Feb 25, 2019
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on the road
closer to the Canadian border, the signs on I-87 are bilingual with English and French.
#BREAKING CRASH INVOLVING TWO TRACTOR TRAILERS CLOSES I-87 SOUTHBOUND IN ROCKLAND COUNTY
#BREAKING CRASH INVOLVING TWO TRACTOR TRAILERS CLOSES I-87 SOUTHBOUND IN ROCKLAND COUNTY
(WABC) The southbound lanes of I-87 are closed in Rockland County after two tractor trailers were involved in a crash Friday morning. The state police said the two trucks rolled over near the 14B exit in Suffern. All lanes on the southbound side are shut down until further notice. Stay with abc7NY for the latest on this developing story.
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Things I Wanted to Tweet/Post This Week, But Didn't
While I'm a person who rarely bullshits, and I'm sort of known for being a bit abrupt with in my willingness to share my opinions on future plans and overtly candid in my assessment of how past things may have gone down, I really do pull back at times. Sometimes it's because I know it's only going to bring on a ridiculous pissing match that will only aggravate everyone involved. Sometimes is because I appreciate how hard someone is trying and I don't want to discourage them.
But, this is a blog and what better place to be able to go and rewrite a little history in my imagination. And if anyone recognizes themselves here, I'm hoping "no harm done." So here's some things I tweeted and posted in my head, even if they don't really have the same impact now.
To the person(s) making fun of the panelist at SMBTV who called it "the Facebook":
Really, you self righteous twit(s)? You think it's okay to publicly make fun of a panelist speaking for FREE at the FREE networking function your peers worked hard in their FREE time to provide for you, while you swill your FREE coffee and scarf your FREE bagels? Shame on you.
Shame on every moron that jumped on board your snarkfest, and shame on the fellow panelist that jumped in when it was all over. I mean, it's bad enough to tweet it at all, but doing it when you knew it was on a live feed right behind the person you were insulting was the epitome of low class. (I think I decided against posting this rant because, obviously, it doesn't quite cut the 140 character limit.)
To the Really Nice and Well-Meaning Academic Who Recently Began Experimenting with Social Media Venues to Enhance the Marketing of His Program: When someone follows you, it is not necessary to thank them via a public tweet. You can do that with a reply or direct message. Nor, really, should you use Foursquare to tell me that you are driving on Route 7 or just came off the entrance ramp onto I-87. Please just drive. I really don't need to know where you are every minute of the day. The purpose of Foursquare is to discover others who are in the same place you are, or suggest friends come there, too. I'm guessing you really don't want everyone on Foursquare to join you at your place when you get home at night or "swarm" you on the Northway.
To 90% of the People Who Have Joined Pinterest in the Past Month or So: If you have 179 boards and they each have one thing on them, you are doing it WRONG. When you create a "board" you are creating an imaginary bulletin board onto which you are going to pin things--hopefully more than one thing. Imagine, if you will, that you have a bulletin board in your kitchen where you pin new recipes you want to try some day. Do you hang a new bulletin board for every recipe? I don't think so. In your office, do you have a separate bulletin board for every goofy comic strip or photo you want to hang up? No. You have ONE board hanging over your desk and it has a whole bunch of things on it. Go back and spend a little time consolidating the stuff on your 8 dozen boards into a few common themes. No one is going to follow your boards if there are 84 that have one pin each.
Ballroom Jacks on I-87
So I'm pretty sure I saw a Mitt Romney bus and a Vera Wang bus heading down the Thruway tonight
If life were a movie
Its like a scene from a movie.
Cut to girl driving. Her whole life packed away in suitcases and boxes. A sad song plays. The sun rises behind her. The trees are lifeless. The hills, barren. And the road endless. All the frustrations of bad timing and useless arguments about "what-if's" trailing her like a shadow. Cut to boy laying awake in bed. The blinds are drawn but its snowing in Somerville. Maybe he feels the same frustration that waking up to the same person two mornings in a row about two years too late caused the girl. Maybe he doesn't. Cut to girl's tripmeter. Only 60 miles into the 400 mile drive that will bring her new life and new adventures. The excitement isn't able to keep its hold on her. She's lost in what could have been. On the other side of I-90 a smoking charred van holds up traffic. Like a perfect metaphor for her life back home. Crash and burn. Cut to flashback. The dull light of dawn has muted all the colors in the little apartment in Somerville. Skinny fingers skitter skate across bare chest until they're caught up in a much bigger hand. And sometime before she gets up, before the unfortunate reality of the situation settles down on her, she realizes she's happy. They exchange the kind of sentiments lovers exchange. "I don't want you to leave." and "I wish I could stay here with you all day." But they're not lovers. And she regrets it. Her chest aches and her lungs burn when she thinks of all the mistakes they made trying to protect someone else. Some one vulnerable and already so broken, who would never do the same for either of them. Cut to girl. She's only 90 miles, a few dollars in tolls and an hour and 45 miles away from him. She could turn around. Spend his day off with him. Ignore the unfairness of life for 24 more hours. She could double back and set off for her new life tomorrow. But she doesn't. She drives on. She can't live life based on possibilities. She has obligations in New York. She drives on, hoping three hundred miles and seven hours is enough distance for her to forget.
Cut to boy. The sun has long since set over cold Massachusetts. He's put her out of his mind. With books or beer or friends. He doesn't think about her.
Cut to girl. Awake and alone in the living room of her new apartment. Replaying the last 72 hours in her head.
It's like a scene from a romance movie, but she doesn't like romance movies much.