Monday, October 09, 2006

Guilt and Rage

Uhm, hi blog. I know it's been're probably feeling pretty hurt and neglected that I haven't written anything in a really long time. I don't know what I can say to make it better. But, see, I've really been working on myself lately, and I know maybe you don't want to hear about it. The thing is, blog, I learned recently that I'm an Aries Moon, which means I get really excited about projects that I soon abandon. I know you may not understand this, but it's who I am, blog, and I need to start accepting that you see something over there? It must be a tumbleweed, but it's sort of moving. It could just be a web crawler, in which case, nobody's home and we don't need any more university degrees. But if it's actually a live literate human, hey, welcome, I've got things to share, air to clear, hatchets to bury, metaphors to mix and bridges to sell you. And you are one lucky scout, yes you are, because this is a clandestine little meeting right here. To be honest, this was meant to be a private little talk between me and my blog, but nobody really wants to get into that putting their shit out on the table and owning up to their wrongs crap and all that.

No, of course not! What we want to do is blame! and point fingers! and feel the satisfying burn of righteous indignation! hurts so good, dammit! Well, that's what I'm here for. And, boy oh boy, do I have a lot to be angry about.

For starters, let's take the Blue Angels. Buncha meathead, puffed chest show-offs, tell you what. I am not going to shock you with shocking facts like the amount of fuel they use in one day is equivalent to the amount a car uses in one year. Because that's the only dirt I have on them but more importantly! they have polluted the skies with their noise and their exhaust and their extreme nationalism and militarism on not ONE day that I chose to spend most of outside, but two. Two otherwise lovely occasions that did not want from the angry roar of jet engines in their soundscape. One of which happened to be a music festival. Hello, do you not have access to the internet, Blue Angels? Can't you show an iota of consideration and check an events calendar on the day you decide to launch your noise offensive? And I need to say from a pratical standpoint, what the hell are you doing in San Francisco? Seriously, there have got to be, like, thousands of other cities who would welcome you with open arms, but to fly over anti-war SF during a free musical festival in the park is not winning you any friends. Not that you care, inconsiderate a-holes. You probably did it on purpose.

So, f*** the Blue Angels.

On to more things that piss me off...yeah, cars that beep at me whilst whizzing past me on a busy street when I am respectfully in the bike lane. This is a public service announcement to all yous that have never known the reality of commuting sans car. I happen to not have a car. Well, that's not true, I do have a car. I just don't currently have a key to operate it. Or a working radiator or fan. Or the absence of a coolant leak. However, that's neither here nor there. The point is that if you've ever ridden your bike down a busy street, say, Soquel Drive, which has 2 lanes of traffic driving each way and parallels Hwy 1 meaning it's crowded during rush hour, you know that it's a little bit unnerving. You try not to think about the fact that, aside from your helmet, the only thing in between your delicate internal organs and asphalt is a few bones and a slightly less delicate layer of skin. Perhaps your bike weighs a good 25 or 30 pounds because you got yourself a bottom of the line REI hybrid, plus you have your almost as heavy laptop and your rather hefty Spanish textbook in your less than streamlined milk crate fastend to your metal rack. So, in short, you're carrying a lot of weight. And you're going uphill, because this is California and we have hills. So you've got a lot to concentrate on -- getting up the hill, cars whizzing by you, being late to your Spanish class, wondering if your friend's cute friend is interested in you, paying off your credit card bill...and really, the last thing you need is a car needlessly honking at you as if you didn't know he and about a hundred other of his steel brethren are coming from behind as if to say, hey, watch out bicyclist, I don't want to hit you and have my insurance premiums go up so you just make sure you stay in your bike lane because I gotta be somewhere! I've got a good sense of entitlement, that's why I drive.

(And for you skeptical car defenders, there was no other reason for him to honk. This is my blog, so stop defending him. [As if there's enough of a readership of my blog where a divide exists on the issues I raise.])

You know what, honking menace on the roads? I know you're there. It's kind of hard not to. I don't need your perhaps well-intentioned warnings. The fact that you think you know what's best for me only stokes the inferno of my righteous indignation. So lay off the horn, okay? Or even better, ride your bike down Soquel or any major street of your choosing. You'll understand then.

Incidentally, I don't only rant about things with motors, in case you were wondering if I had some hidden political agenda. In fact, if anyone has any leads on cheap, well-running cars, please post it in the comment sections. Likewise if you want to buy a slightly banged up car with a sort-of smushed radiator, coolant leak, and potentially broken fan, and no key but I can remedy the part about the key, I think. It looks really good from the back.

Right, so anger. It's actually kind of exhausting to be angry at shit you can't control all the time. My therapist, uh, I mean this person I know who I talk to sometimes would say that it's causing needless suffering and only making it worse. Or maybe she'd say that. Or maybe I'm just exhausted since it's like, 12:30 in the morning and I have been spending the last several hours writing this and occupying myself with other mindless internet wanderings which I refuse to disclose so stop asking. And please don't check the history on my internet browser. You can't do that remotely can you?

Anyhow, now's not the time for empty promises and talk of words that don't become actions. It gets late before it gets early which means a Tracy has to get her hot little booty to bed. And I mean hot. And bed. I mean all of that, in fact.

So farewell, and feedback, unless it's critical, in which case keep your thoughts to yourself.

More soon, maybe.


1 comment:

michmel said...

michelle loves tracy

(so much so that she spent a precious five minutes of her time resetting her password for this blogsite because you don't accept anonymous comments)