This was going to be an all-out rant on the stupid redneck who ticked me off on the commute in this morning. Taking inspiration from another blogger, I figured I would expose the jerk with the license plate to the left: Just because you drive a huge honkin’ Dodge pickup doesn’t mean that you own the road. And as I expect others to see the little fish on my car and hold me to a higher standard, I expect the same of you as you proudly display your law enforcement sticker. C’mon, man, try showing a little consideration next time.

I must apologize, though, for all those drivers that had to endure what I’m sure was a very obnoxious experience driving next to me on the way home as I blasted Pearl Jam at ear-splitting levels. After all, the weather was just perfect for rolling all the windows down, opening the sunroof, and blasting some nostalgic music.

Speaking of nostalgia, I had a major flashback of helping a college friend work through a break up one night. Piling into his tiny “Le Car” (make tinier by the fact that my overweight buddy filled more than his half of the car), we wound our way up the hills around Shippensburg at much higher-than-safe speeds blasting Jeremy and other 90s grunge. Nothing gets you over the blues than a high speed drive in a piece of junk car and music blasting out of crackly speakers on a cool night.  Ahh, college days…