I Hate Daylight Savings Time ’13

Never been a fan of Daylight Savings Time.  I do not like it.  At all.  Twice a year I sharpen up my machete and try to put together a time machine to go back and right this injustice.

DST has been creeping more and more of our time away, to the point that “Standard” time is only 5 months out of the year and begging for a name change.  Maybe this will be the year that they finally bite the bullet and leave the clock the fuck alone.  At least until the next leap hour, anyway.

Bike Lanes

Bike lanes anger me. I know, it’s hard to imagine me being angry about anything… but bike lanes definitely do it for me. Especially now that the world is in an energy crisis of catastrophic proportions, and my municipal government seems to think bike lanes will answer all the world’s fucking problems. But, of course, I can understand their logic. Suddenly, somehow, altering the flow of traffic in already heavily travelled areas will clearly turn oil into a clean burning renewable resource.

Pictured: All Your Problems Fucking Solved.
No. No way in hell.

Before you start crying to me about how cars are ruining the Earth, and we all need to recycle everything before we start living in the world of Soylent Green, I need you to understand something: I get that the theory is that with more bike lanes more people will use bikes, and that would mean less people would use cars. I get that the future is now. I get that we need to seize the day. I get that every little bit helps. I also get something that, in my opinion, is much more important to realize… at least when it comes to fucking with heavy traffic areas–and slowing down traffic flow–just to put in bike lanes. And what I get is this: Everyone who is going to ride a bike anywhere is already fucking doing it.

At this moment, there are now enough bike lanes in place on my trip to work that I could use them for all but one short block of travelling. I’m not going to. My wife’s not going to. Trying to rationalize paying road crews to paint new lanes and/or widen existing streets by saying more people will leave their cars at home is a flying crock of monkey shit.

But what about safety, you ask? How can you put a price on that? I’ll tell you how. It’s easy. Actual bike lanes are no fucking safer than unmarked ones, non-existent ones, or the fucking sidewalk. I say this because ever since I saw the first goddamn bike lane pop up in this shit town of mine, I’ve been watching. Every day… every single fucking day this summer… I’ve seen one or more of the following:

  • Assholes riding on the wrong side of the road.
  • Assholes riding without a helmet.
  • Assholes riding on the white fucking line that makes up the bike lane.
  • Assholes riding just outside the fucking bike lane.
  • Assholes completely ignoring traffic lights.
  • And one glorious asshole who was riding outside the bike lane, on the wrong side of the road, in the middle of traffic, into an oncoming traffic lane that had a green light.

Even the most safety conscious looking people, wearing helmets, pads, vests, and all sorts of shiny flashy shit, have been driving on the wrong side of the road, and/or ignoring general rules of traffic. You know, those tough calls that none of us know, like “What do you do at a red light?” and “Can I cross this intersection diagonally, because suddenly I think I’m a pedestrian now? I know the intersection isn’t even marked as a diagonal crosswalk, but it’s still cool, right?”

Safety is Job #1.Unless the light is red.

I’m mostly pissed about the whole thing because a road I frequent was formerly 4 lanes, 2 each way, until recently.  You were able to pass any slow idiot, school bus, or car turning left with the greatest of ease.  There was more than enough room in these wide lanes to have accommodated bikes.

Obviously, for the 30 or so years the road had been this way, it must have worked too well.  This summer they decided to add bike lanes, one on each side.  Now instead of 4 lanes, there’s 2 and a half.  One in each direction, and one of those genius dual left turn lanes.  Let me tell you… the people in this area are just not smart enough drivers to figure out a dual left turn lane.  There’s been some form of accident every week since they changed the lanes.

Also, now that school’s back in, you can get stuck behind a school bus stopping every quarter mile, and have absolutely no course to legally pass them.  Most people travelling this road travel it for 15 to 30 minutes with no traffic…  If they were to get stuck behind a school bus, and are headed out to the end of the road, their commute will double.  If the dumbasses I share this road with get frustrated at that traffic, something terrible is going to happen, I’m sure.

I’m not normally one to advocate stupid government red tape (except in the case of Machete Licenses), but I do think that the g-men should step in here.  I need to write a test to get a shiny piece of plastic so that I can drive my vehicle that could get someone killed in between the pretty painted lines they made for me… Why the fuck is it okay for some kid, or dumbfuck adult for that matter, to drive down their pretty painted lines on a vehicle that could get them killed without a shiny piece of plastic test of their own?  And it should cost an arm an a leg to get, too.  All the fees could go to the roadwork, and maybe the police force, so that they could afford to police the (as far as I’ve observed) near 100% rate of infractions per bicyclist in this fucking shitburg.

I’m sure all of you out there living in areas with millions of people, who deal regularly with the idea of taking 2 hours to drive a quarter mile, are laughing at me.  Well… you probably need to push bike lanes.  There’s, like, 6 million of you fucking idiots in a close area and you’re each driving a car.  If you throw together this “city” the 2 towns and 2 villages that make up my “Greater Metropolitan Area”… we might break 200k people.  We don’t need your fancy environmental solutions.  We still have fucking trees.  Although we do have a bunch of people bawling their fucking eyes out because we have one less tree now.  But that’s a different story…

Coming Soon: Give Trees A Chance.

Somebody Save Me.

Happy 2011. It’s been a while. Oh well.

So, apparently I must have a face that attracts batshit crazy people.
The other day I’m waiting in line at an ATM in a grocery store. My wife has our daughter and is travelling through the store shopping. I’m standing a comfortable 2 or 3 paces away from the woman using the machine. I do this for a couple reasons:
1) I’m a very large man, and if I was standing directly behind you while you proceeded to deal with your financial transactions, it would make you nervous.
2) At this particular ATM, in an amazing feat of commercial building design, there is an elevator door directly beside it. If anyone lined up near the ATM and someone came out of the elevator, they would get a big facefull of line.
3) I’m not a douchebag.
So, I’m waiting in line. Well, seeing how there’s no one behind me, I suppose I am the line. Anyway, I’m waiting there. Suddenly a second woman rushes up behind the one using the ATM. I’m pretty sure the first woman could feel the breath of the second on her neck. And she’s dancing in place. Quite fidgety, this second woman is. So, she’s dancing around, gathering up Jebas knows what out of her purse and looking around. Her eyes meet mine. I nod politely. The woman continues to look around and dance.
Suddenly she realizes she’s cut in front of me. She says “Oh. Sorry,” and takes her rightful place behind me. No harm done. But after a minute or so, I realize that she’s dancing like she’s ready to explode, and may be in some kind of a hurry. Wifey is still shopping, so I’m in no rush. To hell with it. I’ll let this woman go ahead of me.
“My wife’s still shopping, I’m in no hurry. Would you like to go first?” I ask. I shouldn’t have. The reply was just about the most random response to a normal question I’ve ever gotten.
“No thanks, I’m not in a rush,” She said. It should have stopped there. But she thought about it for a second, and decided that I really needed to know more, and continued on.
“I’ll tell you what I could use, though. Is for Steven Seagal to come save me. You ever watch his movies? Some good. I’ve got a couple family members that could use a little street justice, you know? They’re always mixed up with drugs. And drugs are no good. Don’t matter if you’re usin’ ’em or sellin’ ’em. It’s all illegal, knowwhatimean? Drains the bank, too. Yup. Sure do love watching them old Steven Seagal movies though. Mmm.”
So, I smiled, nodded, and when the first lady finished at the ATM, I used it as quickly as possible and all but ran to the safety of my loving wife, before I laughed or cried and ended up receiving some unexpected Street Justice.

I Really Need That Machete.

I had to go to the mall tonight.  There was only one store that Mel needed to go to.  I didn’t need to be there at all.  Mel doesn’t know the mall here, and so she needed me to guide her.  She was in this store the other day, after wandering the mall aimlessly.  I asked her what it was near.

“I think… Sobeys?”
When someone answers your directions-related questions with a question, it will never end well.
Turns out, the store was nowhere near Sobeys.  In fact, it could only have been further away from Sobeys had it not been in the mall at all.  So I got to cut my way through mall Christmas foot traffic without a machete.  
Halfnaked, fake tanned women walking around aimlessly, leathery skin shining hideously in florescent light.   Packs of teenage girls jabbering on amongst themselves, while faithful lapdogs with their sideways caps trip over their own pants behind the girls, texting each other.  And of course, the one creepy looking middleaged guy in front of the coffee shop, with the button up shirt with 3 buttons undone, greying chest hair poofing out between the links of his “gold” chain and cross staring just a little too long at the leathery women and chatty girls.  It was… unpleasant.
I was just about to head towards Sears and see if they had a machete when two things happened.
1)  I realized that Sears is the only retail outlet that is even more expensive than Zellers.
2)  We were at the store Mel needed to go to.
She did get what she needed to, and we rushed through the mall again, me all but picking her up over my shoulder and carrying her to get us out faster.
Fuckin’ mall.

Machete License

I’m feeling particularly lazy today. A kind of Garfield lazy, I think. It’s Monday, and even though the day is already over, I still feel like I’m in a box, with the covers over my head, avoiding everything.

I guess that’s because I’m so fucking sick of Christmas, it’s ridiculous. I don’t get excited for it until, maybe, the 23rd. Before that all the rigmarole that everyone is going through just pisses me off to no end. Not so much when it’s those close to me, but when it’s these idiots on the streets or in the stores losing their minds over everything… I start to wish I carried around a machete.

I mean really… this time of year, there should really be a license you can get or something. The Machete license. Pass the machete test, and you get up to 10 machete swings, per week, with total impunity. I’d probably save mine up for any trip to the Dollar Store, but I’m sure I’d spend a few here and there throughout the week. Hack off some guy’s little finger because he’s talking on his cell phone while paying for groceries at the checkout. Take a big chunk out of the shoulder of some useless father who’s letting his 5 year old kid run up and down the aisles at breakneck speed. Get out of the car at a busy intersection and go after the first impatient son of a bitch that honks their horn…

Yeah, I need a machete. My folks were telling me a story today at lunch, and I think the person involved should count themselves damned lucky that the 10 Machete Swing License isn’t available, and that I wasn’t there with one.

If you haven’t seen them before, some local companies have taken to adding “Maternity Parking” spaces in their lots. They’re just next to the Handicap spots, and they’re courtesy of the company for pregnant women, or parents of newborn children.

So on this occasion, apparently all of the Handicap spaces were full, because as already mentioned, it’s almost Christmas. This old guy, handicap sticker and all goes to the store and can’t park in any of the blue spots, so he parked in the Maternity spot, since it was open, and next closest, and he probably would have fallen in half had he tried to walk from the back of the parking lot.

He comes out of the store with his wife, gets to his car–and this is about when my parents pull into the lot–and starts getting screeched at by a pregnant woman, here into referred to as “Nature’s Miracle”, for parking there with his handicap plates and handicap tag hanging in the window. “Don’t you realize those spots aren’t for you? Blah blah, Call the cops, blah blah, I’m pregnant, blah blah, etc.”

Dear Nature’s Miracle, here’s a news flash for you:

Doo Dee Doo Dee Do, Doo Dee Doo Dee Do.
Doo Dee Doo Dee Do, Doo Dee Doo Dee Do.
Those spaces? They’re a courtesy granted to you by the store. They’re completely unenforcable by law. If you had called the cops, they would have told you to calm down, and quit being a fucking nutbar. Would you have gone off half cocked if it had been a car with some 13 year old kid with a case of Cerebral Palsy so bad they could barely move? Yeah, he’s an old guy, and he could walk…. But how far? They got a handicap tag because at some point they could not, under their doctor’s recommendation, walk more than 50 feet unassited. Don’t like it? Call Dr. Hugginstuff and get him to fill in some forms for your temporary handicap parking permit.
Now, while I understand completely that being pregnant is an ordeal I will never, ever fully understand, it doesn’t change some simple facts. One of these facts is that many people are worse off than pregnant women. Many people are so close to falling apart that walking at all is a bad idea, even though they must because they have no other people in their lives to help them get by.
I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, Nature’s Miracle, but you could argue ’til your face is as blue as the tag in buddy’s window, but it will never, ever give you more of a right to park there than he does, I do, or anyone else. It’s a courtesy extended to you by the company that owns the store you’re shopping in. That’s it. If I want to be an asshole, and park there, the unpregnant man that I am, you can do sweet fuck all about it. At least, not until you get them to pass a law requiring Maternity spaces, protected by the law, in all public parking areas. You do that, and I’ll lobby for my machete license. I bet we’re both in for a helluva long wait.
Besides, it’s Christmas. Calm the fuck down. It could be buddy’s last Christmas. Hell, it could be your last Christmas. Especially if my bill passes first.