Saturday, February 20, 2010

Jog your memory

I can't help but wish for the good old days when a car was just a machine to take us from place to place, instead of becoming a sleeve onto which to pin our hearts. Just like everyone else, I've had friends and loved ones depart this earth, but, I don't know, I just don't want to be reminded of their birth and death dates every time I get into the truck, so I haven't ordered any decals yet to commemorate anyone's life automotively.

But I'm just saying, that's my choice. What I really don't get is people who go around trying to tell others what to do and what not to do, what to say and not to say, feel and not feel. This takes me to a place where people scream about "political correctness." "Oh, don't say anything about to be politically correct!" they holler, in defense of their right to be as incorrect (and ungracious) as they can be. I'm still steamed about the people who toted around signs that made the death of Sen. Edward M. Kennedy something over which to rejoice. Many of these signs, well, a few, even had things spelled correctly.

You don't see so many "Baby On Board"
signs these days. I always wondered what people thought when they stuck those suction cups on the window of their Saabs...were they thinking that other drivers who normally would have plowed their Biscaynes and Galaxies right into their cars would now think twice, heeding the warning on a yellow sign? And I'm still stuck on "Show Dogs On Board." Not just dogs, y'unnerstan', but SHOW dogs, for crying out loud!

One more thing, and I'll let you go. Joggers, runners, speedwalkers, recumbent have a right to be proud. For one thing, you're in very good shape. For another, you can pride yourselves on spending more money on the togs for your particular sport than the average NFL team spends to equip its linebackers. I really like those special biking pants with the buttpads and the shirts with the kangaroo pockets. And the helmet with the dentist's mirrors sticking out so you can get a good look at the Rage Rover (misspelling intentional) that's headed your way from behind you. And the $300 shoes and the teeny shorts and all the guys are a walking (or running or pedaling) sporting goods exhibition as you go by.

But, could you smile for once?
Could you load a little Cheech and Chong into your iPod and laugh a bit? These looks, these serious looks, as you all thunder past, just make me want to offer you a ride to the nearest TGI O'Hoolahan's for a cup of cheer!

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