6.16.98

    It was rainy today. Grey with a drizzle off and on. Completely gloomy. Kind of chilly. I liked it.

    Perhaps this speaks more of my deranged state of mind during working hours but on the way back from the corner fast food joint on my lunch break I savored the misting rain. I heard in the distance a bus harrumph to get going and the traffic splissssshing across the asphalt and I closed my eyes and imagined London. How is it possible that in "the valley" in Los Angeles in Southern California in the middle of June that I am able to conjure up the sensation of a not-so-busy London, England, thoroughfare? Either Southern Californians are a pack of liars or this whole "sunshine everyday" thing was conjured up by some clever kids in the Pacific Northwest to drive people south and out of their towns. I'd believe that.

    Traffic. I just can't help myself — traffic is a major part of my life. I totally hate it. Today I took the 405 Wormhole home, which was nice. Perhaps I have mentioned the Wormhole before. See, the 405 is such a major part of my daily struggle that it's power has taken on mythic proportions. For example, did you know that I alone have the power to regulate the flow of traffic on the 405? It's true. It seems that whatever lane of traffic I switch into will immediately stop. I know, I know, you've heard others claim this ability but I truly posess it. If only I could harness and control this power; I would use it for good not evil.

    But, I digress. The Wormhole exists when I get on the 405 and manage to make it home going 45mph or more. This is when I am amazed at the 405. The problem is that this Wormhole is really hard to gauge. You have to time it just right and use other resources (tea leaves, the magic 8-ball, etc.) to come close to aiming correctly. Sometimes what seems like a Wormhole you will actually find out (usually somewhere around Wilshire Blvd.) that it is not. Your first sign that you have missed the Wormhole is what I like to call The Red Wave of Terror.

    The Red Wave of Terror is best viewed from above otherwise you get the Black Marks of Hellfire and Damnation. As you come out of "the valley" you have to make a significant climb. It's enough to make my ears pop everyday. At the top of this ridge sits the Getty Center and Bel Aire and asundry, fussy whatnots. Then it's a pretty steady drop until you get close to Wilshire where it evens out. So, as you're dropping into the city of Los Angeles you can see all the many cars lined up in front of you. Let's say, for arguments sake, that these cars are moving. You're cruising at 70mph in the fast lane when suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you see it...

    Beginning in the right hand lane the brake lights come on, cascading backwards and leftwards and The Red Wave of Terror begins. From then on out I'm lucky if I get out of second gear. The Black Marks of Hellfire and Damnation are, as you might have guessed, what happens when you're flying along blissfully at 80mph when traffic, seemingly without warning, stops dead.

    Here's a philosophical question that I have pondered from time to time on my commute home. It goes back to my Wormhole theories. My question is this: if on, say, a Monday I leave work at 4:30 p.m. and arrive home at 5 p.m. but on the next day I leave home at 4:15 p.m. not arriving home until 5:30 p.m. then if we could fold the universe in half would I at some point pass myself?

    Oh yeah... I got yer doppelgänger right here, baybee.