TRAFFIC, need I say more. Okay, anyone who lives in a big city (and even smaller ones) hates traffic. Patience, I'm counseled. Somewhere along the years, I hit the delete key on patience or maybe like a sense of direction I was simply born without.
So on with my raving. I work in the Medical Center in Houston. When my commute of 10 miles takes an hour, I feel I'm justified in wanting to drag the guy who just ran up on my bumper from his car and beat him with his cell phone.
Then there's the interstate, God help us. I've always been a sports car enthusiast (make that car crazy—if it has two seats and four wheels, count me in). I've owned a Jaguar XKE, an MGB, a Triumph TR6, now drive a Mazdaspeed Miata, a turbo-charged roadster. Whipping a nimble convertible around mountain roads is fun. Getting on Highway 59 North in rush hour is suicide.
Several times, when I bred Andalusian horses, I visited Los Angeles for shows or looking at prospective purchases. A friend took me on an adventure on an LA interstate. Ten years ago in the City of Angels, you planned your entire day around traffic. I swore I'd never live in a city where my life revolved around seas of taillights. Never say never.
My ex is British and when someone chatters on endlessly, he asks, "What are you rabbiting on about?"
So that's my rabbit-on for the day. Happy motoring. And as the suspect ending to this little rant, I saw a bumper sticker on a truck here in Texas: Keep Honking. I'm reloading.
So on with my raving. I work in the Medical Center in Houston. When my commute of 10 miles takes an hour, I feel I'm justified in wanting to drag the guy who just ran up on my bumper from his car and beat him with his cell phone.
Then there's the interstate, God help us. I've always been a sports car enthusiast (make that car crazy—if it has two seats and four wheels, count me in). I've owned a Jaguar XKE, an MGB, a Triumph TR6, now drive a Mazdaspeed Miata, a turbo-charged roadster. Whipping a nimble convertible around mountain roads is fun. Getting on Highway 59 North in rush hour is suicide.
Several times, when I bred Andalusian horses, I visited Los Angeles for shows or looking at prospective purchases. A friend took me on an adventure on an LA interstate. Ten years ago in the City of Angels, you planned your entire day around traffic. I swore I'd never live in a city where my life revolved around seas of taillights. Never say never.
My ex is British and when someone chatters on endlessly, he asks, "What are you rabbiting on about?"
So that's my rabbit-on for the day. Happy motoring. And as the suspect ending to this little rant, I saw a bumper sticker on a truck here in Texas: Keep Honking. I'm reloading.
