It has come to pass.

Our street is one-way, a fact that registers with approximately eight out of 10 drivers, the ones who can see the giant DO NOT ENTER/WRONG WAY sign at the beginning of our block. The other 20 percent drive on, oblivious. Alan has taken, in the last few years, to yelling at these drivers as they go past our house.

“One-way street!” he barks from the porch swing, after which I always scold him.

“You sound like the crazy old man with a plate in his head,” I say. “You are becoming a banal neighborhood cliche. Knock it off.” Like this works.

Today, push came to shove, or rather, moron came to his just desserts. A Jeep Cherokee went the wrong way up the street, blew through the unmarked intersection (because there’s no need to put a stop sign for drivers who aren’t supposed to be there to see) and got T-boned. It wasn’t a bad accident, but I knew it would bring Alan out of the basement, this event being the event he’s warned about for years now. The fruition of his dire prophecy! Of course he was the second person on the scene.

No one was hurt, but true to form, the driver was a moron. “I knew I was going the wrong way, but I couldn’t find a place to turn around,” he said. This didn’t stop him from bombing through the intersection without even slowing down, though.

I’m afraid that was the highlight of our day, other than the Thai food at dinner — a red curry of chicken thighs, peppers and onions, prepared by yours truly on the spur of the moment with some curry paste and coconut milk. Mmmm. The thighs are where the flava is, I always say, in unison with about every other serious cook in the world. We spent the rest of the Sabbath cleaning, cleaning, cleaning, throwing away and cleaning some more. How can a person like me, who considers herself the antithesis of a pack rat, own so much crap? But much of it isn’t crap, which is why it took so long. I’m particularly fond of old letters and amusing stuff sent through the mail, and I had a good chuckle over a bushel-basket full, but I tried to be merciless in pitching. I look forward to the paperless society, but I notice that the longer we’re around, the more we make.

I found a postcard from Deb, postmarked 9 Feb 1988. Text: I think I’m seriously nuts about this Mike person. It goes on, then concludes, I’m thinking of marrying this guy. Am I nuts? She was not, it turns out. She married this Mike person — we now just call him Mike — they had two kids and are still married.

I can’t throw this away. That’s good news for Rubbermaid and their stacking storage boxes, I always say.

Here’s something else I found — a 3-by-10 picture frame from Pottery Barn, still in the box, suitable only for those rare panoramic pictures I take once in a blue moon with a disposable camera. Ten minutes later, I found a panoramic photo of Alan, Lance and The Blonde, standing on a street corner in Stratford, Ont., on one of our once-annual theatuh trips. Now it’s in the frame on my bookcase.

Then I went to the Apple Music Store and considered downloading “Hand of Fate” because it seemed to pertain. Nabbed “Fingerprint File” instead, a great forgotten Stones song.

Have I bored you silly yet? No? Well, then, you deserve a reward. You know Dave Barry is weeks away from taking a one-year leave of absence that could well turn into early retirement, at least from the column business. Good thing we have Gene Weingarten to fill the gap.

Only a few days into the latest round of BALCO revelations, the response seems to fall into two categories — shame on you and don’t be so naive. I’m in the shame-on-you camp. You?

Posted at 8:37 pm in Uncategorized |
 

11 responses to “It has come to pass.”

  1. ashley said on December 6, 2004 at 1:04 am

    I say we legalize steroid use. Even encourage it.

    Then, they’ll all die at 35, and we won’t have to listen to them be commentators on TV.

  2. Maureen said on December 6, 2004 at 1:24 am

    Hey Nance – I just realized that I’m doing the same go-through-the-crap thing around my house, but I’m moving. Wuts up??? Something you need to tell us?

    BTW – We told our realtor that we were *desh#tifying* our house to prepare it for sale. He smiled knowingly and said, “we call that ‘depersonalizing'”. A rose…

  3. basset said on December 6, 2004 at 1:26 am

    I say we institute a *real* salary cap in all major-league sports… how about 120-percent of the average local wage for a union carpenter? That’d take care of the steroid situation right there, because nobody’d have enough money at stake to risk it, and make pro ballplaying the blue-collar job it really is.

    I remember going to a Ft. Wayne Komets game back in the 70s and reading in the program about the goalie who also kept the team’s books, as well as driving a Pepsi route in the off-season… and the hockey back then was a whole lot more entertaining than it is (rather was, pre-lockout) in the NHL city I live in now.

  4. Randy said on December 6, 2004 at 9:50 am

    I’m thinking Barry could be that naive. I mean, I routinely let this guy I know who says he has a background in performance enhancement just inject mysterious s**t into my body. I don’t even question it, because I don’t want to be pre-occupied with anything but winning. I’m so glad he looks after me. Though I have noticed a bit of shrivelling in my testicular region. Not liking that too much, I must say…

  5. colleen said on December 6, 2004 at 10:43 am

    Yeah, idiot drivers getting their due can be schadenfreude-alicious. Especially when there is no loss of life or limb.

  6. Danny said on December 6, 2004 at 11:22 am

    “…shadenfreude-alicious.” Hilarious, colleen!

    Randy, agreed. As Jim Rome pointed out, B is a control-freak’s control-freak. Even if he had no idea at first, he should’ve been clued in when his hat size increased by several inches and he started being able to benchpress the family car. I am waiting for his liver to pop outta him like that creature in Alien and scoot on down the baseline at high speed.

  7. Dave Reilly said on December 6, 2004 at 1:07 pm

    I say good for Alan. I know where he’s coming from. I used to do the Garp bit myself. The street we used to live on in Syracuse had a steep hill at the top end and by the time they reached our end cars coming down it were flying by at 50 and 60 mph. I used to run out to scream at them that there were children playing all over, and I swear there were a couple of times I was tempted to chase one down to the corner and take out his headlights with my rake handle.

    I never had the satisfaction of watching one get stopped by a cop.

    But I actually wrote a letter to the editor about it and, amazingly, after it ran I noticed a significant drop off in speeders!

    The moral of the story is write those letters to your local newspaper, folks. People read ’em.

  8. John said on December 6, 2004 at 1:31 pm

    Letters to the Editor are second best only to the comics when it comes to the yucks.

  9. brian stouder said on December 6, 2004 at 2:02 pm

    At “neighborhood night out” this summer, we wandered down to the firehouse on the corner(#7), and I noticed a black Fort Wayne Police Department Chevy Tahoe – very sharp indeed. I was wondering who gets to drive it when I noticed that the uniformed police officer I was approaching had the words “Assistant Chief” on his badge, and then the Tahoe made sense.

    Anyway – I mentioned to him that traffic on Lindenwood tends to get pretty fast – and about once every 6 weeks, someone will be going so fast that they miss the second left-hander (the street has a swooping kink, and then a gentle curve…”gentle” if you’re going 30, but wicked if you’re going 60!), and I asked him if they could park that trailer thing that has the lit-up speed indicator on it. I had seen the thing on Sherman Blvd before, and was impressed.

    He said he could have it there by the end of the week, and sure enough, it appeared at the apex of the curve 3 days later, and remained for 21/2 weeks.

    People slowed, motorcycles stopped roaring – it was great!!

  10. jeff said on December 6, 2004 at 6:04 pm

    Every car on your street is going one way.

    It’s kinda hard for a car to go in two different directions.

  11. Mary said on December 7, 2004 at 1:31 am

    I live about halfway down a very steep hill, too, and yep, some idiots are really tearing along by they time they get to my stretch of the road. I live next to a park and recreation center, so there are always kids around, and I did the screaming thing for a while, getting a reputation as a crank and a crazy. Then someone in a particularly big and ugly Lincoln Navigator came tearing down and didn’t quite make the slight left bend. Flipped right over, rolled into the park. The driver was only slightly hurt, but it took some heavy equipment to get that behemoth out of the canyon. Now we have a stop sign at the bend, which is only run by about half the drivers.

    Marybeth