It's red. Break. Drum the steering wheel as Saint-Saëns pours out of the speakers. Watch a stream of cars cross the intersection. And out the corner of my eye, I watch the car on the next lane inch forward and then gun it on green.
Is this a nation of impatient drivers? Why is everyone so antsy to go from A to B even traveling at 65 mph? Surely not everyone is late to their next appointment. Surely no one's schedule is so full. Is everyone itching to get to the nearest bathroom? Does everyone have a pregnant woman in labor in the backseat?
I thought not. So back off and stop tailgating. Stop going 70 in a 45 mph zone. Stop the sniveling and the sneering because I'm going so "slow." I blame those car commercials for extolling the virtues of powerful engines. Unless you're a race car driver, what's the point? Every car must go the speed limit. You're not getting to grandma's house any faster if you have one car model rather than the other.
Aggressive driving--perhaps a phenomenon purely endemic to this technology for personal transportation. Do we have tailgating fishing boats or airplanes? If we have "beam-me-up-Scotty" technology, would people jostle each other to get to the transporter room first? A car is something that the driver controls, an extension of us, a shell which we can manipulate with impunity. It reminds me of the Internet. Just as online anonymity can embolden a person to say things beyond social tact, so can driving. After all, who's going to arrest you if you drive a little too close to the next car or flip the bird to the truck driver?
Perfume Whom. The 2Blowhards talk about the inverse relationship between a woman's attractiveness and how much perfume she sprays on. Personally, I've never noticed that relationship--for women or men. I just notice the perfume and run away. If I can.
Pharyngula. Yeah, yeah, this blog is already on my blogroll, but I just found out he moved! I am so behind on a lot of stuff--including reading weblogs--that it definitely is not funny any more. Go check out his Friday Cephalopod--aw, he's so cute!
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Other Kinds of Links: Digital Libraries
The Hours of Jeanne d'Evreux. An illuminated manuscript made for the fourteenth century queen of France, Jeanne d'Evreux.
Well, I admit to driving just as fast as I possibly can without pushing the limits of my comfort zone (I get way nervous over 90), but it's not something which requires me to impose my will on other drivers. If things are moving well enough at 65, there's no reason for me to look for an escape route, and there's never any reason to tailgate someone.
Lately, I've been getting around by bicycle and foot more than by car. Every time I have to drive, I hate it, entirely because of the behavior of other drivers.
On 500 mile trips, driving a bit faster (say 10 mph over the speed limit) makes sense -- you get to your destination an hour or two earlier. Freeways are designed for such driving.
But on the typical 10-20 mile trip, driving faster saves you a couple of minutes at best, especially on city streets.
What do you plan to do with that couple of minutes, Mr./Ms. Aggro Driver?
Most people around here (who drive like they're in an endless NASCAR race) probably use their saved time watching television commercials. Or perhaps polishing their lovely car.
They put my life (and theirs, and yours) at stake for that?
Feh.
I understand the psychology, though.
Natural selection has made us (young males especially) instinctively competitive. Hey, back in the Pleistocene era, it probably did matter whether you were first or second on the scene, even if the difference was measured in fractional seconds.
Too bad people today haven't learned to think above their 'reptile' brains.
Getting nervous over 90? Whoa, you're a lot more gutsier than I am. I get nervous if it's over 70, and that's not just because some of the speed limit signs say 70. But most of the time, I go with the flow of traffic--unless there's a cop tailing you.
