Permission to Speak Freely? Permission Granted.

Happy Thursday, Cooterinos. The beauty of a three day week is that it's already Thursday. After one day of work, I feel like I need a weekend. Work has been really quiet this week as well, and I've been contemplating taking Friday off. I'm sure I won't, but I try to keep my schedule flexible these days. Maybe something good will come up and I'll be forced to take the day off. A kayaking trip, a bike ride, the sun will be shining, I'll have some coffee that needs drinking. Who knows, anything might come up.

I started reading a book entitled "Naked" by David Sedaris. If you haven't heard of this guy, you need to put down your computer and run to the nearest media store to buy either one of his books or one of his readings of one of his books. The readings are great because he has a good voice for it. Not good in the James Earl Jones kind of way, but more like good in the little whiney gay guy kind of way. And yes, I think he's small in stature and yes, he's gay. His stories are so outlandish and well thought out, you can't help but to pee yourself or crash your car when listening to his narratives. If you'd like, I can provide you with a bootleg copy of his story, but you'll have to promise to buy a book or something to ease my conscience.

In other news, I rode my bike to Live on the Lake last night. For those of you who aren't local, or who have your head in the sand, it's a free concert series at Onota Lake. The lake itself is about a 10-minute ride from my house, but due my advaced state of addiction to physical activity, I took the long cut. It was about an hour and change ride from my house up and down hills, around a few bends, past the mall, beside some lakes; it was generally a nice peaceful ride. What wasn't peaceful was the traffic.

I'll never win the battle, as I'm sure it's been an ongoing problem since the advent of the automobile but drivers are generally jerks. Let me preface my rant with the following statement: bicycles have a right to be on the road. Bicycles are considered part of traffic, and conscientious riders obey traffic laws, stop at lights, signal when turning (75% of Berkshire county drivers can't even manage to push that little lever up or down before turning) and so on. When there isn't a breakdown lane - or there is one but it's filled to the brim with the detritus of, you guessed it, ignorant drivers - I prefer to use the rightmost lane. People offer all sorts of colorful suggestions when they find themselves in the unfortunate position of having to pass me, often without changing lanes and with a heavy foot. "Get a car!" or "You're fat" are common suggestions. Other less family-friendly suggestions often come from people whose car is worth less than a little girls pink Huffy (and not nearly as roadworthy), who ride in their smog-spewing Chevette with remnants of last night's McRib sandwich caught in their pitstained wifebeaters.

Yesterday, I noticed that while I was occupying a majority of the right lane, several drivers felt there was no need to move into the left lane to pass. They would simply squeeze by while flooring it, having no consideration for my safety whatsoever. It gave me some satisfaction to cruise by them at the next light, but clipping me with their mirror would certainly hurt me more than it would them.

Anyway, that's it for my rant on drivers inhumanity toward cyclists.

Live on the Lake was a pretty good time. I forgot to arrange to have a chair brought for me, but ECOW was kind enough to offer hers up to me. Talk about your reverse chivalry. I think P.I.M.P. was playing, but I can't say I paid enough attention to know whether it was or wasn't them. The eye candy was better than I remember, so that gave me something to do while I wasn't watching the band.

HECOW and I were both on the lookout for the fake engaged chick who has been sighted at many L.O.L. shows, "clubs" and bars, but never with a man. I'm pretty sure she's one of those chicks who walk around wearing engagement rings to justify not finding a decent guy. She enjoyed the company of JD and I years ago at La Cocina, but then slipped in some story involving her fiancee effectively putting an end to the conversation. "I come here all the time, maybe I'll see you again", she added as we walked away. Perhaps, but she's exhausted all of her free drinks.

Boy, I'm pessimistic today. I guess having to be at work more than one consecutive day is wearing me down. I had better take tomorrow off.

Over and Out,
Old Coot