Is It Just Me?

Picture this peaceful scenario:

I'm relaxing upon my sofa (or couch), in my serene living room, TV on, muted (as always), watching my beloved Red Sox as they battle for the pennant, my faithful laptop warming my lap (and transmitting God-knows-what variety of electrons and microwaves and unspeakable potential doom into my nether regions), enjoying the fruits of my (and my lovely wife's) labor. Ahh, nothing like living the American Drea--

VRRRRRROOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!
SCCCRRREEETCCCCHHHH!!!!!

A car. Moving very fast. Speeding along my street. A street, by the way, that has a speed limit of 25 mph. A street, I might add, that stretches not much longer than the size of five house lots. (This being California, the Golden State, otherwise known as the state-with-postage-stamp-sized-lots, those lots are not large.) A street, if you will allow me to continue, that is situated between two stop signs, with my house smack-dab (I have never used this expression before, but it sounds so good here, doesn't it?)...ahem...smack-dab in the middle of those two stop signs.

My point being (and I DO have one, you know), is that one (and when I say "one," I'm talking about dozens of [add your favorite expletive here]) would have to really, really WANT to seriously exceed the 25 mph speed limit to buzz so fast past my house--AFTER STOPPING (sometimes) at one stop sign, and then seeing (and knowing) that they need to stop again (rarely) at the next sign, a mere 100 feet (give or take; I've not measured it...yet) away.

IS IT JUST ME?

Or are these people (using the term very loosely) who are speeding through my neighborhood, to get to their neighborhood, not really people at all? But some as-yet-named (or discovered) species of animal (apologies to the Animal Kingdom) that feel it is okay to disrupt (and possibly endanger) my quietude (and solitude and, more importantly, my RED SOX GAME!) so they can practice their Indy maneuvers just so they don't miss a minute of Wheel of Fortune.

I am confused. (Guess I should be used to it by now.)

IS IT JUST ME?

I've talked about this before, and still have not come up with a solution that would keep me out of federal prison, so I shall move on to the next scenario.

You're sitting beside your lovely spouse, inside a swanky restaurant, maybe holding hands (or a shrimp, recently dipped in tangy cocktail sauce; me: a limp carrot stick), enjoying the ambiance. The background music is perfect, just loud enough so that you barely notice it, while not too much that it becomes a distraction. The service has been stellar, your beverages chilled just right and working their magic (hers, an appletini; mine: bottle spring water...with a twist). Your salads arrive..."oh, yes, please, some fresh ground pepper would be wonderful, thank you--"

"HELLO? OH, HEY, YA, NO, NOTHING. JUST HAVING DINNER. GLAD YA CALLED. OH, YEAH? HAHAHAHAHAAAA! THAT'S FUNNY!"

No, it's not.

IS IT JUST ME?

Or should people (call them what you want) who loudly yak on their cell phones in pubic places (especially restaurants!) be:

a) tarred and feathered
b) placed in stocks and be publicly humiliated

c) hog-tied and forced to watch as you delete the memory from their iPhone
d) dragged into the restaurant's kitchen and stuffed inside a:

1) dishwasher
2) deep fryer
3) Turducken
4) all of the above

Where was I?

Right, enjoying a very complicated, yet incredibly rewarding, daydream fantasy.

My point is:

CUT US ALL A BREAK!

The utter gall and deluded imagination involved in thinking that ANYONE other than your mother (and she's vacillating a bit, too, I might add), wants to listen to YOUR conversation while they are trying to enjoy a nice dining experience is beyond comprehensible, well past ludicrous, and speeding right past ridiculous.

IS IT JUST ME?

I mean, really? Is it--

Hold on, I gotta take this.

"YO? AH, NOTHING, JUST WRITING A BLOG POST. NO, I'M IN MY CAR. SURE, BE RIGHT THERE. 'BYE."

VRRRRRROOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!
SCCCRRREEETCCCCHHHH!!!!!

Until next time...

peace,

Mike