Traffic jams, butterflies and narcissism

A lot of people don't enjoy traffic jams, primarily because they make them late for work or late for dinner, but as the penultimate example of chaos at work, there is little that brings me as much enjoyment. First off, I like being late for work, but they also provide me the time to reflect on the upcoming day, and to definitively figure out how one flat tire can wreak such havoc.

Take the logjam on Rte 3 South today. It was started by an expansion joint that popped up on the Southeast expressway, causing the closure of two lanes and numerous flat tires, but the length of the delay (over 20 miles) was created by chaos at work. Each lane change by an impatient driver deluded into thinking he would get to work faster if he changed lanes, creates a momentary brake application by the driver behind him. Multiply that effect a thousandfold and the last driver in line is 2 hours late for work. This is obviously exacerbated by the 'gawk' effect, whereby you slow down a tiny bit to watch the guy next to you pick his nose or retype the defense's summation (same thing really). If you retool the differential equation to include love taps, leg shaving and miscellaneous sexual diversions, it's a small wonder that you make it out of your driveway. One has to wonder about the imminent introduction of the 'smart' car, or, as I like to call it, the guided missile. But let's leave that for a later date.

This morning's debacle allowed me time to reflect on the Mars-Venus conflict. I don't really feel it necessary to point out that the biggest problem between men and women is sex. If the Great Creator, whoever the fuck that is, had put any thought into it, he/she/it would have done 1 of 2 things differently. The first option would have been to eliminate the brain, or at least self awareness, from the equation, and lest us lead a happier existence, like that of our nearest relative, the bonobo. Twenty four hour a day sexual frenzy without concern for the male/female aspect of your closest momentary neighbor. But the more elegant solution, at least in my mind, would have been to give each man ten penises and each woman ten vaginas. The connection time needed would be monumental, thereby eliminating casual sex, and making procreation much more difficult (and worthwhile, imagine, ten simultaneous orgasms), bringing joy to ZPG advocates everywhere. I mean, we have ten fingers and ten toes, two of a lot of things, but only the important sexual things come as one, the penis, the vagina and the tongue. Which make you wonder why you only have one nose. And speaking of noses.................

While coaching my son's little league team this weekend, it struck me that baseball fields have a remarkable smell. There is something about the combination of clay and lime and sweat that strikes a basic chord within me and reminds me that all is right with the world when baseball is involved.

This internet dating thing is strange. I mean without initial physical contact, you can learn an awful lot about a potential partner, because you have to take the time to read and to describe. I mean, it does leave a lot of room for deception, but it also has a lot of room for honesty, given the anonymity of it all and the protection that affords.

So I 'meet' this woman online, read her blog, eagerly anticipate her e-mails, talk to her on the phone. I find that she is incredibly intelligent, witty and irreverent, creative, beautiful, a little bit crazy and a little off beat. So during the traffic jam, I realized that without ever having met her, I am falling in love with myself. So I looked in the mirror when I got to work, saw that the sparkle had returned to my eyes, and came to the conclusion that self love is not a bad way to go.