Note From Athena

Dear Whatever Readers: Please excuse my dad from writing this Tuesday. He’s got a lot of work, plus if he doesn’t do his invoicing today, mommy will disembowel him and feed his entrails to the pets. So all told he’s kind of busy at the moment. But if you come back tomorrow, you will most likely find him, and hopefully large percentage of his intestine, still intact and prepared to amuse you.

Your friend,

Athena.

New IndieCrit Review

It’s up, and I’m giving a rave review to Monica. No, not that Monica. An entirely different one.

Monica, Monica, Monica

I note conservatives are whacking on Monica Lewinsky again, this time for her undoubtedly ill-advised but essentially harmless participation in that Mr. Personality dating show. Bill O’Reilly’s column on Saturday is typical sort of thing in which he castigates Monica of cashing in on her particular brand of fame, saying “Since Ms. Lewinsky has no prior TV experience, one can assume that the only reason she is doing ‘Mr. Personality’ is that she did Mr. Personality, if you know what I mean,” and likewise compares her to other Washington types who cashed in on their non-positive notoriety, such as G. Gordon Liddy and Oliver North, and Hollywood types like Wynona Ryder and Robert Downey, Jr. O’Reilly’s moral is that bad behavior pays off.

Two things here. First, let’s start with the admission that Monica’s specific “crime,” aside from not actually being a crime in most states, is pretty mild compared to, say, circumventing Congress to sell arms to a middle eastern country, or even shoplifting at the mall. It doesn’t even really count as “bad behavior,” since most women (and not a few men) do what she’s done on a regular basis without the slightest fear of retribution (maybe not to the sitting President of the United States, admittedly. But like you can blame a girl for showing initiative).

But second and more importantly, while O’Reilly’s correct in that Lewinsky’s getting her gig because she’s who she is, but it’s worth remembering that Lewinsky’s famous not because she came forward to the tabloids with her stained dress and tales of pizzas and thongs, looking to make a quick buck in a “gulp and gab” experience. It took her so-called friend Linda Tripp to make it happen, followed the hounds of the conservative press, who mocked her as a “portly pepperpot” for about a year before any of the rest of us even actually heard her voice. I don’t want to say Lewinsky is entirely blameless for the whole fracas — it was her oral cavity, after all — but her elevation to scandal superstardom is almost exclusively the doing of others. Lewinsky would have undoubtedly joined the legions of women who serviced Little Bill with little more than the thanks of a grateful President had not more ideological forces intervened.

Therefore, the idea of conservative flogging her to make a buck now seems like hypocritical whining. They made Monica Lewinsky — and indeed, it’s Fox, home of the most ideologically transparent news organization in the US, which is giving her her current job — so they’ve got no right to bitch about her persistence in the culture. They may be upset that she’s not sticking to the script and fading into the background like the good and silly little patsy she was supposed to be, but that’s just another example of conservatives theoretical plans getting knocked about by the real world.

Also, of course, I think it’s entirely fair for Lewinsky to get a chance to have a generation of people remember her for something other than licking presidential Flipper. I personally wouldn’t choose to be remembered as the host of a lame game show, but it’s not my life, these are the opportunities presented to her, and it’s not like anyone would let her have a life where she’s just another gal in lower middle management anyway. Let her have her opportunities. You can’t blame her for capitalizing on the fame, tawdry or otherwise, other people foisted onto her.

All But Merely an Empy Sky

I was playing with this, a script that generates a freeform poem beased on the text of a Web page you enter, and I had it generate a poem from my entry of 9/12/2001, which, aside from being about 9/11, is one of the more lyrical things I’ve written on this site. The resulting poem is surprisingly not bad, and eerily evocative in places. Here it is.

All but merely an empty sky
like this Nighttime eventually fell, and moon
had to observe, nearly anyone
anywhere in my daughter,
I did ask myself, Pandora unleashed
terrors upon the planes.
Eventually fell, and cheerful grace. Ironically, the
white noise of sky to celebrate that
surely my daughter who
loves to appreciate its blue
inverted bowl, set before
that there any in the
constellation of summer
with their cloud of
the major. We see that
singular sky, Before that singular sky,
like that. I
lived
less than five minutes.

Blogging and Novels

This is the 100th entry I’ve written since switching over to Movable Type, which averages out to a little more than 2 and a half entries a day since I’ve started using MT, so if you were wondering whether blogging software helps you write more, and more blog-like, now you know the answer, at least as it applies to me. On the other hand, I get three times the unique views a day as well, so that’s a nice reward for a writer.

To commemorate this momentous occasion, let’s talk about blogging and other forms of writing, specifically, writing novels. One of my frequent correspondents pointed me in the direction of a newspaper interview with William Gibson, a novelist who recently started a blog. Gibson said in his interview that he enjoys his blog, “However, if I’m ever going to write another book, I’m going to have to quit doing my blog as I have a hunch it interferes with the ecology of being a novelist.” My correspondent wanted to know what I thought about that statement.

Well, I wrote one novel before I started writing regularly on my personal site (that would be Agent to the Stars) and one after (that would be Old Man’s War), and I can’t say that the writing experience was that much different; in both cases I would sit down, typically on a Saturday, and spew out a chapter, more or less, and then that would be it. My novel-writing process tends to be fairly efficient in that I don’t do much rewriting (this is less an issue of brilliance than the willingness to improvise with plot), so in both cases the writing went fairly quickly — about three to four months each, and again, mostly working on the weekend. So in terms of work time, blogging didn’t interfere much.

What blogging does do, however, is offer what is best described as an “attractive distraction.” It’s been noted that man can do anything, so long as it’s not the thing he’s supposed to be doing at the moment, and writers are famously distractable. Blogging offers a special sort of distraction, in that it’s actually writing, so a writer can feel like it’s not really just wasting time — he is writing, after all, and he’s supposed to be writing. Sure, not on his blog, but even so. I wish I could say I don’t let myself fall prey to this rationale, but you’ll note I’m writing this on a Saturday, which is the day I typically write on my novels, and I’m theoretically working on a new novel at the moment. You can do the math.

But I don’t blame writing the Whatever for my distractability. I’m also distracted by e-mail, by reading material online and off, by phone calls, by video games and by interaction with the family (although they’re away just at this moment, so I don’t have that excuse). I don’t spend more time being distracted because I write online, I just have more options to be distracted. Thank God I don’t actually live near any of my friends. I might never write at all.

Gibson is correct, I think, in his intimation that when push comes to shove, one form of writing might have to go for the sake of the other. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’ll take off a month or two from writing the Whatever in order to focus in on a major writing assignment; I particularly do this the closer I am to a deadline. And, to go back to the theme of “attractive distractions,” I don’t just do it with writing the Whatever; I also tend to shut down other distractions in my life. It’s just that folks reading here don’t see me not playing video games, you just see me not writing in this space.

This is, incidentally, a head’s up: If August comes around and I don’t feel like I’m progressing happily with either The Book of the Dumb or the new novel (still untitled), then you’re likely to see an entry that says “see you in a month.” I never feel too bad about doing taking these sorts of breaks; as I’m fond of noting, I don’t get paid for this, and paid writing (especially the paid writing that actually ends up on a bookstore shelf) takes priority.

Aside from the question of being an attractive distraction, the Whatever doesn’t really pull me away from the mindset of writing a novel. By personal inclination and by the necessities of reality, I’m not one of those people who is solely focused on one project at one time; I’m writing two books, working with corporate clients, and writing magazine and newspaper articles all at once. And then I do the Whatever and IndieCrit as well. To be entirely honest about it, I don’t know if I could just concentrate on one thing at one time. I think it’d make me twitchy. There’s very little similarity between what I write for the Whatever and what I write in the novels, so it’s not like one is cannibalizing mindshare or material from the other.

This may not be the case with Gibson, for the simple fact that while all writers end up with the same end result (i.e., writing), the process by which they produce it is utterly individual. So if he thinks that writing his blog is going impact his novel writing, then he’s probably right about that, and he should therefore take a break from the blogging to work on telling stories.

Speaking of which, I’ve distracted myself long enough. Back to the novel —

A Brief Moment of Gloating

Why my job is cooler than yours: My copy of the The Animatrix came today — it’s a DVD of 9 animated films based on (and in) the Matrix universe and supervised by the Wachowski Brothers. I’m reviewing it for my DVD column in OPM. I’m going to watch it right now. The rest of you Matrix junkies have to wait for another month. Bwa ha ha ha ha!

(Actually, you can see four of the Animatric shorts from the Web site. See? I’m throwing you a bone, here.)

Don’t worry, though. I have to see Matrix Reloaded in the theater on May 15 like a common troll. The DVD gig’s influence only goes so far.

Update: Finished watching it. Coooooooooool.

Another Update: Weirdly enough, one of the producers of the Anamatrix is someone I went to high school with: Michael Arias, who was a senior when I was a freshman. He was a very short, very strange kid (as was I, but in different ways. Strange, that is. There’s not so many ways to be short). I occasionally wondered what happened to him. Now I know.

My Problem With Stupidity

The problem with writing a book about stupidity is not that it’s hard, but that it’s too easy. There’s so much stupidity in the world that you honestly have to work hard to evaluate which items show stupidity of such a high degree that you should include it, and which are simply your garden variety of stupidity.

Examples, you say. Fine. In addition to a number of longer “think pieces” (heh) about examples of stupidity in action — the French deciding to use cavalry at Agincourt, say, or Gary Hart daring reporters to trail him — the book will also include a fair amount of crowd-pleasing short bits featuring contemporary examples of stupidity, based on current news bits (or “Ripped From The Headlines!” as the NBC announcer would say about any Law & Order episode). I’ll jazz them up, of course, which my own editorial comments so the book won’t be just another collection of dumb people doing dumb things, but even so. You need the stuff in the present to give the stuff in the past some resonance, as if to say, look, stupidity is with us yet.

But in just one day, you find too many candidates. Yesterday I read about:

* The purse snatcher who was arrested when she tried to pass a check to a cashier whose checks she had stolen — and then handed over the cashier’s driver’s license as ID;

* A town civic pride ad campaign inadvertently featuring positive quotes from a convicted child molester;

* A man who tried to avoid jury duty by cussing out the court’s answering machine and was sentenced to three days in jail by the judge;

* A robot toy promotion from Coca-Cola which features Nazi-type swastikas;

* Two Southwest Pilots fired for getting naked together in the (hah!) cockpit;

* President Bush may end up being a write-in candidate in Alabama because the Republican convention has been moved later than the state’s deadline to certify candidates;

* Police in Belgium clamping down on public urination arrest a man urinating on a police car;

* A South African motorist arrested after being pulled over, having no license and telling the cops his wife’s license also covered him;

* The Mexican man who is offering his kidney for about $60,000 in order to bail his brother out of jail for murder;

* Ikea having to recall advertisements in Germany after discovering the name of one of their products — a children’s bunk bed — is coincidentally the same as the German expression for “good fuck.”

I mean, where do you begin? Aside from the Bush thing, which is pretty amusing but I probably won’t use because I’m avoiding Dubya material so it won’t inadvertently politicize the book, they’re all just so good. But I can’t use them all. I’ll probably use two at most. But which should I choose? Which would you choose? (That’s a real question, by the way. Answer in the comments)

I have a vague inclination to shy away from the “stupid criminals” genre, since it’s been done to death, but some may just be too good to pass up. I mean, it does take a breathtaking brand of stupid to pass a check to the very same woman whose purse you’ve stolen. That deserves to be commemorated somewhere. But does it deserve to be commemorated more than Coke’s Nazi-branded robot toy? Or the urinating Belgian? Or the foul-mouthed jury shirker? You see my quandary.

So, really: Out of all the selections above, you get to choose two for inclusion in the book. What are your picks? Tell me, and then later in the day I’ll tell you which two I’m most likely to use. Meanwhile, off to do a little work, and to cull some more examples of stupidity in action.

I Knew This Already

Good dancers make good lovers, says survey

I have nothing to add to this except to note that Krissy and I met because she saw me on the dance floor and liked the way I moved. Oh, yes.

Your Domestic Predator at Work

Krissy went into the garage this morning and found the bloody head of a mouse right on the doorstep, a present from Lopsided Cat, who spent the night outside, quite obviously indulging in his carnivore nature. She suggested that I take a picture of it and put it up on the site, but I won’t be doing that today. This site is a PG-13 site, which means gory severed mammalian heads are a definite no-no. She also left it to me to pick up the mouse head and put it somewhere else, and I did. Of course, I’m not saying where. I’m going to let that be a delightful surprise for my wife. I’m just that way.

Severed mouse heads are icky, but on one level I can appreciate Lopsided Cat leaving it at our doorstep. It means that Lopsided Cat has clued in that one of his jobs is kill small rodents before they get into the house, at which point either I or Krissy will be obliged to kill them, and then wonder why the hell we have cats in the first place. It’s no small consideration around here — because we live next to fields, we not surprisingly are at risk of field mouse visits. In the two years we’ve been here, we’ve seen two mice in the house; one I caught in a Tupperware container and deposited outside, back in the field, and the other had its neck snapped by a trap Krissy put in the pantry.

It’s not that Krissy is more bloodthirsty than I am, incidentally; it’s just that I actually caught the thing personally and couldn’t bring myself to squish a small furry thing between my fingers. That’s just mean. Likewise, had Krissy nabbed the mouse herself, she would be unlikely to murder it by her own hand. However, we don’t mind if the mice die, because they’re in our house, and that’s no good. But like all good bosses, we prefer to let our underlings handle the dirty work, preferably underlings who lack opposable thumbs, have sharp canines and no feelings of residual guilt about disemboweling furry creatures smaller than they are.

And that’s Lopsided Cat (and to a lesser extent Rex, who is mostly retired now but was known to bring down rather substantial creatures in his day). By leaving the mouse head where he knows we’ll find it, Lopsided Cat is simply saying, hey, it’s your friendly neighborhood predator, on the job for you! I’m glad for it; each mouse head outside is one less mouse inside, borrowing through our snack foods and leaving small turds where Wheat Thins used to be. And that’s the way it should be.

Cover Story

If you’re a lawyer, or just like to pretend you’re one in front of a jury (and that’s your Constitutional right!), then you might want to check out the quiz I wrote for the newest edition of JD Jungle magazine: “Are You Partner Material?” I quizzed a dozen partners from various top law firms around the country about the day-to-day activities and ethical quandaries they deal with as partners, so you can put your own answers down and see how you compare to the guys and gals who are actually on the top level.

There are fifteen questions in the quiz, although I asked more than that during the course of talking to partners. Alas, my favorite question did not make it in: “Sinking Ship. Life Boat. Room for two people, one of which is you. You can take either your most useful associate or your profitable client. Who do you choose and why?” I got some interesting answers to that one, let me tell you.

Anyway, the magazine is now out and available at law schools, many major law firms and selected newsstands. JD Jungle also has a web site here, although the site is not yet updated to reflect the contents of the latest issue. Nevertheless, it’s well worth bookmarking, and I’m not just saying that because they’re sending me money. Also in this month’s magazine, two people with whom I have very tangential relationships: Cory Booker, for whom one my best friends crossed a continent to work on his campaign staff when he ran for mayor of Newark, and Danny Hellman, sworn blood enemy of my pal Ted Rall, who is suing Hellman for libel (long story. Let’s not get into it).

La la la

Here. Have some music. This is a sort of slow, meditative piece, just right for contemplating a journey to the stars or selling mid-range domestic sedans. Really, it’s your choice. The music is encoded in real audio, so obviously you’ll need a Real player to play it. It’s three minutes long, so you won’t feel like you’ve wasted too much of your time if’n you don’t like it.

Off to take Athena to preschool. Be back later.

The Whole Day Off!

Hey, kids! I’m taking the day off because my pal Ted is coming round the house (yes, THAT Ted), and I have to clean up the place and ram through some work before he gets here. Now, now, don’t cry. I’ll be back tomorrow, I’m sure, with even more pointless and random crap.

See you then —

IndieCrit Review Up

There’s a new IndieCrit review up. I dragged myself off my sickbed to write it. If you don’t read it, I’ll just lay here and moan pathetically.

Ow.

Ow.

Ow.

See?

Meet Phlegm Boy

Some of you have asked: If yesterday was picture day, how come there were no pictures of me? After all, I am not notably modest — anyone who babbles on a site like this enjoys the delusion that people are interested in him. Well, the short answer is that I’ve been sick the last couple of days, and when I’m sick I tend to look like the very living definition of hell. Nevertheless, to satisfy you people, here I am, in the throes of agony, clutching my binky bear in a sad, sad attempt to eke some comfort out of a virus-laden world. I hope you’re all happy now.

Personally, I’d think you’d all rather look at my wife, whose exquisite beauty is enough to block out the fact that she’s sitting in the festering stinkhole I call my office. See for yourself:

Okay, that’s it for the pictures for a while. I’m wearing out my digital camera (well, its batteries are running low, at least). Leave me to my misery, why don’t you.

More Book News

Another quick note: The Rough Guide to the Universe now has an official release date: May 12, 2003. Which is two days after my birthday. So send no presents! Just buy the book.

Note the Amazon page to which I am linking says it will be released in July. That’s just wrong. And sick.

Also this is a good time to remind one and all I’m still very much looking for suggestions for The Book of the Dumb follow this link to get all the details. Tell all your friends and relatives. The more suggestions I have, the less time I will spend in a massive panic trying to come up with stuff. And that’s a good thing.

iTune This

I love me the iTunes music store, even though I can’t access it right now because Steve Jobs has initially limited it to Macs and iPods, and I have a PC and a Creative Nomad Jukebox. But it’s the first online music model that’s not mired in total stupidity: You pay a buck for a song or ten bucks for an album, and then you’re done. Easy. The music you download is portable, which signals that Apple assumes its customers both actually like listening to their music away from their computers, and are smart enough to get around any lame-ass copy protection they might slap on. It also assumes that people will actually pay for the music they like from the bands they admire.

And will they? I think so, especially the older music listeners like myself, who both have the money and like the idea of putting cash into musicians’ pockets so they can make more music for us. But even the “kids” will probably do it to a fair extent, with the bands they like. Which is what they’ve always done anyway. When I was in college, there were two types of music — music from the bands you liked, whose albums you would actually go out and pay for, and music from everybody else, whose CDs you borrowed from your dormmates to tape that one song you liked for a road mix tape. The mix tape music never would have been bought by you in any era, so as a practical matter, the music industry isn’t losing money on that music — in other words, much of the music being traded now is music that never would have been paid for in any era.

This isn’t a defense of file trading, which I do think has cut into the music kids would have purchased legitimately (partially because kids feel the money they spend isn’t actually going to artists; partially because kids want their music the way they want it), but a recognition that music industry is largely counting money it never would have had anyway. College kids, like everyone else, will support the bands they like if you give them the opportunity to do it the way they want.

The 99 cent per song idea is also incredibly useful for someone like me who has a long list of bands who have that one song I like but which I have no interest in buying an entire album. I’m at a point in my life where I’m not going to spend $16 or whatever for a single song I know I’m going to like, and 10 or 11 I might not ever listen to again. It’s not that I don’t have the money, it’s just that I don’t have the inclination. Thereby there are a large number of bands out there who will currently never see a speck of my cash. Would they (and their labels) like me to shell out $16? Sure they would, but I’m not going to do it. That being the case, they’ll be happy with the $1 instead. It’s better than nothing.

It’s also to the point that for most practical purposes the album — that is, a collection of songs from a single artist — is pretty much dead in the water. Aside from what I do for OPM and IndieCrit, I can’t tell you the last time I actually pulled out a CD and listened to an album all the way through. Right now my primary recreational music listening mode is the random shuffle on my Winamp player. The last album I thought deserved to be listened to start to finish as a coherent whole is Emmlou Harris’ Wrecking Ball, and that came out eight years ago. I’m sure there are other albums since then which deserve a full run-through, but I haven’t found them personally.

This degredation of the “album” concept is partially due to the CD format itself, which allows for 74 minutes of music. They heyday of the album was the LP, which could only manage 46 minutes total. It’s not too difficult to keep a mood for 46 minutes, but doing the same for an half-hour taxes most musicians’ capacity. Also, simply put, some bands are singles bands — they make great songs, not great albums. I want the song, and I’m willing to pay for it. But if I don’t want the album, I won’t pay for that just to get a song.

I already have a backlist of bands who have single songs I’d love to get, and I’m willing to drop some serious cash to get those songs. I could get them on KaZaa right now, but as I’ve said, I actually prefer to support the bands I like, and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone. All I have to do now is wait for the iTunes store to start supporting Windows. Sorry, Steve, I’m not going to buy a Mac and an iPod just to access your store. But when I can access it, I’m going to be a big customer. Count on it.

Picture Day Part 9: Strange Room

And so, we come to the close of picture day here at the Whatever, and I hope you’ve enjoyed our little photographic excursion. I leave you in what I call The Strangest Room in The House:

The story here is that the previous owner of the house decided he needed a bathroom in the basement. Which is fine, but then I guess he got to thinking: Why stop there? So he built a whole, actual room instead of just a little bathroom. Then his oldest child, who was 14 or so if I can remember correctly, had one of those “I’m 14 Years Old And I Need My Privacy From Everyone and Everything” moments and apparently appropriated the room as her bedroom. One questions why one would want to have a bedroom that doesn’t have windows but does have a freestanding toilet. But I guess when you’re a 14 year old girl you make do with what you have.

I believe it was also the 14 year old who painted the room in a sort of multicolor spackle motif, which I have been too lazy to remove because, really, like I spend any amount of time in my basement. Right now the room is used primarily as a place to put my drum set, although I suppose if we every really wanted to imprison someone against their will, this would be the room to do it in. Aside from being coercively detained, it’s hard too see how they could argue. Heck, they’ve got a toilet and everything!

Picture Day Part 8: Lawn Goes On

Every once in a while I note that I have a fairly big lawn. Here’s some perspective on that:

The lawn goes out to the telephone poles you see there in the distance. I’m at one end, and from where I’m standing it’s about 500 feet to the nearest of the poles. Bear in mind that this is only the front yard; there’s the back yard too (and a side yard). There’s also the matter that this isn’t the full front yard — there’s a fairly substantial strip of land to the left that you’re not seeing. It’s a big yard.

The reason you shouldn’t construe this as bragging is because all that lawn is a real pain in the ass to mow — it literally takes several days, unless you want to spend an entire day vibrating up and down on a tractor. Which is not a really great idea.

We got a lot of land because of some boneheaded idea I had that what I really needed was a chunk of earth, that whole “You’re not a man unless you have some land” thing that caused America’s European forebears to schlep over the ocean and mug the people who were already here. Now I have a bit of land and I wish I had someone else to mow it. Well, to be entirely honest, I do — Krissy does most of the mowing. But I bet she wishes she had someone to else to mow it.

Too late now. We’re here, we’ve got the yard, we gotta mow. With land comes responsibilities. Let that be a lesson for you.

Picture Day Part 7: Woof!

See, now, this is a dog:

By which I mean that you can look Kodi and say to yourself, “I believe this is an animal descended from packs of killers that brought down bears and moose.” As opposed to, say, a Shih Tzu, at which you look and say to yourself “This is what happens when you put a mop and a stuffed animal in a room with a Barry White CD.” Any grown dog that can fit inside a purse inherently has no dignity. Kodi doesn’t have to worry about that.

Now, bear in mind that the picture above has gotten Kodi at a rather photogenic moment, all big and happy looking and appearing as if at any moment she were to rush off and save Timmy from falling down a well. However, it’s worth noting that most of the time, she’s looking like this:

What’s going on here is that that is the door from which Krissy left the house today. And Kodi really loves Krissy. So Kodi will lay by the door for almost all the day, moping that Krissy is gone and she’s left in the house with me, who is not particularly interesting to her. Eventually Krissy will come home and the dog will undergo spasms of joy which are frankly embarrassing to behold (I am also happy to see Krissy again, mind you, but I have some restraint).

I once told Krissy that the Best Day Ever for Kodi would be one in which she came back to the house every ten minutes. Krissy notes that Kodi would get just as excited about me when I came back to the house, but that would require actually leaving the house every now and again. There’s always a catch.

Picture Day Part 6: Road to Nowhere

Jon asks:

“Umm, where’s the fence? And the neighbor’s house that needs a paint job? How come I can’t see the car behind your neighbor’s garage with three flats and one wheel taken off? Why aren’t you showing us the crowded street with no parking spots available?”

Actually, Jon, in that first picture (the one with the cherry tree), there is a fence, but it’s not one that works very well, in the sense of keeping anything out. It’s mostly there to prop up raspberry vines and demarcate the edge of my property (or more accurately, the edge of my neighbor’s property, since he put it up, long before I got here). As for the neighbors’ car, it’s better than the piece of crap White Escort I’m still tooling around in (because it simply refuses to die). And as for the street, well, here’s the view looking east:

And the corresponding view looking west:

I suppose you could park on the street, but that would cause the two or three cars that go by every hour (and the occasional Amish buggy) to go into the other lane, and I don’t think that’s very nice, do you?

Exit mobile version
%%footer%%