Write something. Just...write something!

Life pretty much revolves around commuting right now. Since graduating, I've been moved to a job in DC R'lyeh. Instead of ripping my family out of a house, community and school system (this time one we actually LIKE) yet again, we made the decision that I would be the one to go and I would visit the family as much as possible.

Driving to or from work in DC R'lyeh is a laughable proposition, so I take the train. For those who have never taken the Metro, please share in the experience:



The 6 am trains aren't that bad. Not very crowded, and it's easy to tune everyone out with headphones, put on some classical, and read a good book.

Weekends are a different story. For all but two since I've been here (the end of July) I've headed back north to RI. This is where you find out how much the I-95 Corridor FUCKING BLOWS. (Flights are fairly inexpensive; would that I had the $800+ per month to fly back every weekend.) So I've spent much of my time thinking about how to get from the Beltway to RI as quickly as possible by car. The best way I've found (north to Scranton, PA then east on I-84 to RI) still takes 8-9 hours depending on traffic. Until this past Friday.

The view from my weekend...

Average speed was about 1.5 mph for about two hours. When in the middle of a traffic jam I often find myself wondering if it was caused by someone being an idiot and, if it was, if the bastard who caused it "paid" enough. I guess this poor, dumb bastard did. Interestingly, knowing what had caused it made the situation easier to bear. No, not because I was glad the dude got shot and killed. (But, dumbfuck, don't pull a gun on a state cop unless you really, really mean it. And if you have a firearm, it helps not to draw attention to yourself by stealing vehicles.)

Coming back today was similar, but different. I need to take some rural side roads, and passing through a local Fall Arts Festival delayed me for an hour. Hmmmm...Fall Arts Festival. On Columbus Day. I wonder if it used to be a Columbus Day Festival. But not anymore. Now we all have to feel guilty about the course of history. I find recent bitching about holidays to be annoying. All the wingnuts want you to be suitably penitent and somber on any holiday dealing with the military, and want you to thank a vet for every single holiday. And if you're not a Christian you should remain in bed and only breathe just enough of their air so you don't die on December 25th. And if you're a moonbat then any holiday - period - is at its very root a celebration of genocide.

So I had contemplated making a handy-dandy do-it-yourself holiday admonishment mad-lib-like thingy where you could choose from three columns and mix and match to make a silly sentence like

"Don't wash your car on Labor Day because you're just celebrating genocide by giving money to the evil car wash", or

"Don't fart on Thanksgiving because this is a Christian country and Jesus will sic the veterans on your ungrateful ass."

Instead, I'd invite you to make up your own.

But where was I? Oh, back to the driving. I don't always mind the long delays or the long drive. It gives me time to listen to the classic hard rock / metal station on Sirius and remember my misspent youth. Lots of repetition, but lots of good driving songs. Like this old favorite of mine. For some reason, the pedal always hits the floor.



"Don't floor the accelerator when you hear Billy Squier. You're just memorializing Hitler when you do!"

What? I'm Here for Your Amusement?

Because for the past couple of weeks, I've had more important things to do than amuse you. Not necessarily more fun, just more important.

For some years, my wife has suffered frequent chronic pain from a bulging cervical disc, and on MLK day it decided to go "full bore" and severely pinch a couple of nerves, leaving her unable to lift anything heavier than an coffee cup for a couple of days, and bouncing from clinic to ER to clinic getting X-Rays done and MRI's scheduled. She's doing better now, and we've finally got a doctor to start paying attention to it, so maybe instead of getting a new script for Flexeril every time this happens, she'll get TREATMENT, and maybe even permanent relief.

This last week brought business travel with it, and instead of blogging in the evenings I was in Florida drinking. So there. I thought for a bit I wouldn't make it back, too. First, there were a bunch of bored Floridian kids throwing molotov cocktails all over the place, slowing me up. As if that weren't enough, once I got to the airport i found out my flight was delayed, so late that my connection was in danger. So I cried out for magic - both to wreak vengeance on the teens and salvage my travel plans. Shortly a short, gnomish old dude came to the gate, made the Sign of the Devil and told me I would make my connection. I did.

Rainbow In The Dark @ Yahoo! Video

Now these two items don't account for 100% of my time, but they do account for a lot of it. The rest of the time I just didn't have it in me. But I think I do now.