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Sunday,
Imagine, if you will, this hick driving a truck on the freeway and flipping me the bird. What, you may ask, might inspire someone to engage in such uncouth, churlish behavior? Did I swerve my Jeep in front of him suddenly without signaling? No. Was I driving too slow? No. Was I driving too fast? No. Did I have a Gore/Lieberman bumpersticker on my rear window? Yes! Oh, to have had a digital camera handy. Then you would have seen this particular goober in all his inbred, redneckiness-glory. Lo, through the panacea of Photoshop am I able to render something similar. (Perhaps the fellow was one of GWBush's Rent-A-Republican-Protester™ "volunteers" just come off a recent demonstration-high.) Anyway. I was driving down I-5 on Saturday after having seen Bounce (Gwenyth Paltrow/Ben Afleck flick). As I neared the "S-curve" near the 10th Avenue offramp, I noticed a shiny new Ford F-150 just in front of me and to the side. Nothing out of the ordinary -- that is, until I got a bit ahead of the truck. Apparently, just enough for the driver to see my Gore/Lieberman sticker. Suddenly I see the shiny black carapace of the F-150 swerving at me. I kid you not. It meant business. At first I thought that perhaps the driver had lost momentary control of his vehicle. I turned my head toward the black truck. Oh, he'd lost control alright -- of his f**king senses for shit's sake! The driver had the full length of his arm extruded from the window, loooong middle finger extended and stabbing upward at me. And uuuuggggly. Long dirty, greasy blond hair tied in a ponytail. Small, slanted forehead. Budging eyes. Your standard angly goofy-gus-hick-redneck. He kept shouting something -- though I really couldn't hear above the freeway noise (I did, however, read the word "bitch" formed on his lips). I thought, "What the f**k...?" I just waved at him and shook my head. (NOTE: When someone flips me off, I do not respond in kind. I laugh and wave at the idiot proffering the finger. It shows that they have not succeeded in pissing me off. They drive off, unsatisfied. Try it sometime.) In a nano-second it dawned on me what drew this creature's ire. My Gore/Lieberman sticker. Of course! Suddenly the truck once again swerves dangerously close to my Jeep's right front fender. I glance at the moron keeping pace beside me. He's now holding up a defaced Gore/Lieberman yard sign and stabbing his middle finger at it, still shouting. And again, I shake my head and laugh at him. I mean, Jeebus, his man Dubya's headed for the White House -- but he's pissed because I have The Enemy's sticker on my vehicle. So, just before he narrowly misses his offramp, I mouth "GROW UP!" (It would have been quite fitting for the assmonkey to have collided with the pillar nearest the offramp's "gore-point," would it not? I can just imagine his explanation to the highway patrol officer, "Well...if that liberal bitch didn't have no Gore sticker on her car, I wouldna hit the...the...CE-ment thing over there.") People, people, people. Listen. I live in San Diego, California -- second only to Orange County in extremely high Republican population. I don't know the exact ratio, but I think Republicans outnumber Democrats nearly ten to one. So it's safe to say that I've seen my fair share of Bush/Cheney stickers lately. Do I drive alongside them, flipping the bird and screaming? Of course not. What good would that serve? I personally don't give a shit what friggin' bumpersticker you slap on your car. And you shouldn't give a shit about what I put on mine. I mean, in my head I might be gesticulating like a madwoman whilst shouting, "Die fascist Republican scumbag!" But not in real-time. It's not my style -- and it shouldn't be yours, either. Tolerance, people.
I can't believe it's December already. One thing we can count on: no furor over the Y2K bug this year. Ack! Sorry I mentioned the loathesome term. But isn't it nice not having to witness millions of people smugly stockpiling rations, excitedly talking about anarchy in the streets? And, of course, the comeuppance afterward when nothing goes amiss...
Meanwhile, my Flash skills continue to improve. I'm actually having fun with it. As I've said before, I intend to become a Flash guru. I'm hoping to join the Math Mentor project (through San Diego City College) as a Flash intern eventually. They're hoping to get full funding so that the interns will actually get paid. They're also hoping to eventually market the program as software. Sounds like a good opportunity for experience and job networking. And, as promised once before, I shall now inflict upon you further examples of my Flash-doodles. Oh come on. Just humor me. I realize no one's going to say, "Wow!" after gazing at my pathetic offerings -- but just wait until I'm Master Class at this stuff. At least I now know my way around a tween. Of course, when we get to tell-targeting and setting variables...oooh heady stuff. But I'm up for it, man. Oh yes I am.
Oh, my rating for Bounce? I'll give it: (Um, if for some weird reason you'd like to borrow the rotating stars, please do. And for some weird reason I'd like to get credit for them.)
This page webbed by Anne Hutchins. Yes I did it myself. Honest. Copyright
© 2000.
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