The CCT

I have a theory about cars.

I've noticed this over the weeks as I've been jogging in the mornings. You see, the roads near our house are windy, with little to no shoulder. At 6 am (I know, I know) it's less of a big deal than, say, at 5 pm.

My theory? The Car Clump Theory, or CCT. The basic principle behind CCT is that where no shoulder or sidewalk is present and a pedestrian is sharing the road, all cars will travel in clumps of two, three, four or more cars. The pedestrian hears the cars coming up behind her, moves on to the uneven, often soggy grass. Thinking the car has passed, the pedestrian moves back onto what little shoulder is available, only to find herself in the midst of a car clump.

By the way, the inverse of CCT is true when you are the driver of a car waiting to make a left hand turn. Instead of traveling in clumps and thereby making it possible for you, the waiting driver to make your turn, the others cars will space themselves so perfectly that turning is impossible.

I believe CCT and its inverse should be submitted to the most reputable scientific journal available, don't you?

Friday Peevishness

Every once and a while, I like to list some things that drive me nuts. Like, you know, gravity. I find it very therapeutic. Maybe these aren't things that bother you. Maybe you do these things yourself. (Don't worry--I'd still be your friend. I'd just make faces at you when the need arose.)

Irregardless of where you stand, I present my Friday Peeves:

• The word irregardless. It makes no sense.
• Drivers who refuse to merge when told their lane is ending. Come on, people. If we all wait until the very last second to merge, we end up with a mile-long back up. Like last night.
• Drivers in a roundabout who yield to the people entering the roundabout. In addition to the fact that this makes no sense, there's the whole issue of the road signs.
• People who do not flush. Public washrooms or otherwise. I don't want to have to flush for you.
• Having my personal space invaded in salad bars. I'm going as fast as I can, I promise.
• Drunk screaming guys (or gals) at ball games. The likelihood of Charlie Manuel heeding your advice does not increase with the volume of your voice, of the number of offensive words you choose to use.

I feel better already. Don't you? If you'd like to get something off your chest, feel free to leave it in the comments. Unless, of course, one of your peeves is people who list their peeves.

Peevishness

So, we all have pet peeves. I'm sure you have your share. You know, things like drivers who cut you off, misspelled signs, or a GPS that says it's taking you to a Dairy Queen, only to bring you to, well, not a Dairy Queen.

I did not get a Peanut Buster Parfait.

But that's not the pet peeve I'd like to share with you today. No, this is a much larger problem. Worldwide, in fact.

I'm talking about gravity.

Yes, friends, gravity. It's one of my pet peeves. At this point some of you will try and explain to me the various benefits of gravity. And I suppose, yes, there are some good things. Like keeping iced tea in my glass, instead of all over everything.

I'm just not sure that outweighs the stuff that drives me crazy.

Perhaps it would be easier if gravity didn't seem out to get me. But it seems any time I try to do anything, every inanimate object in my general vicinity falls to the ground. If I try to get lotion from the cabinet in the bathroom, the hairspray will come tumbling to the ground. Hand soap? Well, just trying to use that causes Hubba Hubba's deodorant to fly across the room.

By this point you're thinking that my bathroom is just too cluttered. There may be something too that theory, especially if you saw the size of my bathroom. But let's think about some of gravity's other pitfalls.

Like when I fall down. I think that's more the fault of gravity than any clumsiness on my part. It can't be my fault when I'm walking down the street, perfectly innocent, no obstacles, and suddenly, out of nowhere, gravity pulls me down to the ground.

And let's think about the fact that if we lived on, say, Pluto, I'd weigh next to nothing. Of course, then people who weighed even less than next to nothing would then come up with some new system of weights and measures, rather than having to resort to decimals, so I'd end up weighing something like 45, 000 Plutomagrams, or something.

Gravity.

It's not your friend.