Ode to Orange

Ahh, the first post. Pressure mounts. You want the first post to be so substantial that the Washington Post picks it up immediately. Well folks, I hate to break it to you, but that's simply not going to be the case here. Short on dazzle, this post will do little more than introduce you to the subtle musings of my life.

Take for instance, why, in the name of all things good and pure, do the civil engineers from the county in which I reside, feel it necessary to perform road construction projects on EVERY MAJOR THOROUGHFARE in the county? Ok ok, I'll admit it, I'm spoiled. My daily commute to and from work is a mere 7 minutes. I'm now pushing 40 minutes one way and becoming more and more hostile each day. There are only so many routes in which I can get home, and with each one, either the road is completely closed (as opposed to partially closed - ha, is that possible? Back to my rant...) or down to one lane, thus clogging every artery in the county. Is it so hard to fathom that the old bridge remain open and operable while the new bridge being built 100 yards away is completed? I'm left scratching my head, and swearing at orange pylons. And contemplating a letter to the editor of my local newspaper.

Wait, scrap that idea. I did that once. I won't do it again. Having written a LTTE about a local zoning issue, I was retaliated upon by a woman's rebuttal letter accusing me of being an agist and anti-elderly. Yes, lady, I feel the need to play "Pick Off Grandma" with my SUV as she schlepps from her assisted living facility across the street to the local Shoneys. She obviously didn't get my point, which meant that many others didn't get it either. But I've digressed.

Orange pylons. May they live long and prosper. Note to self: Refill Prozac prescription for the summer.