Wednesday, February 15, 2006

AM I MISSING OUT on some faboo sexual thrill by stopping behind the line I'm supposed to stop behind when I pull up to a stop sign or a red light?

I'm all about the jackrabbit start. I've been known to go into race mode when I know about tight traffic-signal timing. But when I'm forced to stop, I just don't see the point of stopping in the middle of the damn crosswalk -- certainly not when walkers are crossing, but even when it's 3 a.m. and I'm the only one for blocks and blocks who's not asleep.

Everyone else in the world apparently disagrees. They'll be damned if somebody tells them where to stop. They're like the bane of my tennis existence -- the 99.9 percent of players who consider the baseline merely a starting point for negotiations on where the feet should go during the serve.

Way to stick it to The Man, ass-wipes.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

IF YOU'RE relatively young and able-bodied and it wasn't The Blizzard of '96, the hardest part about shoveling snow is finding your shovel and making the commitment to get bundled up and go outside.

Once you're there, why in the world wouldn't you shovel the sidewalk in front of your immediate neighbors as well as your own house, if not the whole damn block?

I know, I know, it's hardly an obvious mandate, and I'm not usually Mr. Bake Cakes for the Elderly, but this is one of those issues on which my essential disdain for humanity dovetails with a very George Costanza-Larry David sense of micro-etiquette.

And I just shoveled the whole damn block. So there.

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