Most Mondays I spend in Lansing (City of Light, City of Magic), and I try to get on the road as early as possible — I aim for 6:30 but usually blow it by a few minutes, mainly because I still make breakfast and find some other stupid early-morning chore, like reading Twitter to see who the real insomniacs are.
The difference between rolling out at 6:30 and 6:45 a.m. are noticeable. With every minute, traffic gets crazier, drivers get angrier, and if I can’t be on the road by 7, I might as well stay home. I’m not afraid to keep up with the pack, but there are moments almost every day I drive this route that I think Damn. I’m going 75 in the far-right lane, and still you sit six inches off my rear bumper?
Lately it’s fashionable to point out that some deadly thing “now kills more people than auto accidents,” and yet, if you check out the numbers, auto accidents kill a lot fewer people than they used to. Antilock brakes, seat belts, air bags — turns out they actually work. If you use them.
That said, prescription drug abuse now kills more people than auto accidents. Have a nice day.
Yeesh, Monday. Which will lead directly to a yeesh Tuesday and Wednesday, too. I wouldn’t like to be 10 years older so I could be in Deborah’s shoes, but I sure do wish I was going to Santa Fe this week with nothing in particular to do other than plan for a pleasant future. First item on list: Frito pie on the first of every month.
So, let’s do some bloggage:
This story overpromises something in the headline — the Todd Akin race is the start of “a battle for the soul of the GOP,” really? — but it’s interesting nonetheless. I was born in Missouri. I guess it didn’t take.
Another day, another scandal in Detroit city government. Today it’s the police chief, who retired after two women came forward saying they’d played Hide the Salam’ against all departmental regulations. One said it was straight quid pro quo for a promotion, and she’d saved the condom to prove it, and if that was more than you wanted to read about this particular situation, sorry about that. It sort of took me by surprise, too. Ew.
Kids, when your cocktails destroy your stomach — instantly, not over years and years like with our parents — it’s time to investigate the joys of a well-made Manhattan.