How Does You Feel About Techmology?

I’m on the ferry again, finally crossing the Sound after hours of waiting in lines of cars, all eager to board. Summer in Seattle: we all clamor for water. I sat in the car and entertained myself with financial planning spreadsheets. Am I going insane? Perhaps my lack of financial planning in years past is the true mark of insanity. I can’t believe how nonchalant I’ve always been about APRs and whatnot. I mean, from a hard-core blue-state mentality, I should be doing everything in my power to avoid handing my dear monies to The Man. Why have I always considered financial responsibility the province of Yup?

Steve and I are done prepping the house for sale. Good lurd, it was an ordeal. I’m happy to report, though, that it looks beautiful, and we did it all with nary a bicker between us. The downside of all of this house-y crap is that my full-fledged news junkiedom has downgraded to a series of binges. How the hell am I supposed to keep up with all wrong in the world while discussing the merits of open house first, brokers’ open second, or vice-versa? So, my encyclopedic knowledge of all-things-global is now just encyclopedic knowledge of headline-writing tactics, and Tom and Katie’s wedding plans (She wants private he wants public.).

I did love this one, today: Raging Grannies Try to Enlist. I love me some Raging Grannies. I met a real, live one at the pharmacy a few months ago. She was a vision: grey-haired, glasses-on-a-chain, cardigan-wearing, Easy Spirit-clad, and totally festooned in anti-W, anti-war, anti-homophobia regalia. I mean, harsh stuff, like, “W. is a War Criminal.” YES! So, in an effort to buck my paltry reading trends of late, I actually read the piece about the RGs. They want to go to Iraq so their kids and grandkids can come home. Who don’t love a granny? I sure hope their PR flack got ‘em on NBC and ABC and all the other BCs.

Waiting for the ferry was a trip (har har). Members of the Coast Guard surveying each waiting car with a bomb/weed/troublemaking-sniffing pooch. Cute dogs! There were other uniformed, stern sorts perched all over the ferry terminal, presumably keeping us safer. Once I saw them I thought, “Oh, blowing up one of these ferries sure would make a statement,” which made me nervous. Then I somehow felt safer, knowing the stern ones were there. This is effed up. I don’t want to be reminded that I could be toast and then feel solace in the sights of the reminders. Co-dependent cycling, if you ask moi.

Oh, and with my very amazing, totally addicting bicycle atop my vehicle, the ferry toll-taker (looked like Jacquee from 227) grunted that I was “overheight.” Over-height gets a driver charged 2x the normal, already-pricey fare. I balked, she grunted some more, and then let me drive on having paid one fare. I don’t know if she forgot to hit that button on the register again, or if she was having a Moment of Kindness, but I drove on and parked in the packed line. So, let this be a lesson to you: bicycles are appreciated if you are on them, not the other way around.

We’re arriving now, so I must get out of the car and pretend I spent the ride appreciating nature’s beauty.