LA is a great big Freeway... to Hell!

I ran a red light yesterday. I haven't done this since 1988 when the brakes went out on my VW bug at an intersection. I'm that person you trust to drive a bus full of infants who aren't even buckled in. And yet, yesterday, i blew a light. It wasn't my fault.

Oh yeah, i saw the damn thing. I just couldn't believe what i was seeing. I'd taken a freeway onramp and was about five feet from the actual freeway, when all of a sudden there was a freaking stop light. I remember looking at it and thinking, "Stop light? That can't be a stop light. Nobody in their right mind would put a stop light in a place like this. It's got to be some kind of sick joke." I thought those things as i drove past it, having already accelerated to highway merging speed. Then i saw the truck behind me actually stop at the blasted thing. Crap! They meant it! What kind of moron would put a red light in a place where people have just floored the gas pedal like they're supposed to?! WTF, David Blaine!

In the course of loudly extolling my expressions of horror and disbelief, i missed my exit. This helped my mood enormously when i discovered, about fifteen minutes later, that i'd run out of freeway and arrived in some random coastal town. My sense of LA geography is still pretty hit and miss, but i was pretty sure this was not the Long Beach i'd been aiming myself at. So, i promptly did a second illegal thing. I called a friend who'd lived here on my cell phone that doesn't have a headset, and panicked in his ear for a few minutes. Thank heavens i did. He not only knew i'd wandered into Newport Beach, but further, if i'd backtracked and followed the rest of the directions properly, i would have taken the 405 to San Diego. Now San Diego is a charming place, but it's also about an hour south of where i wanted to be. Eventually he straightened me out and got me pointed in the right direction.

But back to that light. I firmly believe that had i been pulled over for blowing it, i could have contested it in court. In that the law is firmly based in the actions of a "reasonable person", no judge could have convicted me for running the blasted thing. "I'm sorry, your honor, but no reasonable person would put a stop light there. It's a sure fire way to create a five out of state plate vehicle pile up."

Then again, this is Los Angeles. The judge may have been insane as well and popped me for it.

I have a particular horror of LA freeways. They do things down here like putting stop signs five feet into an offramp. They have these commuter lanes set up down here that would be great, but they don't tell you that once you've gotten in one, ten feet later a three foot wall will be shoved up through the road and if you wanted to get off a couple exits later, you're screwed. You are now obligated to drive in that lane until it winds down somewhere in the middle of Satan's intestinal tract. This is generally about 40 miles south of your destination.

Oh, and one of the all time genius bits of evil perpetrated by whatever twisted kindergartener set these things up... NEVER take an exit if you can't see the next onramp from where you're turning. It can take you a good hour to find your way back to the road.

I do have one consolation, however. It seems in the last few years, traffic circles have been mysteriously showing up down here. I got used to them in New England, but people down here see one and lose their minds. I see folks in their cars, cussing and fretting, slowing down and driving a few extra circuits so they can take their exits without marring their expensive paint jobs. Having driven in New England for years where the things migrated from, i zip right through them and laugh at the confused, shiny people who look on them as the eleventh plague of Egypt. Ah, it warms my heart to see madmen thwarted by sheer common sense.

Lily Robertson, who is sticking with the PCH from now on, can be reached either at canopicjargon@gmail.com, on Facebook, or you can merge your comments onto this page right here where there is no preposterously placed stoplight.

Lieberman Threatens World of Warcraft

Have you ever been to Connecticut? It makes Wonderbread seem down right exotic in comparison. They definitely elected the right senator when they picked Joe Lieberman. He suits them to a T. His ideas are generally bland as milk toast, and he's a skittering caricature of chicken little. The NIMBY's love him.

The problem with Lieberman is that he's allowed into the Senate building and every now and then he tries to do something that will alter the way of life for real people. Well, this time he's pulled a doozy. He's authored a bill that would grant the President the power to turn off the internet. This from a man who probably runs around his house every five minutes yelling, "The Skynet's falling! The Skynet's falling!" Will Schwarzenegger endorse this bill in a fit of fond memories from his film days, or will he ask Americans to Terminate it?

It's not just a bad idea at face value, it could be disastrous for the country. Do we really need over 11 million people who play World of Warcraft headed for the White House lawn? Is the Pentagon prepared to defend our nation from itself against a sea of decorative maces and poleaxes? Could the Capitol Dome withstand an attack by level 67 mages with plus 12 staffs of plague ridden rodents? I think not.

He's named it the Protecting Cyberspace as a National Asset Act (PCNAA). I'm hoping it's followed apace by a Protecting America from Chowderheads Act. Really, it takes a long time to hash out a bill and go through all the legalese to get it just so before it's presented. In all that time, did it not once occur to Lieberman that Wall Street alone would make for a mighty effective lynch mob given the proper motivation?

Oh, and it gets better. This bill would create a committee (naturally, because we can't do anything without a committee) called the National Center for Cybersecurity and Communications (NCCC). Guess who will be running them. That's right, the Department of Homeland Security. Now there's a calm pack of people. Yes, i think a lot of folks would be really comfortable with that one. Criminy, even Ann Coulter fans would take issue with this bill.

Lieberman's "logic" is that it would be a useful tool for the President in the face of imminent invasion from foreign enemies. My thinking is that if they're going to invade via the net, there's no possible way we'd be able to see it coming, or even if we did, stop it with the push of a button. Even if someone did push the button fast enough, when we all booted back up, whatever nastiness was sent would still be lying in wait. If Lieberman's so gung ho about the net, why not just create a crack panel of hackers and geek gurus to protect the net in the first place and get it back up if something got through?

I think the only access Lieberman should have to the net is an endless account to a streaming porn site. At least he'd be able to relax a little for once.

Lily Robertson, who would be willing to personally take away Lieberman's quill, can be reached at canopicjargon@gmail.com, on Facebook, or you can leave your opinions right here, on the net.

Our Dog is from France

Dog Day Aftermath

Who came up with the idea of putting cones on dogs' heads?  I suspect it was someone with a sick sense of humour and no personal pooch.  If they did have a dog, everything in their house was at shoulder level and nobody ever wore shorts.  They also had no narrow passageways.

When i had a Great Dane, the vet sent him home with a cone after he'd been fixed.  He decimated the entire living room in under three minutes.

At Chez Connors, we have a black lab, Hallow, who's been coned for the last week.  If the poor thing wasn't uncoordinated enough by the cone, add to that the bit where she's been on some pretty impressive drugs.  She had a tendon in her leg operated on last week, and she's on the mend, but now we're just starting the process of mending ourselves.  We look for all the world like we were savagely attacked by one of those little voodoo dolls from Trilogy of Terror.  Our legs are covered with below the knee bruises from an enthusiastic furball seeking attention and knocking things into us in the process.  There are razor thin slices on our legs that suspiciously match the width of a cone edge.  There's got to be a better way to keep a dog from licking or chewing on some dog bit that's healing. 

Cone head dogs should come with some sort of rear view mirror as well.  She's having a hell of a time backing up.  When she gets in the way and has to make a U-turn, it becomes a seven point turn that you have to wait a week to get around.  All fine and dandy to be patient with her struggles, unless she's parked herself in front of the bathroom at an inopportune moment.

Hallow and i get along great.  I've missed having a dog around and i love her all to bits.  She follows me around a lot of the time like a little police escort. She's been called a traitor for altering the course of her affections.  Personally, i think she's just madly in love with anyone in her conical range of view.  Especially if they happen to have a small, extra slice of salami.  The trick now is to suddenly change posture and sit like a cowboy with my knees at a 180 degree angle when she heads my way.  Who needs yoga class when you have a cone head dog?

Here's something that perplexes the daylights out of me...how does a dog who can't find her own paws still manage to drink out of the toilet?  I swear to Pete, that dog can stretch her neck like a giraffe if she thinks nobody's looking. 

Patio tables are a mine field for cone headed dogs.  Especially if they're covered in laptops and various cord networks.  I've already replaced one headset and now i reach speedily for the other cords when i hear the tags jingling in my direction.  My reflex time has improved drastically.  

Luckily, she goes back to the vet on Thursday.  Hopefully, she'll get clearance for de-coning.  She'll be thrilled to get the rest of her world back in view.  We'll be thrilled to cut back on the first aid kit budget.

Lily Robertson, who suspects wearing a cone would grant her a huge measure of empathy, but isn't willing to try it, can be reached at canopicjargon@gmail.com, on Facebook, or you can throw her a bone right here.

The Unemployment Cliffhanger

All the little senators and all the little representatives have finally seen the light. The light is neon and it flashes the words, "Pork! Pork! Pork!"  Millions of Americans are in desperate need of continued unemployment checks until the job market stabilizes and congress is well aware of the fact that if a new extension bill gets voted down, the masses will riot.  So, now is the time for all good elected officials to come to the aid of ... themselves! 

Yes!  I'll just tack on that clause that gives my buddy the right to plow over all those endangered wetlands!  I'll tack on a rider that demands everyone pay homage to me in the form of platinum lawn jockeys!  I'll take Aunt Sophie out of the attic and put her in a brand new nursing home conveniently attached to a golf course staffed entirely by a year of Playboy Bunnies of the month!  This could work.....

Or not.

What they fail to realize in all their excitement is that this is a golden opportunity for us, as voters, to examine exactly what sort of porky selfishness our elected officials are after, enabling us to ensure that they're no longer elected officials. 

Face it, it's a pretty cheap shot.  Take something that families on the brink of starvation and homelessness need to stay off the streets, then put something totally unnecessary in fine print on the bottom.  I'm certain they're hoping that all we see are other senators voting against it in a blur of villainy.  The senators who are outraged look like the bad guys, and the sneaky ones come out smelling like roses because they were looking after the people.  Compassion is being, once again, eradicated by the force of human greed.

Does it ever occur to them that the reason they have to sneak riders onto legitimate bills is because they'd never fly on their own and we'd sneer them out of office?  Of course it does.  What doesn't seem to occur to them is that the reason they'd get sneered out of office is because they're doing something wrong.  These are people who don't wake up in the morning trying to believe at least three impossible things before breakfast.  These are people who wake up justifying at least three atrocities before they finish their first cup of coffee. 

I'm a freelance writer, so i don't qualify for unemployment benefits.  Nonetheless, even i find this business of delaying voting on an extension bill utterly ridiculous even though it doesn't effect me in the slightest.  Especially since the voting is being delayed so more and more senatorial dog-rockets can slip extraneous nonsense into the bill. I watch people get up every morning and hit the job boards, send out resumes, hit the pavement and fill out applications, all the while knowing there are hundreds of others lined up for the same job.  I watch the difference in shopping cart loads at the market checkout stands. If i had any money, i'd be the first to invest in Top Ramen or SPAM.  I'd make a mint right about now.  How can our elected officials not see this?

Technically, elected officials are public servants.  This is one time when beggars can demand to be choosers.  They want to eat, but they're mighty sick of being served a constant diet of pork.

 Lily Robertson, whose only unemployment benefit is the leisure to go to the beach if she gets too disheartened by the job boards, can be reached at canopicjargon@gmail.com, Facebook, or you can just speak your mind right here.

I'd like a consult for a Googlectomy, please!

While my coffee is still brewing, i do the equivalent of warming up the car.  I go to my laptop and start up my search engines so when my cuppa joe is done, I'll be all ready to rock.  The keyboard is waxed and i'm ready to surf.

Normally, Google is my friend.  Sometimes the letters are decorative to let me know if i scroll over them that it's a special day.  Google sweetly brings me good things in the morning in a gentle sort of way.  Today it turned on me.

Google, oh Google!  What did i do to deserve this?  I come to you for almost everything, like a faithful old friend, and then, before i've had a decent absorption level of caffeine in the morning, you assault my eyes with some preposterous new background!  And what's worse, you expect me to be pleased with this?  You're so convinced i'll be pleased with this that you hide the method to change the background, but don't even give me the option to turn the blasted thing back the way it was.  That's mighty arrogant thinking, there, Google.  Talk about user-antagonistic!

In the past, if we wanted to change something, we could log onto Google Labs and see what was being offered.  Not so this time.  Oh no.  This time it was forced down our throats with a Google's way or the highway attitude that makes me not want it even if i did find a background i liked.  Not cool, guys.  What the hell were you thinking.

And oh, let me tell you, am i ever not alone on this one.  Google has gotten so much negative reader feedback i'm surprised it hasn't crashed even their servers.  People are screaming at them to get this thing off their screens.  They're accusing Google of Bing-Envy.  They're asking when Google turned into Yahoo.  They're furious that there's no opt-out option. Well, there were two comments out of the hundreds of thousands that thought it was kinda cute.  I suspect they were written by an employee's mother and girlfriend.

One comment made to me by a similarly outraged friend was this: "Google may have done more for other search engines in 10 short hours than they have been able to do for themselves in 10 years!"  No kidding, huh?


One broad went so far as to post the Twitter addy for one of the VP's so everyone could tweet complaints to the management immediately.  I suspect that woman is on an alternate device at this moment ordering a new phone because hers exploded.

The moral of the story, Google, Dearest, is that it's not always easier to get forgiveness than permission.  The people have tweeted.

Lily Robertson can be reached at canopicjargon@gmail.com where there's a lovely background she was able to choose deliberately and can turn off at will.  Oh yes, and also on Facebook.

Wake me when the fiesta's over!

Sitting here eating a delicious left over take out enchilada, i start to realize that it's not an entirely bad thing, this migrating to southern California.  On the other hand, the fiesta colour fiasco has got to stop.

In New England, the winters are a lovely, sedate study in black and white.  Don't even bother buying colour film until autumn.  Total waste of money.  Autumn is scheduled and announced on the morning news so you aren't startled when you walk out the door and the trees have burst into flaming colours and the New York leaf peepers are about to invade.

Here, it's a different story altogether.  Now, mind you, like most right thinking people, i enjoy a festive pinata done up in bright colours.  Gives one incentive to smack the bejeezus out of it and get to the tiny tequila bottles inside.  On the other hand, there are things that shouldn't have that all in your face, look at me colour scream scheme going on.

For instance, one of the first things i saw when i got down here was a huge, bright purple tree.  Oh, and not just one, entire streets are lined with the mutant things.  Trees should not be purple.  Green with purple flowers, sure, but not purple as a leaf base.  It's just wrong, and i'm pretty sure it was developed by a gardener on acid who read a little too much Dr. Seuss.  Will you eat them in a tree?  Not if the tree is freakin purple, i won't, Sam I am!

Next on the list are items that have to deal with genitalia.  Sure, fiesta coloured condoms have been around for a long time.  We stuffed a tequila filled pinata with them once.  That doesn't mean i'd like to see a piece of manhood covered in one and headed my way.  But now they've really gone over the edge here.  I was at Walgreen's buying girl supplies and was confronted with designer looking black boxes with celophane windows displaying mini-pads in fiesta colours!  Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!  When i'm excusing myself to the ladies room, i have no desire to announce to the world in some banana yellow or flaming apricot hue the fact that i'm bleeding like a stuck pig.  Do the people who make these things think i'm about to display them in a decorative manner in my own bathroom?  If so, they're woefully mistaken.  Besides, some guy might think it was a very large condom and wonder who's been sleeping in mama bear's bed.  That's a gossip topic i just don't need to have circulating about me.

Then, just when i thought it was safe to wake up slowly on a mildly floral porch before i was assaulted with the SoCal colour barrage, i turned on my Google this morning only to discover they'd gotten into the act!  The entire page was set on stun long before i'd had a decent interval to digest my first cuppa joe.  Oh, the humanity!  This trend must stop!

Having been down here for only a couple weeks, I'll let you in on a little secret.  Most people think that "siesta" is Spanish for afternoon nap time.  I'm now convinced that a siesta is what happens when you've seen so many bright colours in a non-stop parade, you go blind for a couple hours and the safest thing to do is just lay down until it passes.

Lily Robertson, who must stop typing before her vision begins to blur, can be reached at canopicjargon@gmail.com or on Facebook.

Walking outside the Boxes

Relocating when you're a writer is almost as much fun as trying to get a good night's sleep in a bed full of live eels.  So, here i am, doing it again, because i just can't get enough of it, and no matter where i go, writing is such a lucrative profession.  Right.

On the upside, some wonderful friends of mine insisted that i come live with them while i do the job hunt, apartment hunt, phone hunt, vehicle hunt dance.  They're wonderful people and i adore them.  I can't possibly be the easiest person to live with, but i try to do my share around the house so my wonkiness is a little more easily overlooked.  I've also taken over a section of the patio table with my laptop, accessories, and continuously pollute the lanai air with smoke.  They seem to forgive me, but it can't be a picnic.

So this is how i find myself living with two of the most impressive pack rats on the planet.  It's an easy rut to fall into.  I'm an ex-pack rat myself.  First off, they're property owners.  This creates an enormous amount of paperwork that will inevitably escape the file cabinets and wind up in boxes.  The boxes have trouble reaching the garage because it's full to the rafters with home repair equipment and implements of mass construction.  The vehicles don't stand a chance of ever avoiding the light of day.

Adding to that, they've raised two chilluns.  Chilluns require a ton of paperwork, and when they grow up and leave, they rarely manage to take all their stuff with them.  On the other hand, they don't want it thrown out, either.  Most people just leaving the nest move into small nests where they need new stuff but don't necessarily have room for all the old stuff yet.  They are determined, however, that one day they'll have a place for their old stuff and will return to collect it.  This happens with the same frequency as finding honest politicians and discovering uranium under your sofa.  The few things that the children ARE willing to cast aside forever are cherished by the parents who, in turn, have an awful time throwing these items out.  You just can't casually cast aside that third grade diorama of prairie dogs (that look suspiciously like tiny troll dolls) popping their heads out of half a foot of glue and sand to gaze on a salt shaker rooster.  Especially since the two of you stayed up all night to work on it because someone forgot it was due the next day.

Now, while this is fuel for cluttering up a vast array of what was intended for living space, add to that the problem of working at Renaissance Faires.  There are costumes and props that need homes.  There's fabric for costumes that are going to be built, were built but may need to be repaired or let out later, might one day become part of a quilt, or is possibly just too cool to hit the trash bin.  There are clasps and frills that are waiting for the right fabric to adorn.  There are baskets that were on sale that will be needed when the current baskets wear out.  There are things that can be converted into other things as soon as you figure out what those other things might be.  That's at least two rooms worth of former living space eaten up faster than a drum stick on King Henry's plate.

Did i mention that they're readers?  Blessedly, there are shelves of books everywhere, and as with most readers, they ran out of shelf space years ago so you never know where a book might turn up.

Add to that the bit where one of the pair happens to be a musician and actually has a folk band.  More costumes of the Pirate, Gold Rush, and Renaissance sort.  And instruments.  Lots and lots of instruments.  Guitars, mandolins, rebecs, various and sundry stringed things of no discernible make or model, pipes and flutey objects, sheet music galore, and a piano in slight need of tuning.  That pretty much leaves the remaining crevices of the entire house gone with the wind instrument.

These people are doomed.

And now they have me.  While i try to keep my stuff limit down to nothing more than i can fit into the back of a truck, i no longer have a truck.  This means i have to put my stuff into a room.  It's a sweet room, but it's fairly small and i'm currently sharing it with the accessories that didn't leave with a teenage boy.  It wouldn't be all that bad, except for the fact that i left some stuff in New Hampster and it's determined to follow me via parcel post.  Until it gets here, i've had to compensate by buying a few temporary accessories that will be duplicated when the boxes of old accessories arrive.  Now i'm taking up space.  But wait, it gets better!  My mother is finally moving out of her home of 35 years, and she's decided that rather than take my old stuff to her new place, she'd send it looking for me.  One day the postman will arrive with even more space gobbling stuff.

These poor people are now beyond doomed.  Good thing one of them is a real estate agent.  Maybe she can get a good deal on a house to put their stuff in so they can have a house again someday.  At the very least, when i get my new place, they can help pack up their newest pack rat.
 
Lily Robertson, who adores her current digs, boxes and all, and thinks her new roomies are saints for sharing, can be reached at canopicjargon@gmail.com or on facebook.

Step away from the device and nobody gets hurt

Step Away From the Device!

How many times have you been in a conversation with someone sitting right in front of you while they were rabidly poking away at a keyboard, deep in conversation with someone else?  If you find this perfectly normal and even acceptable, you must be under the age of 25 and you're really missing out on the whole human interaction thing.  You're missing the nuances of conversation.  Humour loses a ton of delivery impact on "paper" that would leave you rolling if you could see someone's expression while they dropped the punchline.  Irony is so decimated by texting it probably has a support group in Berkeley.

I've been so appalled by the manners of kids who sit in the same room with each other, texting away while you talk to them, i've written columns about it and gotten a buttload of "Here here!" letters in response.  It's like talking behind someone's back or whispering secrets while sitting right in front of the person you're talking about.  It doesn't really matter if you're texting plans for what you're going to be wearing to school tomorrow.  To the person in the room with you, it feels like you're talking about them in a nasty sort of way.  Most often, you are, and you aren't fooling anyone.  And just so you know, hitting send, then smirking at the person you were just being nasty about is a bit of a dead give away.

Most text messages are short.  One, maybe two sentences at a pop.  You throw out some line and hit send, it goes flying through the air and lands on someone else's hand held whatever, and you're done.  They text back a line or two, and the "conversation" proceeds apace.  For the most part, not a lot of thought goes into most messages.  It's a fast way to communicate, but really, for anything deeper than confirming event time, date, and location, it's not a very effective way to communicate.

Kids are being brought up with keyboards that are rarely more than a foot out of their reach (unless their parents are trying to reach them, in which case, it's either lost or the battery is dead.)  Texting is their "natural" modus operandi.  Sitting in a room, looking someone else in the eye, and having an honest discussion about the situation at hand is becoming an alien concept to these people.

Even on a friendship level, you forfeit the warmth.  When you've had a totally crap day, which feels better?  Being able to vent to your friend and then having them reach over and hug you, or, sending a text that says your day sucks then receiving the response, "Awwww."?   Sure, the instant gratification factor is there, but it's about as comforting as a glass shard sweater. 

Now, imagine trying to solve a relationship problem via text message. I know, i know, relationship discussions suck most of the time.  On the upside, when you manage to have a really open relationship discussion, the problem is usually on its way to being resolved.  You also find out things about each other like the fact that you both might have hated doing something, but you were both doing it to make the other person happy.  Problem solved.  You can actually see that someone is upset by something you just said and they're not telling you for whatever reason.  That's a bomb waiting to go off that you'd never detect in the process of texting someone on the other side of town.  If you're in the same room, looking at each other while you're talking, you have just been handed an opportunity to prevent an explosion.

People growing up with the text-is-standard way of thinking are headed straight towards scenarios like this:

His Text:  My mother wants us to come visit on Saturday.
His Thoughts: Apple pie for me!  Yay!
Her Text: I made plans last month for this weekend. You go.
Her Thoughts:  I'm so not spending Saturday listening to your mom criticize everything i do.  Quick, make something up!
His Text: OK.
His Thoughts:  Those two would be best friends if they'd just hang out once in awhile and really get to know each other.  Man, this sucks!  I can't have my two best girls in the same room at the same time.

Eventually, that conversation will be followed by:

Her Text:  My lawyer is sending over the divorce papers and you should sign them by Thurs.
Her Thoughts:  Why couldn't he have just seen how much this hurts?
His Text:  Ok.
His Thoughts: Ouch.

I defy you to show me an effective shrink who will take a client on a text-only basis.


Lily Robertson, who admits Skype is kind of cool because you can at least see the person on the other end but won't get dressed up for the call, can be reached at canopicjargon@gmail.com or on Facebook.