all sure what she must have thought. "Who is this loony who doesn't know where she lives? Is she drunk?"

As NPL, the 911 dispatcher and I are sussing this out, I see the driver of the tipped car hoist himself out of the passenger side window, saying he's fine and was the only person in the car and he has called his dad -- because, yes, this driver is a teen-ager.  Dispatcher lady says someone is on their way, tells me that as the person making the call I should wait til they arrive, and we hang up.  NPL sees stuff is well in hand and also takes off.

This poor kid. As an old person, I totally recognized the jitter in his voice of delayed panic and adrenaline, as he was saying into a cellphone, "We can totally push it over and it will be fine. No glass is even broken. Seriously, Dad..." Right about that time Dad pulls up and gets out of the car and walks over, putting the phone away. I ask the kid if he's OK and he insists he's fine. I don't think he had realized yet how rattled he was.

Dad, surprisingly, was completely not pissed off at all at having to look at a car sideways in a ditch at 4:30 a.m. The kid insists he is fine, that it all happened very slowly, that he's not hurt, that all they have to do is push the car back onto its tires and it won't take long and lalala.  I'm sitting there thinking, "Um, yeah. And your dad will throw his back out and your mom will effin' kill both of you." But I just say, "Well, I've already called emergency services, so you might as well wait and see if they have a tow hitch or at least four more people to help push..."

At which point Dad finally asks, "The hell, kid? How'd you do this?" 

Well. The kid explains that he was turning off Log Mill and as he did so his phone slid off the seat and under the brake. So he HAD to reach down and get it or the brake pedal wouldn't work, and ... he just sort of forgot to stop turning, and then he was in the mud and the car slid and kept sliding on to its side.

Dad says, "Hm. OK."  And he is looking at me and I am looking at him and as one Oldster to Another can totally tell he is thinking, Jeezopete, this could have been really bad, but Jeezopete, that was stupid, but Jeezopete, he clearly already knows that.

And all I am thinking is, "Jeezopete, he is me in ten years. Ten. SHORT. Years. I only have ten years to develop the patience to not behead my kid while some well-intentioned fool waits with us for a firetruck to show up and pull a car out of a ditch because my kid is a moron who sticks his head on the floorboard while making a left turn, FFS."

But all Dad says is, "Dang, son, I'm glad you missed the phone pole. What is that, five feet away?"

And then the firetruck showed up and I took off.  And stopped at the gas station, and still made it to work by 5:45. And my blogroll told me I had this waiting for me on failblog, which just capped it all nicely.

A Pigeon From Hell

First, a public service announcement: The trick to drinking 64 oz of water a day? Well, that's 8 measuring cups. So drink 2 cups when you get out of bed, 1 cup before lunch, 2 cups when you get home from wherever you spend your day, 1 cup before dinner and 2 cups right before you get back into bed.  Voila. Now, on with the moodiness:

Seems like a lot of people I know are sort of glad the holidays are over. Ready to get back to normal. Ready to settle into familiar routines.

I'm sort of torn on this. I'd like to settle into a routine, but I'd prefer one that doesn't involve getting up early and going to work or, conversely, losing the house and starving to death.

Part of my reluctance stems from the fact that my sleep patterns reverted to my preferred hours of passing out around midnight and waking up around 10 a.m. This did not mesh well with my attempt to go to bed at 10 last night, as I was still wide awake and flopsy at midnight.  And then up at 3:30.

But more of my post-holiday letdown is because there isn't really a "return to normal" aspect in the Blogger household this year.  Yes, we all go back to our assigned daily desks, but ... Stuff at work has shifted in several ways -- small ways for me that will require minor adjustments (at least, at first,) and large ways for NYAB that will require major ones. And of course, when his life adjusts, so does mine.  I'm still waiting to see how it all shakes out. 

Not to mention Congress comes back tomorrow. No grace period for the wicked.

And there's an inauguration in 15 days. I'm probably the only person on earth looking at Jan. 20 on the calendar and going, "Yeah, I could sleep through that whole traffic nightmare and civic love-fest and the near certainty of bad planning executed poorly in the media and be juuuust fiiiine." Except, of course, it's MY JOB to be part of that bad planning and poor execution.  Thpt. And I am still trying to figure out if "federal holiday" means the Young Prince is off school that day or what.

And, good grief, the YP.  What is the second half of kindergarten going to rain down on him? Will he shape up and figure out what he needs to do to skate by the authorities? Or is he going to continue to require Unflagging Attention?  And just how does one teach an only child to be self-motivated? He clearly knows everything he is supposed to, and he executes with aplomb and only minor aggravation if I am towering over him with my boot on his neck saying, "DO IT," but when the boot is removed he flies all to pieces.  One friend suggested I pay him for services rendered autonomously.  Another suggested ignoring him and letting him do or not do things and face consequences at school. A third said something is bound to happen eventually that will make him care about it and I should really just lighten up it's only kindergarten for pete's sake sheesh.

Here's hoping against hope the holiday break tripped some behavioral trigger in him since clearly it didn't do much for me... but I am swearing less and more conscious about doing it. And drinking more water.

Thinking:

Why is it that if you see a car with a vanity plate that says HOT or SXY or BABE or CUTIE or HONEE, the person driving the vehicle most assuredly will not fit that characteristic?

Did Your Laptop Pay for Its Seat?

An e-mail exchange of three parties.

Me: So I'm on a metro car that is full and there is a bint who is flopped out sideways over a full seat taking up both spaces clacking away on her laptop. Am tempted to sit on her knee.
FS: You should. That's acceptable metro behavior!! :)
MD: You should spit on her.
Me: Instead I'm standing in the aisle, blocking her in and lurching over her every time train lurches. But I am mulling what to say to her when she de-trains.
(Another person actually GETS UP and offers me their seat. "No, I've got my space staked out, thanks," I say, smiling sweetly.  Wonder to myself for half a second if they think I am pregnant. This dress is not the most flattering.)
FS: Now! The time to say something is now!! "This train is crowded, could you please move over and take ONE seat?"
Me: You're right. Except other seats are open and now I'm just enjoying hulking into her space and making her uncomfortable.
MD: Keep blocking her and say, "Oh, I'm sorry.  I needed that space for my feet."
Me: Ha!! Yes!
FS: You should finish the ride up with a dirty look. possibly an audible "UGH!" when she gets off :)
Me:  I have shifted so now my colossal bag imperils her laptop. Snx.

As it turned out, I got off before she did and no such exchange occurred. I might have oh-so-accidentally swung my bag into her laptop.  Then again, maybe it wasn't so accidental. I might have been tempted to bang my fist on her window as I walked by the outside. I might have refrained.

It's odd. I'm usually much more aggressive than passive, more manic than depressive. I must be getting old. Cos my bag TOTALLY could have taken her laptop in a fight.

There But for the Grace of God

So, anyone who has been reading my stuff for more than, oh, five minutes probably knows I have a little thing for speeding.  That is, I love it. I love driving fast. Not dangerously -- I don't weave in and out of rush-hour traffic for the thrill of the swerve. Generally, if there is a lot of traffic, I just pick a spot and stay between the same two cars til someone turns off.

I just like to go fast. An empty, straight, open stretch of road is the height of temptation for me. I push the gas pedal just a little. OK, 5 mph above the limit. Well, maybe 10.  Oh, look, I'm going 80. Maybe I should slow down before I hit that curve in the road.

Well, I've been on this new schedule where I drive in to work around 4 a.m.

Lots of open road. Lots of opportunity.

I bet you're thinking I got another ticket and got my license suspended, aren't you? Wrong!!! Ha!

Usually, I apply what my mom calls the Rabbit Method. This is not related to the pregnancy test of yesteryear. This is related to greyhound racing.  One hothead going 90 leads the pack, thereby luring out all the cops on speedtrap patrol.  Then everyone else can tool along pretty confidently at 75 or 80.

Now, I am not so young anymore as to Really Excessively Speed with malice aforethought. I am largely past my days of, "Hey, let's see what'll happen to the car if I gun it. Let's just see if it actually WILL get up to 110."  (I did that once in my Saturn 4-door driving through Salinas. I was astonished the car didn't shake into pieces.)

Sometimes, though, I get distracted.  I start thinking about something that bugs me at work, or a really good song comes on the radio, or I just ... am not really thinking about anything, really, including watching the speedometer. 

Which is how I found myself more or less playing the role of the rabbit, zipping along at 75, neck and neck with a pickup in the middle lane, right where I know gosh-darn well there is a speed trap because it is where that cop busted me and made me go to court.

Well, I let off the gas. And sure enough, there's a cop. I was probably still going 70 when I pass him.  And I see that big dark cruiser with its lights off ease out of its space and start to turn.

Aw, hell.

Then another car comes between me and the cop.  I figure, eh, what the hell, speed up, get in front of the truck that is STILL flying in formation with me (which also irritates me no end. Why do people do that?) and move over 2 lanes.

Next thing I see, the cop turns on his lights. He is pulling over the guy behind me.  Who couldn't possibly have been going as fast as I was, he'd been behind me forever. As they are veering over into the slow lane and on to the shoulder, another guy blows past all of us doing at least 85. 

Now, I don't begrudge Fairfax County's finest for doing their job.  I mean, I think speed limits are kind of dumb, but if we're going to have them we may as well create jobs for people to enforce them. And in breaking them, I know I pays my money and I takes my chances.

But ... wow. How delightfully random and arbitrary that cop's selection was. I am, of course, very relieved it wasn't me, and it did make me watch my speed the rest of the way in. But man, if I were the guy behind me, I would be Pi-hi-hiisssssed. Off.

Today I paid more attention to the drivers around me. It's an interesting mix at 4 a.m.  Lots of trucks, no surprise there.  Lots of people like me who seemingly prefer to pick a lane and a speed and maintain an even strain. But then there are a lot of drivers who like to thread in and out of traffic from lane to lane like they are playing Pole Position.  And then there are the sods who park themselves in the fast lane and slow down to 50, like they are going to teach Everyone Else Out There a Lesson!! These are the people I understand least and hate most. I mean, I don't care if you want to drive slowly, just do it in the far right lane. Don't go far left and make the rest of us have to pass you on the passenger side. And even after 5 people go around them on the right, flashing their brights and in some cases laying on the horn, these people refuse to move over. That, or they wait and move over jsut as the sixth person bearing down on them has started moving over to pass, and then has to swerve back into the fast lane.  What is up with that?

Still in all -- my commute has gone from 2 hours (and they were generally two pretty nice hours, don't get me wrong, it was nice family time,) to just under 1.  And that makes me very happy.

Hopefully it won't also make me very broke.  Maybe I should get cruise control.

Open Letter

Dear Stupid Hag Motorist:

Hey, I'm in a hurry too, but you don't see me driving on the shoulder of the interstate to cut off several cars before swerving back in because some sap was too anxious to avoid an accident and didn't cut you off and leave you stuck on the shoulder like you deserved.

That's right, White Ford Fusion with Jersey plates VSP-75Y, I'm talking to you.

And while I'm at it, let me just say that if you really want to look like Lisa Loeb circa 1993 (and ... really? Because it's not like 15 years have passed or anything ...) then you are going to have to drop several pounds. Which might not be a bad idea anyway. It would probably help your car move a little faster for the kinds of moves you're demanding of it. Otherwise, it's just animal abuse to make the hamsters run that fast in their wheels to keep your engine running while pulling that kind of cargo.

Sincerely,

Pissed off

You Don't See That Every Day...

... is what the YP said when we stopped at a light on our commute this morning and encountered this:

Which, it turned out, was the line for tryouts for this.  I am woefully out of step with pop culture these days, but I am assuming this is basically American Idol for the Twangy Gee-tar and Drawly Accent Set.

It was oddly incongruous to see so many cowboy hats and guitars outside the library where my kid goes once a week. Usually, all you see there are a bunch of homeless guys with shopping carts and plastic tarps.  I didn't see any of them today -- maybe they were hidden by the line. Or maybe this guy disposed of them:

Seriously, is he not a little scary?

It was pretty clear this crowd was thirsting for a spotlight, too. I was riding by in a car -- on the other side of the street -- with my camera and got more people waving and shouting and "take my picture!"-ing than you might imagine.

And the line? Literally around two sides of a city block.  I'm one part horrified that anyone would be that optimistic and sure to be disappointed, and one part tickled at the idea anyone would see that line and still confidently park himself at the end of it.  So, rah, human race. Rah, triumph of hope over experience.