treppenwitz

look at me... Look at Me... LOOK AT ME!!!

Every couple of weeks I find myself riding along at a nice clip when I see a car pulling up from a perpendicular side street where it meets the road on the side on which I'm traveling.

No big deal, right?

But then I notice that the driver is looking away from me at the traffic in the oncoming lane.

And not looking at me.

And then as the last of the oncoming cars approaches, the car standing at the stop sign starts rolling ever-so-slowly.

And the driver still hasn't looked in my direction!

Now, I have the right of way… and if I were in a car I'd probably take the chance and let the insurance companies sort it out if the idiot ends up pulling out in front of me.

But riding on a scooter is a whole 'nuther game. It doesn't matter that you hold the winning hand (from a legal standpoint). In this case you fold… or die.

Every single time this happens I find myself staring at the back of the driver's head and yelling inside my helmet, "look at me… look at me...look at me... Look At Me… LOOK AT ME!!!" and laying on the horn while scrubbing off speed in anticipation of an emergency stop.

In most cases either common sense or my horn gets the driver's attention before they pull out, in which case I usually get some sort of annoyed hand gesture indicating dismay that I didn't trust their driving skills.

But on more than one occasion, the driver has started to pull out and then had to jam on the brakes when they heard my horn or picked me up in their peripheral vision as they turned their head back towards the direction their car was about to travel.

But by that time I've either come to a near stop, or swerved into the oncoming lane (traffic allowing) to avoid becoming a hood ornament.

What the hell people?! Didn't your mother's teach you to look both ways before crossing the street?

Season's Greetings!

If you started hearing this phrase the day after Thanksgiving (or worse, the day after Halloween!), here's some timely information you can share with the store clerks, cashiers, waiters who have been trying to rush the holiday spirit since before you even needed a sweater:

It's Decmber 15th and the Hanukah lights are just now up in Jerusalem (in Gilo, anyway)... and in Manger Square and the apprach road to Bethlehem, they are just now starting to string up the Xmas decorations!!!

Don't thank me... I'm a giver. :-)

So that's why I seem senile!

I recently read a great article which explains why we are prone to forget what we went to the kitchen for once we've arrived. It isn't the kitchen so much as the doorway to the kitchen that causes the disconnect.

Here's a brief excerpt from the article

"Passing through a doorway, whether we're entering or exiting, creates something called an "event boundary" in our mind...  That event boundary "separates episodes of activity and files them away." It's just one of the many tricks our brain uses to keep life organized. Our mind parses events out with "event boundaries" to help us sort through thoughts and memories. But in the case of forgetting things, it's "like the brain is too efficient for its own good, sticking thoughts back in the cabinet before you're done using them..."

Reading that made everything seem suddenly clear.  It also made the idea of open-plan loft living seem curiously attractive.

This morning I was rushing through my routine when, on my way into the kitchen, I cocked my arm to glance at my watch.  In doing so, I experienced such an 'event boundary'.  I barked my elbow so hard on the door-frame that I forgot my own name! 

It evens out though, because a split second later I inadvertently taught our eight-year-old son several words he will never forget, no matter how many doorways he passes through in his life.

Did I really say that out loud?

Zahava and I attended a cocktail party this evening in honor of a close friend's birthday.

During the course of the evening's mingling, the hostess was pouring samples of a chocolate stout beer for people to taste.

I was already enjoying a nice Pinot noir, so I passed on the taste. But when I saw another friend who is well on in her pregnancy tasting the stout, I casually shared, "You know, beer helps with lactation".

My wife, likely surprised since I often can't recall why she's sent me to the store, turned to me and asked, "how the heck do you remember that?"

I shrugged; genuinely puzzled by the question, and responded, "I'm a guy. We're talking about something that involves both beer and breasts. What are the odds I'd forget?!"

Sometimes it pays to spend that extra moment contemplating a response... especially in so public a forum.