Minneapolis and the Merge

I have to hand it to Minneapolis - they have perfected the traffic manoeuvre known as the merge. People merge seamlessly from exits and on-ramps, a flowing traffic lane of politeness, courtesy, finesse and timing. Commuters happily move over and share their lane to newcomers, keeping everyone happy in a steady and cooperative rush.

It was like traffic heaven. Like some sort of automotive utopia. It was surreal, and beautiful. It was a ballet.

I drive in Winnipeg, where merging is something out of storybooks. We have three strong contenders against the merge - the frightened and intimidated motorists who inch up to the motorway and stop suddenly, the motorists already existing on the motorway who claim homesteading rights on their lane and refuse to let merging traffic in, and city planners who created merging lanes shorter than a pubic hair. Merging in Winnipeg has become an impossible quest, the unicorn of your morning commute. When written about by bloggers and journalists for the Winnipeg Free Press, the comment section quickly fills up with posts by two camps - people who have driven in cities that have mastered the merge and agree that Winnipeg needs some help, and people who tell everyone to go fuck themselves and move if they don't like it.

I won't be fucking off and moving anytime soon. I also am not under the illusion that Winnipeggers can be taught how to drive anytime soon. I have to admit, there is an odd sort of pride I have in exactly how far Winnipeg will stretch traffic laws. If there isn't a sign saying you can't do it, it's assumed you probably can. There is a roundabout in the south-end of the city that has tire-tracks going right up and over the centre of it. Go into any parking lot and you're guaranteed to find several cars with no apparent regard/concept of what the lines are for. Turning at certain intersections becomes a game of chicken between yourself and the other driver - do they know the rules of the road? You'll just have to wait and see.

Minneapolis will forever stay one of my favourite cities to drive in, but I do have to thank Winnipeg for that.

Word of the day: Mecca
Used in a sentence: Minneapolis was my mecca, my inspiration to be a better driver, the place I aspire to drive in when I pass from this world to the next...probably under the grill of a McNaught Chevy Blazer with a lift-kit and a Calvin pissing on a Ford in the back window, near an I Heart Winnipeg bumper sticker.

I'll have the Meatloaf, please.

I ignored a few patients at work today, and quite possibly my ringing phone, literally watching the seconds tick down to 10am when Meatloaf tickets went on sale.

I can hear what you're saying, and yes - this shit just got real.

I've loved Meatloaf since I was a very tiny girl. Paradise by the Dashboard Light was, weirdly, one of the most romantic songs I have ever heard. It has lust, urgency, insatiable appetite, and most importantly it has sex noises. Lots of sex noises. I fell in love with Meatloaf, never having actually seen him as I was too young to watch music videos. Once I did see what he looked like, and decided I wasn't going to marry him when I grew up, I really just focused on his voice. That man can sing. It doesn't matter if you're a fan or not, you have to admit he can belt out a tune. As he's aged he's fallen into a new category - he's now one of my old man crushes.

Do all women have these? I've always had old man crushes on men who are inappropriately aged for me, yet somehow incredibly attractive. I loved Richard Gere when I was 12 and he was approaching middle-age. I had a massive crush on a 50 year old teacher. At certain weddings I have the pleasure of dancing with a man in his mid-50's (a family friend), and he's also joined the ranks of total crush. I also have crushes on priests, but I think that comes from going to catholic school and reading The Thorn Birds way too many times when I was going through puberty.

Word of the day: Octogenarian
Used in a sentence: There was something in the way the octogenarian ate his jello that made her insides stir.

Holy fuck, cabbits aren't real?

Yeah. I know. Cabbits aren't real? This falls into the fishing-with-tonsils category, I suppose. For a long time I believed that cabbits existed. Cabbits are the result of a cat and a rabbit mating and producing offspring. Big in the 80's and 90's, pictures of cabbits surfaced here and there, usually depicting a creature with the front legs and head of a cat and the back legs and tail of a rabbit.

I thought these genuinely exist. Not to the point where I believed people were breeding cabbits. I thought cabbits bred from cats and rabbits would be sterile offspring, much like mules. I can't quite recall where I first heard of these things, but up until a few minutes ago I believed they were real. The screeches and howls of laughter coming out of my husband made me angry, and desperate to prove him wrong I turned to our virtual marriage counsellor, the one who always saves us from marital spats and disagreements -

Her name is Google, and she's amazing.

However, Google is a finicky lady and has let me down on numerous occasions, preferring to side with my husband on many issues, leaving me looking stupid and irrational. Tonight was another one of those times.

The cabbit does not exist. I won't go into it too much, I dislike being wrong...but I will use the words "mythological", "legend" and the phrase "biological impossibility". The last one I take a bit of issue with - we have no idea what could be biologically possible in the future, why insist that not only am I wrong now but I'll also be wrong 100 years from now as well? That's just being twatty.

I was desperate to arrive at some sort of justification for my belief. Perhaps I was just mislead by the fact that rabbits and cats have sex, they just can't breed? Google was unwilling to budge on her position, and patronized me with youtube clips of rabbits and cats that are clearly uninterested in having sex with each other. Only one cat was semi-willing to entertain an amorous bunny, but had very little patience and put on her clothes and left midway through without even exchanging numbers.

That's another thing - cats and rabbits do not have sex with each other.

I guess I'm not too disappointed. It's not like I wanted one for a pet. I just wanted to see some pictures of cabbits frolicking in their natural habitat, maybe laying out in the sun, just doing what other scientific mysteries do.


Word of the day: Pellucid.
Used in a sentence: "Mr. Rabbit," said Miss Cat "Your intentions are well-known and pellucid. But Google says it cannot be done, and Google is always right."