My Morning Smackit
I like to think that I'm a pretty decent driver. The accidents I've been in have not been my fault, and I've narrowly avoided quite a few by virtue of being alert and expecting the worst of my fellow wheelsmiths. I also grouse incessantly about bad drivers in this city, and am quick to point out stupid things people do on the road while cursing at them fluently.
Apparently a lesson was being taught on my way to work the other morning.
I am always a bit sleepy on my way in, even with these nicer hours, but I forgot after years of busing to work how pleasant it is to wake up on a commute, with your own music playing as loud as you might like and your hair drying in the vent breeze. It's almost worth the gas, for that reconnoiter time. The music side of it also comes in handy while 'practicing' for the next karaoke session...i.e. reminding myself of songs I want to try, running over bits I can't get, hopping channels to find another one with which to sing along. Lately I've been a little obsessed by the Leona Lewis song "Bleeding Love" - in particular her melismatic ending - and will warble along with her whenever I come across it on the radio. I haven't purchased it from iTunes yet, because I know I'm thisclose to the "sick of it for awhile' point and, after getting it out of my system, will refuse to listen to it for at least a year so that I can get the pleasure back.
So, this auspicious morning, I'm sitting at the light on 132nd Ave NE, waiting to turn left down 124th and start the day. I'm maybe five cars back in the line, and have been listening to Ms. Lewis since passing Evergreen Hospital, so you know it's almost time for the big climax. She starts in passionately, I chime in with no less vigor, and suddenly I realize that my eyes have been closed, head thrown back, mouth agape for far longer than is safe in traffic. I lower my chin and realize that the light has changed and I'm now apparently reserving a spot in the lane, as there's a good 40 feet of road in front of me and four cars honking behind me.
Oh, the chagrin. Nothing worse than the fast-pedal scoot with angry evidence of your doofusness following behind you....
Apparently a lesson was being taught on my way to work the other morning.
I am always a bit sleepy on my way in, even with these nicer hours, but I forgot after years of busing to work how pleasant it is to wake up on a commute, with your own music playing as loud as you might like and your hair drying in the vent breeze. It's almost worth the gas, for that reconnoiter time. The music side of it also comes in handy while 'practicing' for the next karaoke session...i.e. reminding myself of songs I want to try, running over bits I can't get, hopping channels to find another one with which to sing along. Lately I've been a little obsessed by the Leona Lewis song "Bleeding Love" - in particular her melismatic ending - and will warble along with her whenever I come across it on the radio. I haven't purchased it from iTunes yet, because I know I'm thisclose to the "sick of it for awhile' point and, after getting it out of my system, will refuse to listen to it for at least a year so that I can get the pleasure back.
So, this auspicious morning, I'm sitting at the light on 132nd Ave NE, waiting to turn left down 124th and start the day. I'm maybe five cars back in the line, and have been listening to Ms. Lewis since passing Evergreen Hospital, so you know it's almost time for the big climax. She starts in passionately, I chime in with no less vigor, and suddenly I realize that my eyes have been closed, head thrown back, mouth agape for far longer than is safe in traffic. I lower my chin and realize that the light has changed and I'm now apparently reserving a spot in the lane, as there's a good 40 feet of road in front of me and four cars honking behind me.
Oh, the chagrin. Nothing worse than the fast-pedal scoot with angry evidence of your doofusness following behind you....
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