Driving home a quick point

Yep, time for another brief rant about the state of the commute to and from work. Couldn't get out of my street for five minutes this morning, because two police cars decided to pull over a motorist and take up one of two lanes during the rush hour commute, as is their apparent penchant. In the one remaining open lane, the line of traffic simply ignored my ever-so-polite little turn-signal and pleading facial expressions. As I edged out in an attempt to gain access to the road, no one would stop or even slow down, even though less than 300 feet away loomed a rather obvious red light, and cars were already backing up. What has become of our society when people will no longer even consider relinquishing one car length in a gesture of humanity and simple civility? So, I did what any red-blooded American would do. I hit the gas, aimed straight for the taillights of one of the cars that had refused to let me in, and dared the next son of a bitch to hit me. No doubt, that driver cursed my very existence, and wished ill-will upon me. Good. That means, for at least a few seconds, they received karmic payback, if you will, for being an inconsiderate prick. Unfortunately, it probably didn't occur to them that I was not the asshole in the equation. Such is life.

Which brings me to a revelation which is also a melancholy sort of realization. The automatic transmission has helped ruin driving for those of us who are responsible, courteous motorists. Think about it - huge numbers of people who are rather incompetent behind the wheel to begin with would possibly avoid driving at all if they had to contend with a clutch and shifter. Car-pooling and public transportation use would likely increase. Yakking on hand-held cellular phones would definitely decrease. People would be forced to pay more attention to the road, and use both hands for their intended automotive purpose. Yep, let's go back to that ol' three-on-the-tree (crap, I am actually old enough to know what that is).

This blog kills 99.9% of all other useless blogs

We hear it every day. A mouthwash that kills 99.9% of the germs that cause bad breath. A toilet cleaner that kills 99.9% of the crud in your disgustingly grungy toilet bowl. (Hey, I'm no Mr. Clean, but if my toilet ever looked like the ones in those commercials, I'd throw it out and get a new one, and consider hiring someone to clean my toilet, due to my apparent incapacity to do so myself.) How about those hand sanitizers that kill 99.9% of the germs we sissies can't seem to survive being exposed to anymore (unfortunately, they don't tell you that we're so busy killing off the bad germs, we're also annihilating the good ones that help us fight a lot of illness). So, the burning question is this: Why can't we make a product that's 100% effective? Dammit, we get soooooooo close, time after time! One measly tenth of a percent! C'mon, guys, can't you try just a little harder?

It's even weirder than that one idiot dentist out of every ten who doesn't agree that some chewing gum helps prevent gingivitis. Or the one out of every ten Americans who still believe that George W. Bush isn't a megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur who is oblivious to the blight his administration has cast upon most of the world. But I digress.

We all know that the "99.9%" crap comes from a bunch of lawyers who advise their clients not to say "100%" in order to avoid unnecessary lawsuits. Can any of these companies prove their 99.9% claims? Has anyone asked them to do so? Maybe we should. I'd rather hear them say, "Our product kills a boatload of bad stuff in your mouth, so just use it, or you'll have lots of bad stuff in your mouth that you don't want in there." Then, of course, there'd probably be some lawyer out there who said, "Well, just how much bad stuff exactly does it kill? Inquiring minds want to know."

Studies have shown that all of this advertising nonsense is killing 99.9% of the brain cells we could be using to choose the best product for our needs, rather than the one that has the sexiest spokesmodel or slickest ad campaign. That said, I have to admit it - I love that gecko. Well, I'm 99.9% asleep now, so I'm going to bed.

Before I go, I just have a serious recommendation. Please check out www.freehugscampaign.org - here's a guy on a mission that is 100% worthwhile.

Don't try this at home, and some other late-night ramblings

So, I'm watching tv the other night, and I see this potato chip commercial with a disclaimer on it warning the viewers not to try the crazy stunts being performed by professionals in the commercial. Yes, some people are that incredibly stupid, and yes, corporations are that worried about being sued by those very people. Meanwhile, the tv shows aired between all the commercials, the movies we watch, and countless video games depict heinous and grotesque scenes of murder and mayhem (and yes, stunts we probably shouldn't try ourselves), but you don't see any warnings there, do ya? Nothing like, "Shooting hookers in the face and stealing cars should only be attempted by professionals. Don't try these criminal acts yourself," or maybe, "Professional sluts on a closed course. Don't try these adulterous acts at home." I dunno, I'm just saying... Wouldn't you agree that if someone's dumb enough to try and imitate everything they see on tv, they kind of deserve whatever happens to them? It's survival of the fittest, not the dimmest, after all. And while we're on the subject of commercials, does anybody remember when you paid extra money to a cable company because you wanted to watch tv and movies without annoying commercials? Now you pay 100 bucks a month for the shows, and they hit you with more commercials than the non-cable stations. How stupid are we? These guys are making money from 9 different directions, and they keep raising prices because they pretty much have a monopoly. Makes me want to find a nice, shiny, wet road and drive my car sideways on it at high speed (in slow motion).

Okay, so here's another disturbing trend I'm noticing lately. If you're a fan of 24 (and who isn't), have you noticed how anyone who does anything admirable on that show gets tortured, maimed or killed? The old "no good deed goes unpunished" theory in action. More and more shows seem to be following this unwritten rule nowadays. Real life is now mirroring what's happening on screen. Be a hero, get shot in the throat. Help your fellow man, eat lead. Is it any wonder why studies have shown that people are increasingly less likely to take any form of action when they witness a potential crime? We're being programmed subtly to believe that being good Samaritans will only bring us misfortune. Nice. And, by the way, I'm still trying to figure out why Jack Bauer always sounds like he just ran up 32 flights of stairs when he talks. Must be the residual effect of being repeatedly tortured for being a good guy and saving the world.

Okay, my final midnight rant for the day. I'm in the supermarket the other day, and a young, slightly overweight, tattooed, 5 o'clock-shadowed, buzz-cut, 20-something macho dude is in the checkout line in front of me. He gingerly puts his 20 or so items on the conveyor belt, managing to spread them out sufficiently to take up the entire thing, when they could have easily taken up only a third of it. As he's rung up, he chats on his cell phone while pretending to make an attempt at bagging his groceries. He holds up the line while he fumbles for his debit card while still yakking to his friend on the phone. I'm thinking, "This kid is lacking basic manners," but I give him the benefit of the doubt. In the parking lot, I'm putting my groceries in the car and - lo and behold - there's Nimrod, a few cars over. An associate has apparently been baby-sitting his car while he shopped for cat food and frozen dinners. He loads his bags in the trunk, and instead of walking the 15 feet it would take to place his shopping cart in the little cart return area, he leaves his cart in the empty space next to his car. It waits patiently for the opportunity to ruin someone's otherwise pristine paint job. Dude, they have wheels on them. They roll. They're metal. Do the math, you moron. Mr. I'm-too-cool-to-give-a-shit hops back in his green Chevy sedan and tools out of the parking lot, on his way to making someone else's day just a little bit less pleasant. After placing Mr. Considerate's cart where it belongs, I retract the benefit of the doubt, shake my head, smile, and head home, just a little more convinced that choosing not to procreate was probably a good idea.