CleverDonkey.com …Musings, Commentary, Opinions, and Drivel

The River Oaks Theatre here in Houston showed Dr. Strangelove on the big screen at a midnight showing last night. There was a surprisingly large crowd of very appreciative filmgoers. Although I’ve seen Dr. Strangelove many, many times on TV, VHS, and DVD, it was an exhilarating experience for me to see this film on the big screen for the first time while in the company of other fans. The print was slightly scratchy and the sound was slightly fuzzy in parts, but the River Oaks showed the film in the cavernous main theatre with its faded-but-still-impressive old movie palace ambiance, so the overall experience was quite satisfying.

 

The film itself is not only still a masterpiece, but it just keeps getting better and better with age. Not only am I getting older and understanding more of the darkly comedic, political, military, and sociological themes, but the world continues to blindly stumble down the unwise and destructive paths that are the grist for Kubrick’s mill.

 

********** SPOILERS AHEAD **********

 

For those unfamiliar with the story, the premise is that some time in the late 1950’s an American Air Force base commander has…well…gone a little crazy…and has ordered his wing of B-52 bombers to attack their targets within Russia. Attack as in drop nuclear bombs upon. The base commander has become convinced that there is a massive Communist plot currently causing harm to all Americans (I won’t reveal the hilarious details). In the film, there is a loophole in the chain of military command that gives Ripper the ability to unilaterally send his wing in for the attack, and to prevent the bombers from being recalled by anyone other than himself. His plan is that once the President and Joint Chiefs figure out that there’s no way to stop his initial surprise attack, they will have no choice but to commit the entire US nuclear capability in support of his bomber wing. If they don’t, the Russians will retain enough retaliatory capability to destroy the United States.

 

The film focuses on three locations. The first is the War Room, where the President (Peter Sellers), the Joint Chiefs, and various military and political advisers are gathered, including General Buck Turgidson (George C. Scott) and the eponymous science adviser Dr. Strangelove (Peter Sellers again). The second is Burpleson Air Force Base, where commander Jack D. Ripper (Sterling Hayden) and his executive officer Captain Lionel Mandrake (Peter Sellers yet again) are stationed. The third is the interior of one of the B-52s of the bomb wing, piloted by Major (King) Kong (Slim Pickens) and his crew (including the debut of a young James Earl Jones).

 

********** END SPOILERS **********

 

The film moves between these three locations, deftly showing the dawning realization, the hard decisions, and the inherent hypocrisy and insanity of military organizations in action supporting their motto of “Peace is Our Profession”, while possibly hastening the end of life on earth. It’s shot in black-and-white, even though it was filmed well into the color age, but black-and-white sets the perfect mood for the story. The film also contains some of the darkest and blackest humor ever put on the screen. Dr. Strangelove was nominated for Oscars in the Best Actor (Sellers), Best Director (Kubrick), Best Picture, and Best Adapted Screenplay categories, but did not win any of them. George C. Scott should have been nominated for his performance, one of the best of his illustrious career, and certainly the funniest.

 

I have found that most people either love or hate Kubrick films, with very little middle ground. I’ve never really understood this reaction. I, myself, love almost all of his films, with the glaring exception of Eyes Wide Shut, but I don’t love them because they are “Kubrick films”, I love them because of what they are, which are some of the most well-made, entertaining, and thought-provoking films I have ever seen. If you’ve seen one or two Kubrick films and been unimpressed (2001 is very austere, Clockwork Orange is hyper-violent, etc), do yourself a favor and check out Dr. Strangelove. It is, like all Kubrick films, different from all other Kubrick films, and it is a darkly funny satirical masterpiece.

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Currently there is  much furor regarding clubs where the members, who are all male, prefer the  company of other men. These clubs are private in nature, and membership is  strictly controlled, and only other men with the same orientation are allowed to  join. However, these clubs are now facing pressure to change their policies and  to admit as members those who are directly opposed to their lifestyle choices. I  feel that this pressure is misdirected and that these clubs, given their nature  as private organizations, should be allowed to retain their identity and purpose  without being forced to give up their rights of free association and of privacy.  That’s what America is all about.

So, please support the Augusta National  Golf Course in their struggle to remain free. Thank you.

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It’s Thanksgiving morning, 2002, and the house is suffused with heavenly aromas, the family is all here, a  fire crackles in the fireplace, and the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade is on in  the background. Two of my daughter’s friends are in the parade, so we are  watching the whole thing (they’re supposed to be right behind the Charlie Brown  balloon). We’re now 30 minutes into the parade, and so far we’ve seen about 30  seconds of the parade, 10 minutes of yapping hosts (plugging their respective  NBC shows), and 20 minutes of (for some reason) Broadway stage production  numbers performed on the street (so far we’ve seen selections from  Oklahoma, Thoroughly Modern Millie, and The  Producers).

The entire thing is so inexplicable that it’s making my  head hurt. Take, for instance, the selection from The Producers. The number  consisted of some guy singing about wanting to be a producer, while surrounded  by six half-naked dancing girls. A seventh dancing girl comes out, and she’s a  little bit…healthier…than the rest of the girls, and our producer wannabe  proceeds to select the six heroin addicts, and then says to the less-thin one,  ‘Not you!’, and she slinks off in shame. He then proceeds to sing about wanting  to be a producer so that he can ‘drink champagne til I puke’. And he then  proceeds to smack each dancing girl on her tush. So the gist was, being  less-thin is shameful, and success = drinking until one vomits and then groping  one’s attractive employees. Ah yes, what a heartwarming holiday message for the  kids.

We’re now an hour into the parade, and we still have seen,  literally, about 30 seconds of parade. We’re now watching the Rockettes. “How  tacky,” is my Mom’s considered opinion. Not that the Rockettes, themselves, are  tacky, just that our family is tuned in to watch a parade, and we’re instead  seeing an infomercial for NBC and Broadway. Having watched the parade for a  large portion of my life, I was prepared for all the cross-marketing by the host  network. But what is the Broadway connection? Some rebirth-of-New-York falderol?  (Hey, they just showed a balloon for about 7 seconds right before the commercial  break! Hallelujah!) Back to Broadway. The New York Broadway phenomenon is truly  amazing. New York has managed to create a concentration of stage productions in  one place, and all of the faithful devotees of that type of entertainment can go  to one place to satisfy their  singing/dancing/choreographed/costumed/from-the-diaphragm jones.

But, in  the typical myopia of the right coast, the producers of this parade have failed  to realize that in every other major metropolitan area in the US, traveling  Broadway stage productions are underwritten by corporate sponsors, because they  would not be profitable otherwise. Broadway shows make their money on Broadway.  The people who enjoy Broadway shows go to Broadway to see them, or they wait for  the show to come to their town. And these people are so few and far between that  the road shows can’t make money on their own (unlike things like NASCAR,  wrestling, movies, rock concerts, and/or professional sports, for instance).  There are the few-and-far-between exceptions, but they are, well, few and far  between. I think the producers need to remember that popular-in-New-York does  not equate to popular-everywhere. You’d think they’d pick up the hint from the  fact that, since Broadway shows are not successful outside of New York, that a  Broadway-themed Thanksgiving Day Parade might have limited appeal. Oh well,  perhaps there aren’t too many math majors on Broadway.

I’m happy to  report that we’re now into the second hour, and we’ve actually seen the drill  team that my daughter’s friends are in, although we did not spot them  specifically. We also saw some singing and dancing on the Sesame Street float,  but I have no quibble with that, since Sesame Street has proven its widespread  popularity. We then saw the runner-up from American Idol (Justin  somebodyortheother), and then an actual marching band. A marching band in a  parade? Well, I never! At least not for the first hour.

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This is a deliberate and challenging movie. If you were sending this movie a Christmas card, the mailing address would be 2001 Mulholland Drive, and I mean that in the ‘homage’ sense, not the ‘blatant ripoff’ sense. The movie, although set in space, is character-driven and uses the futuristic setting merely as a backdrop for larger issues regarding humanity, the meaning of life, the definition of death, and the nature of god (almost).

George Clooney continues to stay out of the Hollywood icon rut, and is selecting projects that allow him to flex his not inconsiderable acting muscle. The movie has a high GCBF (Gratuitous Clooney Butt Factor), but that may hold some appeal for a certain market demographic. The rest of the (surprisingly small) cast does excellent work, as well.

If all you know about this movie is that it stars George Clooney and is set in space, I urge you to go see it before you learn any more, but with one caveat: there are no laser battles, distressed princesses, wise-cracking sidekicks, tractor beams, transporters or holodecks in this movie. If you are looking for mindless, escapist, holiday fare, this ain’t it. Not that there’s anything wrong with escapist fare, mind you, but the marketing of this movie has left its nature pretty unclear, and if you wander in expecting Star Trek Meets Star Wars, you may be disappointed (you also might be pleasantly surprised).

But, this movie is deliberately paced, and you’re almost a third of the way through it before the plot even becomes clear. The movie borders on being an art film, and if it didn’t have Clooney as the star and Soderbergh as the director, it’d probably be playing on one screen of your local art house rather than two screens at each of your local multiplexes. I’m very glad that it has a wide release, however, and I hope it does well at the box office, because that is the only way Hollywood will make more films like this (not films with the same plot, but films that push the envelope like this one). I’m also hopeful that this movie will reach people who might not have seen it otherwise, and that they enjoy it, rather than feel misled by the hype.

I’m deliberately not mentioning any more details of the plot, because this movie really should be experienced with few preconceptions, IMHO. I struggled between giving this movie 3 or 3.5 stars, and I settled on 3 only after much deliberation. I may come back later and adjust it upwards, but I need to think about the movie some more. And that, in my opinion, says it all.

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No, I’m not talking about those unfortunates who somehow can’t compute 15% of the check. I’m talking about those folks who regularly under-tip. Did you know that employers are not required to pay minimum wage to waiters and waitresses, with the understanding being that the restaurant makes up the difference if tips don’t get them there? Did you also know that while this is the law that few, if any, restaurants actually adhere to this rule? Ask any waiter or waitress what would happen to them if they went hat-in-hand to an owner/manager and said, “Please, sir, can you pay me more because I had a lousy tip night? It’s the law, you know.” The first is that the owner/manager would laugh, thinking it was a joke. Then they would rant and rave at the server for being such a lousy waitperson that they couldn’t make enough tips. Then if the server pushed the issue they would be summarily fired for some trumped up reason. Now, there may be that rare owner/manager who complies with the law, but guess what the result of their largesse is? Their servers are guaranteed to make minimum wage. Wow, how wonderful for them. Oh, and they also don’t get any benefits, unless you count free meals, which is a benefit only if the restaurant has a good selection of decent food.

The person waiting your table is making their income from your tips. I personally use 15% as the minimum, meaning if the waitperson did a minimally acceptable job, they get the minimally acceptable tip. An average server gets a 20% tip from me, and it goes up from there for better service. However, there are those who regularly tip much less than that, and much less than the IRS is assuming (and asking your servers to pay taxes on). Why do people undertip?

I’m Not Gonna Pay A Lot For My Muffalata

First, there are those who harrumph about being blackmailed into “paying extra” for something, just because society says they should. This is some of the most lunkheaded logic I have ever heard. If tipping were not standard, then restaurants would have to pay their servers a fair wage, and the cost of those increased wages would be reflected in higher food costs. And then, all servers would basically be hourly drones with no motivation to do more than necessary to not get fired. Is that what you want at your restaurant, some surly server with the attitude of a government clerk slinging food at you along with healthy doses of apathy and attitude? Aren’t you, in fact, glad that servers have merit-based compensation, and that you, as the consumer, directly control that compensation? Aren’t you grateful that your servers, who do one of the most physically and psychologically draining jobs on the planet, manage to project a positive attitude in part because they know that their attitude directly impacts their tips from a given table? Merit-based tipping is a great system, but it depends on one thing…everybody plays along, which brings us to the next topic.

Social Remoras

A remora is the fish that attaches itself to a shark, and then feeds on the scraps left over by the shark. The remora lets the shark do the swimming, the hunting, the killing, and the first round of chewing, leaving edible morsels hanging around that the remora can eat with little or no effort or risk. If you see the remora as a smart animal who has a sweet situation, then you are also probably a bad tipper. However, if you see the remora as a pathetic parasite, then you’re probably the kind of person who regularly has to leave extra tip money to cover for the social remoras who swim in the human gene pool.

I really and truly don’t understand social remoras…these are people who *understand* the whole tipping system, and may even agree with it, in a detached, intellectual way, but they also figure, what the hell, it’s my money, and what’s going to happen if I don’t tip enough? Some waitron will be pissed at me? So what? Let the suckers tip, I don’t see any downside to just keeping my money in my pocket, thank you very much. And you know what, they’re essentially correct, as far as that logic goes. One person undertipping will not destroy the capitalist system, or bring ruin to a server’s life, or cause a restaurant to fail. In fact, a person who has chronically undertipped may have never been aware of any negative results of their behavior. However, that doesn’t make it right, nor does it mean that nothing negative is happening.

For example, in my professional life, I have regularly gone out to team lunches, client dinners, and all manner of business-related drinking and dining. And one of the things that quickly becomes apparent is who is a fair tipper, and who is a cheapskate. And the cheapskates actually become marginalized professionally, to a certain degree. Do you want some cheapskate, non-tipper to take potential clients out? Hell no. You know why? Because people who tip (the majority) usually see it when other people tip poorly (the non-trivial minority), and they tend to hold these low tippers in very low esteem. Listen, if you are a chronic low tipper, I *assure* you that it is well known in your circle of friends and business associates, and I *assure* you that it has been a topic of conversation (out of your earshot), and I’d *bet money* that you have been marginalized to some degree because of your cheapskate-ness. All to save $1 on lunch. Adam Smith you ain’t.

Wrestling Outside of One’s Weight Class

And then there are those who truly cannot afford to tip appropriate amounts. Their budgets are tight, and eating out is a luxury with costs that must be tightly controlled. I have enormous empathy and sympathy for this situation, having been there many times. Even today, my budget does not allow me to dine whenever and wherever I want. However, when I select my dining destination, I allow for the fact that I will be tipping. This may mean that I select a destination that is 15-20% cheaper than another, to leave room for the tip. But I would not be able to enjoy a meal knowing that, at the end of it, I was going to stiff the waitstaff on the tip.

Shooting the Messenger

When I get sick of the programs available on TV, I don’t think that my television itself is substandard. If I drive to the beach, but then it rains, I don’t blame my car. If my phone rings, and it’s bad news, I don’t hate my telephone. And when I get food that I don’t care for, I don’t blame my server. Remember, you are tipping your server based on their *service*. If your steak was overseasoned or your fish had a bone, that is certainly regrettable, but it is not the fault of your server. If you sat for 15 minutes with an empty glass waiting for a requested refill, *that’s* the fault of your server. Remember, tip on the service, not on the food. If the food was actually substandard, be sure and tell you server, too. Trust me, they will do all they can to make it right *and* they will be sure the kitchen knows, because they know that bad food will kill their tips for the night.

Walk A Mile In Their Shoes (that’s about an hour of their 10 hour shift)

I think that the world would be a better place if every single person had to work in a service job for a couple of years before entering the rest of the job market. I think everyone should have to wait tables, or work at a mall, or take movie theater tickets, or man the McDonald’s drive-thru. I *know* that the tipping situation would be better if this were the case. If you’ve never waited tables, then you truly have no idea how hard that job is. Do you know those times that you don’t even notice your server? Not that they’re hiding, but that your meal progresses smoothly and you never really notice that your server is being overly intrusive nor are you spending time looking around for them? *That* is the definition of excellent service. And, unfortunately, most folks don’t notice that they haven’t been noticing their server. I mean, after all, they didn’t really do anything special, did they?

Oh yes they did. During your meal, they juggled 10 tables that ordered 30 different meals, they ran back and forth to the kitchen about 100 times during your meal, they noticed your coffee was getting cold, and that your dining companion’s soft drink needed refilling, and that you needed more bread, and that you were done with your salads, etc, etc, etc. And they did all this without making a fuss or appearing frazzled, both of which you would have noticed, right? And they did it for you and 29 other people at the same time. And every time they walked through the dining room they got 10 requests (more butter, extra dressing on the side, another glass of wine, change my salad to a soup, etc, etc, etc) that they remembered and fulfilled. If you didn’t notice your server, then you have just been given miraculous service. Tip appropriately.

 

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This is a standard-issue Bond film, so you’ll know whether or not you like it going in. I like Bond films, for the most part, but am not a devotee. In my opinion, most Bond films are above-average entertainment, hence the 2.5 star rating.

After the first 30-40 minutes, however, I thought I might be witnessing the rebirth of the Bond franchise as a tougher, more realistic, harder, more exciting franchise. The first third of this films ranks as some of the best, if not *the* best, work I’ve ever seen in a Bond film. However, after that, it falls back into the usual Bond groove. In fact, near the end of the film, there is some awful CGI (computer generated graphics) that would have looked amateurish in an episode of Xena the Warrior Princess.

But, the bad guys are bad, Bond is smooth, Halle Berry is suitably plucky and alluring, and the locations and cinematography are gorgeous (for the most part…a couple of supposedly “outdoor” shots look like they were filmed on a sitcom set, meaning cheesy and obviously indoors).

And, I have to say, I now think of Pierce Brosnan as Bond, not as ‘the new Bond’. I would *love* to see the next Bond film carry the grittiness and reality of this movie’s opening throughout the film. The producers of this series have to begin distancing themselves from the Austin Powers series (which I *love*), or they may end up becoming a parody of a parody of themselves.

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I like Eminem’s music. A lot. I bought “The Eminem Show” when it came out, and it’s been in nearly constant CD player rotation since. Even my favorite I-listen-to-classic-rock older guy is starting to find it interesting and catchy. (Although I have to admit I didn’t even try to expose him to the music until after he saw and liked 8 Mile).

My first introduction to his music was from my nieces and nephew controlling the constantly-on TV during summer family gatherings. Eminem was a relief after what seemed like a solid week of Real World histrionics. The video was “What I Am” from his disc The Marshall Mathers LP. It seemed catchy and at least somewhat interesting, lyrically. When the “The Eminem Show” was released, I bought it on spec. Let’s see if this guy actually has anything to say, I thought.

Before I launch into any blisteringly insightful analysis of why I like Eminem’s music, I should provide you with my general taste requirements for music:

Marie’s Grand Musical Requirement Number One
It’s interesting, musically. I know this sounds self-evident, but my main requirement for liking something is that it has a good bassline (“I Wish” by Stevie Wonder), interesting harmonies (“Mrs. Robinson” by Simon & Garfunkel or anything by Gillian Welch), a great beat (um, somewhat embarrassingly, I offer “Jukebox Hero” by Foreigner), or a relentless but interesting hook to keep me, well, hooked (“Jump Around” by House of Pain or “Insane in the Membrane” by Cypress Hill epitomize this category).

Marie’s Grand Musical Requirement Number Two
It’s interesting, lyrically. I am a play-it-super-loud-until-it-wears-out kinda music listener. (I think I get this from my dad, who shares my penchant for sternum-rattling stereo volume in one’s car). I’m also in the Car Singer’s All Time Hall of Fame. This means that I end up knowing every single word, breath, and nuance of a song when I play it for even a few number of repetitions. So… if it’s lyrical drivel, I just can’t tolerate it for too long, even if it’s decent, musically. (Witness my short infatuations with a Britney Spears song or N*Sync – well produced pop songs, all right, but not very compelling). Songs I would consider lyrically amazing include:

• “The Boxer”, also by Simon and Garfunkel:
I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises

• “Strawberry Letter 22” by Shuggie Otis, a little more well known by the Brothers Johnson:
Stained window, yellow candy screen
See speakers of kite – with velvet roses diggin’ freedom flight
(See, it doesn’t even have to make sense to the non-mind-altered, it just has to be interesting!)

• “Barroom Girls” by Gillian Welch
Oh the night came undone like a party dress
And fell at her feet in a beautiful mess
The smoke and the whiskey came home in her curls
And they crept through the dreams of the barroom girls

• “Empty Smile” by Robert Frith
I guess I am the black sheep
My brother’s an only son

• “Living Dead Girl” by Rob Zombie
Operation filth
They love to love the wealth
Of an SS Whore
Making scary sounds
(Again, who knows what the hell it means, but I can guarantee there isn’t another song with quite that combination of concepts floating together – other Zombie songs excepted.)

Okay, so those are really my two main requirements for really liking a piece of music. I will add a third partial-requirement, however – it may actually just be a passing phase of mine, or maybe a preference but not a requirement (a “nice to have”, as we say in the projects business).

Marie’s Musical Preference Number Three: Songs in the Key of (Someone Else’s) Life
I find myself liking songs that have a perspective, specifically a perspective from someone who’s perhaps not in my particular age/race/socioeconomic bracket. I’m not sure why this is – maybe it’s analogous to the escapism we all enjoy in movies and TV (everyone watches the Sopranos’ Mafioso protagonist but they probably wouldn’t agree with mob principles in actual life). Maybe it’s the manifestation of my Sociology and Anthropology degree – I want to hear and understand others’ origins and points of view, or maybe it’s just a cheap and safe way for a middle-class white girl to pretend she’s walking on the wild side. I listened to “Sublime” for weeks because of this appeal: there’s nothing like the succinct but emasculating Hispanic bravado of “Tell Sanchito that if he knows what is good for him, he’d best go run and hide… Daddy’s got a new .45”. Most of Everlast’s socially-conscious folk-rock has this appeal for me, too, especially their hit “What It’s Like”.

Oh yeah, um, what was this topic about, again?
In any case, Eminem’s The Eminem Show CD hits me soundly in all three categories. It’s excellently mixed and produced (thanks, Dr. Dre), has unbelievably tightly-woven and self-referential (even occasionally self-deprecating) lyrics, and it’s got that didn’t-grow-up-in-Georgetown perspective that I find fascinating.

On the purely musical side, I can’t really give you a flavor of its sound without providing a clip or two (and “no thanks” to any legal issues that might arise out of that one). But it’s got these incredibly catchy little hooks created out of keyboard, drum, saxophone (synthesized, maybe – I’m none the wiser), and whatever it is that emits that West Coast rap squeal. “Business” has this relentless siren-like whine woven with a simple but pervasive little keyboard motif. “Without Me” (beyond any doubt, my absolute favorite song on this album) starts with no more than a basic upbeat drum theme with a sax ditty, and it provides an interesting-but-not-distracting canvas for the trademark Eminem lyrics.

And now to his lyrics… the area where I have to give Eminem total and complete respect. (Would it sound too white-girl-poseur to say that I give him “props” for his lyrical content?) They are amazing – dense, funny, relevant. They trip from one concept to the next, handing over rhyming themes from the end of one verse to the beginning of the next.

Moreover, however, the lyrics are often about something interesting, something a little beyond the normal pop or R&B drivel.

I present a sample:

“Square Dance”
Yeah, you laugh ‘til your motherfuckin’ ass gets drafted
When you’re at band camp thinkin’ the draft can’t happen
Til you fuck around, get an Anthrax napkin
Inside a package wrapped in Saran Wrap wrappin’
Open up the plastic and then you stand back gaspin’
Fuckin’ assassins hijackin’ Amtracks, crashin’
All this terror, America demands action,
Next thing you know you got Uncle Sam’s ass askin’

To join the army or what you do for their navy…

A little profane, but at least somewhat relevant to the current political environment. It’s more interesting than “Bye, Bye, Bye”, anyway, even if it will sound dated in five years. Of course, Eminem is also very much about the environment where he came from, and that is pervasive in his songs:

“Cleanin’ Out My Closet”
Now I would never dis my own mama just to get recognition,
Take a second to listen to who you think this record is dissin,
But put yourself in my position,
Just try to envision,
Witnessin’ your mama poppin’ prescription pills in the kitchen…Bitchin’ that someone’s always goin’ through her purse and shit’s missin’
Goin’ through public housin’ systems, victim of Munchausen syndrome

And another common theme is his travails as the publicity-hounded, often rash (and thus often-sued), hated harbinger of evil white rap’s emergence into the suburban mainstream.

“White America”
All I hear is
Lyrics, lyrics, constant controversy
Sponsors working round the clock to try to stop my concerts early…Surely hip hop was never a problem in Harlem
Only in Boston
After it bothered the fathers
Of daughters starting to blossom
…
So to the parents of America
I am the Derringer
Aimed at little Erica
To attack her character

These serious/“politically aware” themes could get tiresome in their aggressive self-focus, but for me, somehow they don’t. Maybe it’s because the music is catchy enough to carry it along. I think for me it’s the fact that the words are strung together so quickly, they pass you by before it feels like you’re being made to wallow in his self pity. And his use of language is so clever (in my opinion, and I’ll exposit more on that in a moment), that it just lets him get away with what would come across as overblown histrionics if delivered in any other musical style.

But, Eminem’s “serious artist” side aside, I especially love when he’s silly or making fun of himself. He does this on his two catchiest songs on the album, “Business” and “Without Me” (which, incidentally, won best video of the year at the MTV music awards and is the song with the infamous Moby “36-year-old bald-headed fag” reference).

“Business”
You can even call collect
The most feared duet
Since me and Elton
Played career Russian Roulette

A reference, presumably, to Eminem’s appearance on the Grammies with Elton John, which was viewed as ‘groundbreaking’ because of Eminem’s reputation as a homophobe. The song is sort of a throwaway piece about being in the hip-hop music biz with Dr. Dre, but its light lyrics and instantly-head-bounce-inducing beat make it quite palatable.

“Without Me”
I’m gonna enter in up in your skin like a splinter
The center of attention
Back for the winter
I’m interesting
The best thing since wrestling
Infesting
In your kid’s ears and nesting… Testing… attention please
Feel the tension soon as someone mentions me
Here’s my ten cents…my two cents is free
A nuisance… who sent ( you sent?) for me?
…
Sometimes it just seems everybody only wants to discuss me
So this must mean I’m disgusting
But it’s just me, I’m just obscene
Though I’m not the first king of controversy
I am the worst thing since Elvis Presley
To do black music so selfishly
And use it to get myself wealthy

What can I say… this is my favorite song not just because of its beat and catchy sax riff but because the lyrics are fun and seem to indicate that he doesn’t take himself so seriously… at least not ALL of the time.

Marie’s Newly Discovered Fourth Preference: More than Rhyming
Content aside, however, the thing that truly makes his music hypnotic for me is the actual linguistic structure of the lyrics. Perhaps this is old hat for true hip-hop experts (and I definitely do not claim to be one of those) but the way he goes beyond just rhyming lyrics is mind-blowingly interesting and novel for me.

Look at the sample I excerpted from “Square Dance”. He’s not only relentless with the rhymes (repeating the same rhyming theme seven or eight times, depending on whether or not you argue with ‘drafted’ rhyming with ‘happen’), but the lines have a parallel sound structure beyond just the last word being rhymed. The last seven lines of that first verse include the soft “a” sound before the ending word, a parallelism that sounds infinitely more structured than a pop song that just rhymes every other line. Again, the best word I can come up with is hypnotic.

One of my other favorite tricks of his is when he takes the ending sound and wraps it around to the first word of the following line (“kitchen” and “bitchin’” in “Cleanin’ out my Closet”, “nesting” and “testing” in “Without Me”, “early” and “surely” in “White America”). He does this line-wrapping without a traditional pause to signal the beginning of the next line, which makes the concepts and sounds an enjoyable rapid-fire assault.

But wait, isn’t he a punk and a misogynist?
Yes, of course he’s still the pistol toting hothead you’ve read about in Entertainment Weekly, and many of his songs on earlier albums include lyrics about strangling women (specifically, “whores”) and there’s a whole song where he enacts taking his now-ex-wife into the woods to kill her.

There’s less of that kind of thing on this album, but even on this album he does sometimes fit what Scott described in his 8 Mile review as the “very definition of a punk-ass moron”:
But I can rap, so fuck school, I’m too cool to go back
Gimme the mic, show me where the fuckin’ studio’s at
And don’t even get me started on the album’s graphic and infantile song “Drips”, which paints a sordid little scene of sex, infidelity, and venereal disease (hence the title).

Yep, but I like the music anyway
But somehow I seem to forgive all that because he’s bright enough and clever enough to win me over with most of his lyrics, or I just take the “take what you like and leave the rest” approach with the Track Select button. (Luckily, one has the luxury of purposive sampling when it comes to matters of taste).

In the end, it comes down to whether or not I like the music, and I really like it. It’s not only well-produced and lyrically intense, it’s got a whole new way of delivering sound, rhyme, and concept that I find amazing and infinitely listenable. It’ll probably be a few months yet before I even take the CD out of daily rotation.

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I believe that all modern (Post-WWII) US presidents have been crazy. Insane. Bonkers. Nuts. Loopy. Etc. On what do I base this belief? Did I perform extensive analysis of discernable behavior patterns and/or gain access to private documents and records that showed demonstrable dementia? No. My belief is based on it being the only possible explanation. Allow me to elaborate.

The Short Version
A person does not become president by accident, he has to want it, and he has to think he can actually handle the job in order to survive the selection and competition processes. But a person who believes that he can compete and win the job of president, and then handle being the most powerful human on the planet, is clearly delusional. There’s a perfect word to describe the condition of a serious Presidential candidate:

Main Entry: megalomania (meg•a•lo•ma•nia)
Pronunciation: “me-g&-lO-‘mA-nE-&, -ny&
Function: noun
Etymology: New Latin
Date: circa 1890
1 : a mania for great or grandiose performance
2 : a delusional mental disorder that is marked by infantile feelings of personal omnipotence and grandeur

Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster at http://www.m-w.com.

(On an unrelated note, I think it would be a hoot if a Chinese restaurant had a big promotion or contest and called it Mega Lo Mein-ia!)

Think of it this way…what would your reaction be if someone said to you: “I really want to be President of the United States, and I think I’d do a great job!”? My reaction would be, “You’re crazy!” Why would anyone want that job? Unsolvable problems, unknowable enemies, unrelenting danger (to one’s self and one’s family), incomprehensible issues, and non-stop criticism. To *want* that job, you have to either think you are truly one in 250,000,000, the one great leader who can shepherd this flock through the rocky straits of the winds of change (he mixed, metaphorically), or you have to be willing to sacrifice everything in order to get power. In either case, you are insane, in my estimation.

The Long Version
First of all, no modern president has been elected by virtue of a grass-roots movement. Sure, some have come out of nowhere (Carter, Clinton), but they still came through their party machine, and followed the cow paths laid down by countless previous candidates. And those paths lead through some pretty stinky pastures, my friend. In modern America, the Democrats and Republicans have an oligopoly (I would assert that they have a monopoly, actually) on the office of President. They control the means of production, distribution, and delivery. You don’t get to be the Democratic or Republican Presidential candidate unless you pass muster within the party. And the standards are very exacting. Notice that I didn’t say “high”, I said “exacting”.

First and foremost, you (as the candidate) must be controllable, to reduce the risk that you will harm your party. How are you made to be controllable? How does one control the most powerful person in the world? By having more power over the candidate than the candidate will over you, if elected. How do you, as a party leader, retain a power advantage over the president? By making sure he owes you, and the party, and the party’s constituents more than he can possibly ever repay. This doesn’t have to be money. It can be power, in that you gave the president the power, and you can also take it away. It can be information, such as who did what to whom when and why and for how much. Now, does this mean that all of our presidents have been lifeless marionettes, dancing the dance exactly as laid out by their handlers? No, but the powers-that-be (the *real* powers-that-be, not the ones we see on TV) retain enough power to influence things enough to keep things running smoothly (by their definition).

Secondly, in order for a politician to even appear on the radar as a possible Presidential candidate, he/she must be a master of Machiavellian machinations. Remember, *everyone* makes mistakes, and *nobody* is perfect. So, when a Presidential candidate appears to have no great flaws, this simply means that he knows how to do damage control, bury bodies (figuratively, one hopes), and spin the “facts” as if he were a Harlem Globetrotter. Let’s assume for a moment that an honest man is rising through the ranks of a major party with their eyes on the Presidency. This honest man will have friends and enemies, and will also know people who are both and neither simultaneously. Remember that there are, literally, trillions of dollars hanging in the balance. Think about the lengths to which a street punk will go to get a few hundred dollars. Now multiply that by billions and you’ll get an idea of the lengths to which those in power will go to keep and grow their power.

In order to survive and reach the Presidency, our honest man will have to fight constant battles on several fronts. The first battle will be to ignore the offers of tremendous wealth and power that come their way. He will need to ignore the fact that, simply by slightly compromising his convictions to the smallest degree, he could ensure his financial well-being, and that of his children and grandchildren. The second battle will be to fend off the ruthless attacks of his un-chivalric enemies, while not stooping to their level. The third battle will be to try to clearly identify friend from enemy. And the fourth battle will be the most difficult. Everyone has flaws and weaknesses. But a Presidential candidate can’t expose these facets, or he will be set upon by the jackals of infamy. But an honest man can’t lie about them, either. So therein lies a conundrum: how can an honest man become President in our current system? I assert that it is impossible.

So, if the reader will stipulate all of the above for the sake of argument, we are now at the point where our presidential candidate is a dishonest manipulator, willing to sacrifice principal for survival, and willing to fight dirty and bury the bodies, all while smiling for the camera. I think we can all agree that that’s a pretty fair description of how most of us picture Presidential candidates, yes? And you know what? The system is giving us exactly what we are asking it for. And while this means our Presidential candidates are not angels, why does it mean that they’re insane?

Remember that candidates do not have the presidency foisted upon them involuntarily. They seek it out, with relentless ferocity and ruthlessness, and they want it with their entire being, and they plan it decades in advance. They know the sacrifices they will have to make. They know the price their families will pay. They know that they are facing almost insurmountable odds, and that they can’t control all the factors that may one day lead them to the Presidency. And they know that as they approach the upper echelons of politics and begin to become serious Presidential candidates, the trappings of a normal life will be stripped away, and they will forever live in a glass bowl under a microscope being x-rayed, even after they have died. That their lives, and those of their families, will be in constant danger from that point forward. That hundreds, thousands, or millions of lives will hang in the balance of the decisions made in office. That the President will influence events that will cause millions, billions, or trillions of dollars to ebb and flow between interested parties, and each of those interested parties will be willing to make it interesting (if he plays along), or dangerous (if he doesn’t) for the President. That every issue has three sides…right, wrong, and politically expedient.

Remember, crazy does not equal stupid. Nor does it equal evil. I am not asserting that all modern Presidents have been stupid and/or evil, just crazy. Some have been benevolently loony (Reagan), some have completely masked their insanity (Carter), and some have dazzled us with misdirection so we don’t notice that they’ve got crazy hidden up their sleeve (Clinton). I sometimes hesitate when I think of George Bush Sr. as President, because he seemed to have done such a good job, and he and Barbara seem happy, and he didn’t even seem a little bit crazy. But then I remember that he spent years as the Director of the CIA. And then I remembered that a lot of his family’s money came about as a result of collaborating with Nazis until well after the start of WWII. This would be tantamount to collaborating with Osama bin Laden today. So, George Bush Sr. comes from a family who made their wealth, in part, by working with Nazi front companies until those company’s assets were seized by the US Government after the start of WWII, and while his family was collaborating with the Nazis, George Bush was training as a Naval Aviator in order to fight the Nazis…with whom his family had strong business ties. Well, that just sounds like the heart-warming story of a young man born to be President, doesn’t it? Nope. It sounds crazy. Search your favorite web sources for keywords George Bush Nazi Union Bank for more information.

I don’t mean to be picking on George Bush Sr., but think about the fact that, when you think of Bush Sr., you never think of the son of Nazi collaborators who played both sides of the fence for maximum gain. Think of the power it takes to make sure that information is not in the forefront of the public’s mind. Think about the fact that you never heard about it during George Bush Jr.’s presidential candidacy. Don’t you think that GWB’s opponents would have *loved* to bring up the documented government records showing the Bush family assets were seized by the US government during WWII under the ‘Collaborating with the Enemy’ act? Why is it, you think, that they didn’t use this information? Fair play? I doubt it. Fear? That sounds more like the truth. But, fear of what, exactly? Reprisal? What kind of reprisal? I don’t know. And I’m a curious fellow, but I’m not sure I want to know.

So, let’s pick on another President. How about every conspiracy theorist’s favorite President…JFK. If there was ever a President who has had every detail of their life investigated to the Nth degree, it was JFK. His family’s rise to wealth and power, his good looks and prescience about the power of TV, his promise of Camelot, his untimely assassination, and the unending controversy of the official explanation of that crime have made JFK the subject of almost constant investigation since his death.

JFK’s life has been endlessly examined and investigated, with every shred of evidence blown out of proportion and interpreted in thousands of different ways, with everyone trying to fit the pieces together to either a) understand it and/or b) make it fit their own preconceptions. But then just a few days ago, news reports came out about the physical condition of JFK while in office. How his back was so painful that he couldn’t reach across his desk and pull papers towards himself. How he couldn’t put on his own left sock and shoe. How he was on up the 12 medications a day, including anti-psychotic drugs during the Cuban missile crisis. Here’s a President who has been investigated like no other, for decades.

And then, all of a sudden, a few days ago, all of this information became public for the first time. Think about that for a moment. His dire physical and mental condition during his Presidency has been kept an airtight secret for over 40 years, and is only known now because his medical records were purposely released. Think about what else might still be unreleased and secret. Other, more important information. I’m not saying there is or isn’t more to learn. What I’m saying is that, if they could keep something as relatively minor as his physical condition secret for 40 years, think of how well they (whoever they are) would be able to keep more important things secret. That’s crazy, man.

A Fine Madness
All of the above being said, I also believe that no sane person could actually handle the job of President, nor would we want a sane person in the job. We need someone in that job who can, literally, have the weight of the world resting on their shoulders without cracking. That’s too much responsibility for one sane person. We need a megalomaniac in that job…someone with unjustifiable confidence in their own grand abilities. Someone with the ability to make command decisions impacting billions of lives without second guessing themselves nor showing any skepticism about their own decisions. The world is just too big and the issues too complex for one sane person to handle.

But we need one person as President. A committee would be paralyzed by the issues and forces involved – besides, that’s what Congress is for. We need one person to not pass the buck, to make the hard decisions, and to take their lumps. We also need to know, going in, that they are crazy, and accept it as an operating assumption. We’ll all be happier that way.

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Most non-smokers don’t care whether or not a given individual is a smoker. What they do care about is being able to breathe air that has not been fouled with cigarette smoke. In my experience (have been married to a smoker, friends/acquaintences with many smokers, family members who smoke), most smokers have an immunity to the scent of cigarette smoke, and are actually unaware of just how noxious and foul it is to most non-smokers. It is not just ‘unpleasant’, it is disgusting.

If you’ve ever traveled the world, you may have noticed that different cultures have different community standards for personal hygiene. And, if you are unused to these standards, you may be disgusted by the ambient aromas, while the natives take no notice whatsoever. Well, this situation is analogous to smokers and non-smokers in America. Smokers live their everyday lives with a constant stream of smoke, and most non-smokers do not. So, when these two “cultures” come together, one is found to be offensive by the other.

There are those who would condemn the smoker (or person from another culture) for this offensiveness, but they are the small-minded few. Most folks hate the offensiveness, but don’t particularly like/dislike the offender for it. They just wish to be able to breathe/eat/live in comfort.

Now, the culture of America used to be smoker-centric. Everyone smoked everywhere…in offices, in hospitals, on airplanes…everywhere. And, if you were a non-smoker, well, you were just out of luck, because you lived in a smoker’s world and just had to learn how to deal with it. You were free to not smoke, but about the only way to escape it was in the confines of your own home/car.

Slowly but surely, though, American culture has changed. In fact, America is now a non-smokers world. Now smokers have the problem, because their options for smoking are limited. In fact, there are only a few places where smoking is condoned in today’s America…the smoker’s personal space (home/car, if you have an understanding family), smoking sections, bars, and outside, primarily. On one level, it’s sad for smokers, to be shunned and forced to sneak off to engage in their habit.

But, the truth of the matter is, this change is long overdue. Cigarette smoke is foul and offensive. Some claim it is a carcinogen, but that is actually beside the point. The crux of this debate is between the smoker’s right to smoke, and the non-smoker’s right to not be disgusted. And, in law and in manners, the correct thing to do is that the person with the offensive behavior refrains from inflicting it on the general public. This does not mean they have to stop entirely, but the social construct requires them to curtail their offending activities in public, or be considered rude.

And that, to me, is the heart of this conflict. Non-smokers would just like for smokers to be polite. I’m not claiming that all non-smokers are polite, and I know that some non-smokers step over the line when confronting smokers. But, that occasion is rare. What happens much more frequently is that a smoker lights up and satisfies their own comfort, sacrificing the comfort and enjoyment of every non-smoker in the general area. And, believe it or not, cigarette smoke is not magically rendered inoffensive when you are outdoors. For a while I actually stopped attending professional sporting events in my town because of the vast clouds of cigarette smoke that settled over the stadium. Now, of course, smoking is prohibited in our outdoor arenas.

I have heard many smokers state that cars and factories produce more pollution than smokers, and that they personally find it disgusting when someone overeats in their presence, so why aren’t we all whining about that stuff, too? Well, cars and factories introduce a benefit to society, and society has weighed that benefit and found the cost to be acceptable. Smoking, on the other hand, provides absolutely no benefit to society as a whole, only to the individual nicotine addict. Tell me one negative thing that would occur if nobody smoked. Regarding overeating, while those behaviors may be irresponsible or unhealthy, the truth is that people have to eat to stay alive. There is no way to not eat. And, eating together is one of the most ancient human customs. So, the determination that one person is ‘overeating’ is purely a matter of degree. How much is too much? Who is the arbiter of gluttony? I’m all in favor of everyone minding their table manners, keeping the noise to a minimum, using the proper utensils, and refraining from expressing their enjoyment with any bodily noises. But there is absolutely no correlation between overeating and smoking, as one is a necessary activity and one is totally unecessary.

So, to you non-smokers, I say to remember to hate the sin, but love the sinner. And to you smokers I say, in the current America, *you* have the problem now. Smoking is considered a rude activity. Mind your manners.

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Texas has one of the all-time great highway slogans, which is 'Drive Friendly'. That really says it all. I try to drive friendly. I really, really do. I live in Houston, TX, which has some very nasty traffic. My morning commute is blessedly short, but I have, in the past, had typical suburban commutes, and still find myself regularly facing the challenges of rush hour.

I am very safety oriented – I never drink and drive, I always wear my seatbelt, I obey the functional speed limits, I pay scrupulous attention to school zones and slow to 20MPH. I am also a polite driver. If two lanes are having to shrink to one, I obey the one-from-this-lane-then-one-from-that-lane protocol. I let people out of parking lots into traffic. I slow down to give the merge-impaired a chance to get onto the freeway alive. I always use my blinker (this is also a safety thing, but I'm listing it the 'politeness' section intentionally). I watch for pedestrians, especially downtown, where Houston's drivers-who-don't-really-understand-pedestrians meet pedestrians-who-don't-really-understand-walking-across-traffic-heavy-streets.

I also work very hard to not get riled when I drive. I am an easy-going person, by nature. I'm all in favor of live-and-let-live. I understand that, while all those other drivers are just traffic to me, I am just traffic to them. I think that the best way for us to all maintain our sanity is just to….Drive Friendly.

Sneaky Pete's
But…oh my…what is it with some people? Are they egocentric, sociopathic, or both? I'll give you an example, to which all of you can relate. If you head west on I-10 from downtown, and then exit to the loop 610 going south, the exit is only one lane. And it's almost always backed up. And I, like the vast majority of folks trying to make that exit, get into the appropriate lane and wait it out. And, as I sit there, I see all the egocentric morons who slip by to my right and left, zoom up to the head of the line, and then cut into the exit lane. Granted, there may be one or two who really don't know there is only one lane. But the vast majority of drivers follow the same route every day, and know the score. But they still pull what I like to call a 'Sneaky Pete'. They somehow feel that they have the right to bypass all the other drivers and then cut into the line.

Do these people remember kindergarten, where most of us learned that it is not polite to cut in line? Do they think that none of the drivers in line have thought to do what they did? Why is it, you Sneaky Petes, that none of the other people in line do what you do? Do you think we don't have the guts? That we didn't think of it? That we don't have extremely important, urgent business to attend to? That we somehow don't possess the magical key that frees us from social convention? Do you realize that what you are doing is exactly the same as cutting in at the head of the line at Starbucks? Or at the movie theater? I've heard some Sneaky Pete's say that, well, it just enrages them to watch other people do it while they sit in line, so they go ahead and do it too. Wonderful logic. I want all of you Sneaky Pete's to try something for me: for just one week, don't do it. Stay in your lane. Drive Friendly. And then pay attention to two things. First, how the other Sneaky Pete's make you feel, and what your opinion is of them. And second, is that how you see yourself? A selfish, egocentric, sociopathic prick (or bitch, for you Sneaky Paula's)? If that's who you are, then go with it, but do it with the knowledge of just how selfish it is.

Staring Contest (not blinking)
Which brings me to my second favorite traffic gripe, which is those cars which seem to have been produced without blinkers. Please keep these things in mind with regards to blinkers:

1. Even though *you* know you are in a left-turn-only lane, that doesn't mean that every other driver at the intersection can deduce that information. Turn on your &%@$#%% blinker.

2. If you want into my lane, and you have your blinker on, I will let you in. If you try to play chicken with me without your blinker, you will lose to me and my 4WD Ford Expedition. Turn on your $^!@#@ blinker.

3. You are not omnipresent, so even if you don't see any other cars, turn on your %@$#% blinker.

4. When you are turning or changing lanes, use your blinker. It can't get much simpler than that.

Brown-Nosers
Which brings me to my next subject, which is tailgaters. I've had numerous conversations with several different chronic tailgaters, and the most surprising part to me is the sense of entitlement, and total disregard of safety, exhibited by tailgaters. If you are tailgating, and the person in front of you slams on their brakes, you are now involved in an accident. Period. No human has the reaction time to stop that quickly. Do the math: if you are traveling at 60MPH and you are five feet behind the car in front of you, you have exactly .056 seconds to react. That's about a half-second. Are your reactions that fast? If you were totally focused, then maybe (if you were also incredibly lucky, or a fighter pilot), but if you're totally focused on your precise tailgating maneuver, that means you are totally neglecting all other normal traffic observation, which also makes you a rolling merchant of death. I've also heard tailgaters say that if they follow further back, then other folks will cut into their lane. That is a sad fact, and says a lot about the Sneaky Pete's that do it, but it does not justify risking killing other drivers. So back the $%$#%@#$ off.

Salmon
So, every once in a great while you find yourself moving along in traffic, not full speed, but moving smoothly, and all the cars are maintaining a reasonable separation as they motor along. And then what happens? What happens is that some jerk feels that, since there are spaces between the cars, he must play leapfrog-lane-change to establish a 3-5mph speed advantage over traffic. So, he zooms up and tailgates the car in front of him, and then cuts over to the lane next door, usually without signaling (because if he signaled, the person in that lane might recognize what he was doing and not let him in), then zooms up and tailgates the next person, and cuts over to the lane next door, and so on. And upstream this jerk goes, just slightly faster than the rest of the traffic, but using the worst combination of tailgating and not signaling, endangering himself and all the other drivers. And for what? A net 3-5mph advantage. If that. Meanwhile he leaves a trail of near-misses, frayed nerves, and roiled traffic in his wake. Again, do you think we don't think to do it, or don't know how, or aren't in a rush? We do, and we are. But we are also trying to Drive Friendly. Why do you insist on driving us crazy? Please, just go with the ^%$$#@ flow.

Nature's Lubricant
Water, water everywhere, but jerks don't stop and think. They don't stop and think that the stopping distance on a wet road is at least double that of a dry road. And that's assuming that you don't hydroplane or skid, both of which have an excellent chance of happening if you don't have anti-lock brakes. But, even with ABS, your stopping distance will be at least double. Also, ABS won't help you if you have to perform accident avoidance maneuvering, meaning that you also have an increased chance of spinning and/or sliding sideways on wet roads. And on top of all of that, visibility is greatly reduced by falling rain and splashed up road mist.

And, when it rains, I notice that many people on the road immediately slow down and increase their following distances accordingly. But I also notice that there are also many drivers who not only don't slow down, but also take advantage of the other driver's greater separation to play lane-change-leapfrog. They actually seem angry and aggressive that traffic has slowed down, and they seem to whip across lanes with even more derring-do than normal.

Do these folks not understand physics? Friction? Momentum? Or do the laws of physics not apply to people who are in a hurry? Well, unfortunately, they do. No amount of reaction time and driving skill can make a car stop as quickly on a wet road as a dry one. Water is a natural lubricant, as you may have noticed if you've ever slipped on wet concrete or tile. It has the exact same effect on your car tires. There may be those out there who would read the above and think, yeah, I know that, but so what? I still need to get where I'm going, and I've always driven this way and I've never had an accident in the rain. Wonderful logic. They not only don't understand physics, they also don't understand probability. Well, at least Darwinian forces will someday remove morons like them from the road, I just hope they don't kill me or mine while they enjoy their borrowed time.

Road Rage
This one is a toughie, because I have to fight to keep my anger under control in traffic, myself. I try, I really try, to drive friendly. And safely. But I am faced with a constant parade of jerks and idiots who take advantage of my safety and politeness without compunction. I'd like to compunction them right in the jaw. I'm not talking about the rest of the traffic, the other folks trying to get where they're going while maintaining their dignity and humanity. I'm talking about the jerks and idiots. You *know* who you are. You tailgate, you don't signal, you swim upstream, you cause gridlock, you accelerate through yellow lights, you pull Sneaky Pete's, you park in handicapped spaces, you drive while tipsy, you drive on the shoulder, you take two parking spaces, you ignore school zones (okay, pet peeve…I drive by fancy, upscale schools, and the soccer moms in their Sequoias and BMWs and Mercedes don't even *think* about slowing down in their own $%!@#$% school zones, but I can just imagine the wailing that would occur if one of their children were tragically killed by a speeder in a school zone), you hold your cell phone while taking notes and trying to drink your Starbucks while tailgating, you treat the roads as if you were the only sentient being in existence, and the entire endeavor was a video game, and your goal was to get through it as quickly as possible, regardless of the risks or consequences.

Well, traffic involves real people, and traffic accidents involve real death. Is your everyday life so important that you can justify callously risking other people's lives every single day, just so you can shave 5 minutes off of your commute? Please redo that math, and remember to Drive Friendly.

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