Ron Chalice Weblog

Posted By ron on December 1, 2007

On a good day, my commute is 75 minutes — one way — I can cut it to 55 by paying ten bucks in tolls. Morning is not my thing, even though Sailor the Dog usually gets my shaggy behind out of bed while the sun is still snoring. So I usually pay the ten, although part of me thinks that an hourly rate for the use of a freeway that equals 512% of the minimum wage is a wee bit exorbitant. By the time you add a zillion dollars a gallon for gasoline — whew! (but I digress).

I figure there are about six ways you can deal with a morning commute. — Ron’s dictionary defines “morning commute” as “terror-filled moments of travelling bumper-to-bumper at 90 mph (144.84 kph to the rest of the world) interlaced with sheer-terror-filled moments of decelerating to ZERO mph (ZILCH kph), hoping the woman behind you in the Hummer will put down her cellphone, hairbrush, and mascara in time to see that you are slowing down.”  Anyway, back to the six ways:

1. Keep alert with your eyes on the road and drivers around you. (boring)
2. Unwrap a cheese McMuffin while steering with your elbows and balancing a paper cup of coffee the temperature of Venus on your knee.
3. Shave (faces for guys, armpits for gals) while applying make-up (gals and some guys, substitute scratching for the rest of us guys) and looking up your daily schedule on your BlackBerry.
4. Putting on mascara while using your cell phone browser to Google the guy you went out with last night for his credit history.
5. Trying to catch the attention of the buxom babe in the Lexus just behind you to the left, while avoiding impact with the 72-year-old woman in the 1991 Olds 88 Royale ahead of you.
6. Laugh your a** off listening to an audio book by Janet Evanovich.

Monty, I’ll take door #6, thank you. Audio books come damned close the the microprocessor as THE invention of the 20th century. Since starting my daily commute at 6:25 AM (Ar-r-r-r-r-r-rgh it’s Morning) on June 18, 2007, I’ve completely caught up with Stephen Coonts, make good progress on Patricia Cornwell, and gobbled up Robert Crais, Carl Hiaason, and Michael Crichton. Spies, bloodthirsty psychopaths, kidnappers, dead rock stars and little bitty predatory nano-bots–what ways to fill the time!!! Then I slid in disk 1 of “Eleven on Top”. And started chuckling, with a hearty guffaw or two thrown in. What voice. New Jersey at its finest. Pull me in, Stephanie Plum, Ranger, Morelli. I can see the gargantuan hairy mole on Mama Macaroni’s face.

What commute? Who cares? I’m goin’ to Jersey.

ttfn,
rlc

Categories: Miscellany
Tags: commute, evanovich, lifestyle, reading, work