Sometimes Getting a Speeding Ticket is Worth It...

First off, a moment of silence for the man in pink. After 4 consecutive French Open titles, Rafa was ousted by some Swedish dude. Sis-in-law E surmises he was blinded by his own hot pink shirt, and I tend to agree.

The French crowd didn't help either. They never liked Rafa. Suddenly I'm thinking war with France doesn't sound so bad.
Goodbye Mocha Honey. See you at Wimbledon.



: a fold of strata so tightly compressed that both limbs dip in the same direction.

How does Cormac use such a word?
"At the tide line a woven mat of weeds and the ribs of fishes in their millions stretching along the shore as far as eye could see like an isocline of death." pic: I know what the "fractal of doom" is, but in my high school calculus class, Mrs. Keir never covered the "isocline of death". I was robbed. If she had, I probably wouldn't have dropped out.

I jest.

How Brodi would have said the same thing:
"A bunch of dead fish lay scattered on the shore." (And I only would have said that after hours of figuring out if it's lay, lied, laid, or lay).


Someday I'll delve into the specifics about my history with cops, but for now, the latest chapter.

I don't speed. I stay within 5 miles over the speed limit, much to the annoyance of my sister, Erin Gonzalez.

Years ago, I used to speed. But then when I was reporting on a wildfire in Idaho, I passed a competing news van, in a no pass zone, going ten over the speed limit. There may have been a middle finger involved. There definitely was a cop behind me. So, yeah, it was humiliating enough to make me stop speeding.

So the other day, I'm driving up Lincoln Lane, and there's a cop standing in a church parking lot, gunning people. (To be clear, radar gunning. Otherwise, this is a very different story.)

As I approach, he points his finger and motions me to the side of the road.

cop: "Excuse me, ma'am, but you need to slow down. This is a 25 mile per hour zone."

me: "How fast was I going?"

cop: "About 30."

I must interject here. Although, is it really interjecting if I'm only interrupting myself?

Anyway, for someone (like me) who really likes the mantra: "The difference between the right word and the almost right word is like the difference between the lightning and a lightning bug," I couldn't really get past the whole "
about thirty" thing. (Mark Twain quote, btw)

continuing on...

me: "
About 30? So, not actually 30, right? Maybe more like 28?"

cop (not humored): "It's a 25 mile per hour zone."

me: "Yeah, but isn't that like saying it's "
about a 30 mile per hour zone". " (Inside the car, I'm driving my pen into my thigh in an attempt to force my mouth shut.)

cop: "Just slow down, please."

me: "yessir... [trying not to say anything else, biting my cheek, drawing blood, really trying not to say anything else, and failing]... but you get the distinction, right?"

cop: "Do you want a ticket?"

me: "No thanks. I'll go slower."

He let me off the hook, and I learned a valuable lesson. No more going about 30 (so, really, 28). Instead I'll go about 25. (really, 27). That'll show him... mwah hah hah.

Sadly, this would not have been the first time I talked a cop into giving me a ticket. I'll give you the details some other time, but for now I'll just say $145 for jaywalking in an alley is a little steep, even for the "blond lady with the sharp tongue and threatening behavior."