People Don’t Care Much for Pointless Asides…

Scenic Byways and Highways…

 

Oh oh…judging by my blog stats, this blog is in serious trouble.  Very serious trouble.

Perhaps I should finish my gun control post that I have thoughtfully titled “Gun Nuts Are Called Gun Nuts Because They Are Gun Nuts” or maybe press on with my thoughts on Emile Zola, a man about whom I have just the most simple biographical knowledge…or maybe it is time to finish my thoughts on why it is time to resurrect Marx’s theory of surplus value as it relates to today’s jobs crisis.

 

Or I could tell you about a woman I saw today park in a spot designated for handicapped drivers.  I think I’ll do that.

 

It is the damnedest thing.

 

We begin in a parking lot at a strip mall.  It is a brutally ugly strip mall situated in a desolate suburban waste so I am  trying not to make eye contact with ANYTHING when a large, late-model American sedan pulls up in the spot next to me.  This strip mall, like most strip malls, has a mostly empty parking lot so I thought it was odd that the woman would choose a spot right next to me until, of course, I see that it is a space reserved for handicapped drivers.

 

Immediately, I am ashamed to say, I am curious.  What kind of handicap could this woman have?  I was eager to know.

 

After much fumbling about in the car — and I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but I kind of expected it because I was sure she was getting a cane or an oxygen tank or something — she eventually  pops out of the car as light and cheery as a school boy.

 

Something just didn’t seem right.

 

So I checked and yes there was a rear view mirror thing hanging on the rear view mirror that likely validated her use of the handicap space, but gee…she didn’t seem very handicapped herself.  She must be picking someone up or maybe hauling a large load of something for someone who couldn’t move as well as she could.

 

But nope…she closed her car door, buttoned up her coat against the cold and  then walked past three store fronts — and past a half a dozen open parking spaces — into a Subway sandwich shop.  And that didn’t make sense.

 

Maybe she was picking up someone.  I waited.

 

Ten minutes later out she comes, spry as a wood nymph, escorting a perfectly healthy Subway sack back to her permit-only car.  And right past several open spaces again.  I’m guessing at this point that she’ll go into the store in front of the handicap spot, get her waiting handicapped friend and take him or her from the mall.  But I am wrong.  She gets in her car, sets lunch on the console, and drives away.

 

(I gave her a look.)

 

I am wondering, however, why, with several more convenient spaces open, did someone — who by all appearances didn’t need the benefit of a handicap parking spot, regardless of the parking situation — park in a handicap spot when she had a choice of several a more reasonable spaces closer to the Subway door?

 

Emile Zola.  Never Drove a Car.  Never Had to Park.

 

Because people are damn odd, that’s why.

 

But who knows, maybe she is writing a better blog than I can write.  Maybe she knows more about Emile Zola than most people know.  Perhaps she has already thought out the connections between Marx’s theory of surplus value and the causes of our lingering employment problems.  Or maybe she’s a nut.

There is time to ponder…

 

In the meantime, I’ll write about something else.  I promise.  Until I do, scroll down and search this blog for something better to read.  Tell your friends to do the same.  Let me know what you find.

 

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• Patience is a Virtue and also a use of a good story (mylatenightcoffee.wordpress.com)

 

Stopping and Parking in Minneapolis

Odds are good if you know someone from Minnesota you know a lousy driver.  The sad fact about my home state is just that.  Minnesotans truly cannot drive.  (Name a world class Formula 1 racer from Minnesota.  Quick.  See…?)  Harold’s friend Maude looks like a blue ribbon driving instructor in comparison with most Minnesota drivers.  I speak the truth.

We are equally as bad at stopping and parking.

In my neighborhood parking and stopping is important.  We have narrow streets designed for an era when driving on a residential street meant you were moving at a relatively safe 25 miles an hour.  Today that speed counts as a roll-through stop at most controlled intersections.

One of my new neighbors reached the point of action.  She started an online campaign and petitioned the city and got some new “No Parking” signs and fresh yellow paint on the curbs, and in the process she eliminated 4 or 5 spots in this already space-staved neighborhood.

(Was that a run-on sentence?  Pretty good one though.  It gives you a sense of what driving is like in Minneapolis.  A perfect grammatical rebus of sorts.  Let’s continue on.)

The real villain is Bad Parker — no relation to Fess Parker — and his following of wayward fumblebutts.  Look at this Honda family van.  One van.  Two spots.  When I rule the world — and don’t think it can’t happen — these cars won’t be towed, they’ll be recycled.

Where is Godzilla when he’s needed?

But as bad as the parking situation is around here, stopping in fact is a much bigger problem.  No one stops at stop signs.  No one.  I do, of course, but I am unique.  Other than me…well, I cannot think of anyone else who does.  School buses don’t stop.  Young blonde women with big hair driving Pontiacs don’t stop.  (No surprise there.)  Priests and nuns don’t stop.  Bishops either.  Politicians and bartenders keep rolling.  Grandma can’t stop.  Even the police don’t stop.  In fact I doubt my neighbor who achieved a parking victory with City Hall stops.  In Minneapolis it is what they call an identity; it is true in itself in every form, people in Minneapolis don’t stop at stop signs.  That’s it.  It is true.

So now let’s go back to my neighbor who had the parking spaces removed the sake of safety.  Ah ha!   Haven’t we all been ruined by a genie promising the happiness of three wishes fulfilled?  Indeed.  My neighbor carelessly sought and found her wish granted.  I’m going to argue now that this was a mistake.

When we had cars parked on this corner, people were — most people were — forced to slow down because they could not see the intersection.  Now they have a clear view.  The result?  Well, recall the 25 mph roll-through at stop signs I pointed out earlier.  No need to worry about that at this intersection anymore!  Save the brakes and zip through at a cool 35.

The argument for removing the parking spaces at this corner was safety.  Cars drove too quickly and pedestrians were blocked from view by parked cars.  That sort of thing.  This is all very quaint, as if people in cars give a damn about pedestrians in the first place.  But I sympathize with my neighbor’s efforts.  We live in a motorist asylum here in Minneapolis, a place where the genetics of the native stock is more geared toward sleighs and wheelbarrows than cars and trucks.  (Check the phone book.  See any Italians in there? )  So any effort to make driving safer is…well, a sporting good show, but likely not much of a result.

I’ll just leave with this.  When parking, please ask yourself, are you a follower or are you special?  Be like me, be unique.  Don’t be a follower of Bad Parker (no relation to Fess).  And when you come to a stop sign, please … please, please, please…on behalf of all of us who have been hit, please stop.

And stay the hell out of my neighborhood!  No…just kidding.  Just having a little fun with you.  Come and have some fun.  Go to Tilia.  Great place.  I am the fun good-looking guy at the bar.

Related articles

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Oh boy! Today Was Made for Me!

Bad Parker, Photo 1.

Odd thing about my neighborhood…people can’t park!  They can’t drive either, but I have covered that in other posts.

I think a lot of the offenders are passing through and don’t necessarily live in the neighborhood, but there is something strangely out of sync here in Linden Hills when it comes to cars and drivers.

For a guy who likes to get his camera out and document the feeble efforts of Bad Parker — no relation to Fess, by the way — today was fantastic.  Seeing these outrageously failed attempts at parking is a lot like seeing a unicorn, if you’ve ever seen a unicorn.  It is amazing because you would otherwise think it impossible if you didn’t see it yourself…that’s what I mean.  And let me show you what I mean.

I offer Bad Parker, Photo 1, for your consideration.   Looks harmless enough.  You have a black SUV parked with an overly friendly gold Toyota sniffing its tailpipe.  Nothing unusual about that, I admit, but look more closely…

The black SUV is parked poorly; it did not pull far enough ahead to take one parking spot.  The space in front of the SUV and behind it is too small for a car to park.

This is bad enough, but it gets worse.

The SUV didn’t leave room for a car behind it, but that didn’t stop the Toyota.  How bad is it?  I present now Bad Parker, Photo 2, as evidence.

Bad Parker, Photo 2.

I have been documenting Bad Parker’s missteps in the neighborhood for quite a long time and I have to say that this parking takes the prize for worst of the worse.  Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

Yes, that’s right, the gold Toyota is blocking the driveway’

A driveway?  Pish posh, that ain’t no big deal.  Just access to a parking lot for an apartment building.  Who gives a rip?

But to me, however, it matters; it opens the big cosmic “Why?”  Some people want to know how the get the cream filling in a Hostess cupcake, I want to know how we got a driver’s license to Bad Parker.

When searching for an explanation I tend to think for easy answers.  I’m not lazy, I just like an easy answer if it is there.

Perhaps these people are Republicans, for example.  All the signs are there.  Boorish stupidity is a persuasive clue.  But I have to stop picking on Republicans.  They have enough to worry about with all of their insecurities and paranoia, their bitterness and hate.  It can’t be easy being afraid of everything.  Even a smart Republican might be expected to slip up once in a while if all his efforts were focused on finding the next scapegoat to cover for his failings.  Yes, no…it is time to ease up on the cry babies for a while.  I’m sure they can’t park — there’s no reason to expect that they could — but I’m sure suggesting that ALL Bad Parkers are Republicans is a silly oversimplification.

Right?

My neighborhood is reliably progressive anyway with a few old school conservatives wandering about.  They’re ok.

Bad Parker, on the other hand, is a menace!  And I know a thing or two about being a menace.  Oh, I have to chuckle about it.  Hey, everyone sleepwalks!  I’m just a little more creative about it.  With a bedsheet as a cape and a black leather fetish eye mask someone left at my place once (must have been a party), I just happen to roam the neighborhood screaming “Heinous” from time to time.  So what?  It’s no big deal.  I can still park.

But anyway…that Bad Parker…Bad Parker simply disrupts the balance of decency.  Inconsiderate.  A true menace, maybe even a threat.  And on this day, he wasn’t finished.  Bad Parker punctuated today’s spectacle with a classic.

Bad Parker, Photo 3.

While returning home from photographing Bad Parker’s cars, I found he had left one more.  A mocking slap across the face with a kid glove.  A challenge to my patience.  Maybe a reason to break out the cape and mask and rise to superheroism!

Take a look at Bad Parker, Photo 3.

This, just so everyone knows, is the classic Bad Parker move, perfectly set up.  That metal sign post is the “No Parking” sign before the intersection that one on stops at in my neighborhood.  Do you see how small the space is in front of the silver Mercedes?  There’s no room for a car to park there!  So this car has taken two spaces in an urban neighborhood where parking space is limited.

And if that is not bad enough…look again.  Look across the street in Photo 3.  Another slap before the stinging insult of the first had soothed.  Bad Parker has a silver Pontiac in the classic Bad Parker park.  Do you see it?  Is your blood boiling?  Double Whammy!

Bad Parker!  Say it with me:  “Bad Parker!”

In fact, while you’re out there on the streets of your city, look for Bad Parker, he’s everywhere and everywhere he is a menace.

Speaking of Parkers…what does Keanu Reeves have that I don’t have?  Pick a peck of Poseys?

.

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Bad Parker

Bad Parker is at it again in my neighborhood.  And, yes…I know…Bad Parker is no relation to Fess Parker as I claimed in an earlier post. 

Probably Intended for Morons of Another Sort, but Bad Parker Should Heed the Advice.

My apologies to Fess Parker’s family.  I should have checked the Independent Movie Database before recklessly associating Mr. Parker with complete nitwits like Bad Parker. 

But Bad Parker is back full on in my neighborhood parking cars like they’re aircraft carriers.  I would take pictures, but it is dark outside and this heinous crime against responsible urban living cannot be adequately captured with my camera. 

The average length of an American car is just over 13 feet.   Traffic and municipal engineers use 16 feet as the average measure of vehicle length.  (These are averages.  Full-size SUVs come in at just over 16 feet.)  A quick survey of municipal codes for street parking show 20 feet as the typical size for on-street parallel parking.  That seems like plenty of space to me and you might be wondering how Bad Parker takes up more than one parking space.  Any urban dweller knows the answer, but apparently some don’t give a rat’s ass as long as they get their heap of bolts and tin parked.  Let me tell you how Bad Parker does it…just as a primer on how to be the worst and least popular parker in the neighborhood.

Let’s say the engineers are right and 20 feet of curb space is enough for most people to park a car, unless you’re a horribly weak driver like Bad Parker.  Look at the diagram I have here.  Let’s say the left end of the first space on the left is at a corner. 

Stay in Your Space!

Bad Parker puts the car so it straddles two spaces so even the most insignificant car — a car like Bad Parker’s — can take up two spaces, effectively using 40+ feet of curb by parking too far from the corner and too far to the right.  See it?  Get it? 

Tonight Bad Parker parked three cars in my neighborhood, taking six spaces.   I will have to get my Post-It Notes out again and leave my “Please Take Only One Space Next Time” notes on Bad’s car windows. 

Please people…if you have trouble parallel parking, please write to me.  I’ll help.  I might even be willing to come out and meet with you.  It is my little way of making the world a better place.

Where are you, Bad Parker?

What Are They Doing to Me…?

What the…?!  Look at this!  Another dip head parking like a moron from Nevada! 

Tow It!

And…just so you know…this puny little red car parked right up against my rear bumper, pinching me into a very tight space while at the same time taking up two spots…a little toy car taking up two spots that should be open for real cars in a crowded city!  Shoot…there are pumpkins, literally pumpkins…heavier than this little car!   Carve it up, Jack-o-Lantern!

If this keeps going we’re going to have problems.  We need no more Bad Parkers in this neighborhood.

(Scroll down for something better.)

Bad Parking

You cannot really tell from this photo — or can you? — but this is a picture of an unexcusable urban faux pas.  I don’t care if the driver of this car is Gandhi.  I don’t care if it is Mother Theresa.  I don’t care if it is Gandhi and Mother Theresa together back from saving half the planet from perdition and debauchery…whoever parked this car should be banned from the city! 

Who Has Some Eggs?

Look closely at the crime.  This moron — whoever it is — parked so he or she is eating up two parking spaces.  To make matters worse, this car with Nevada plates  has been wasting that spot for several days now.  When I am Supreme Leader, cars parked like this will be towed and destroyed.   The owner will then be imprisoned 10 years for every day that car sat in the wasted spot…on the first offense.  Second offense:  20 years for every day the car sat in two parking places.  The idea is to protect better urban dwellers from this obscene behavior in the future.  I estimate most people will not survive two offenses, however, if needed on a third offense:  35 years.  (Just to make sure.)

I would give the location of this car so all three of my readers could go find it and let their dogs pee on the fender, but I am too nice for that.  I will go down and leave a Post-It or two on the window signed from all of us better, sensible people advising the moron to go back to Nevada and to never return.

(Yes, I know…Mother Theresa and Gandhi are saving people in paradise now.  Maybe the driver is Bad Parker, Fess Parker’s stupid little brother.)

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