I Hate Mice.....

I just finished a (long) brainstorming exercise in which I had to devise and illustrate 30 ways to catch a mouse.....wow.  Between studying alternate dimensions and String Theory in Philosophy and thinking of all these mouse catching ideas today my brain is on full meltdown.  I feel like this blog post should have been titled "I tired......How you?"  I made it to #24 and then reached a sort of neurological doldrums.  My sails were filled again though with a fresh breeze of Jameson.  I feel sometimes a drink (or two) can alter your perception just enough to push you through the task at hand.  

I remembered a funny story that I wanted to blog about last week but got too distracted to ever actually do.  My daily commute to UW involves a drive to Gasworks Park and then I pull the "popemobile" off my bike rack and pedal to the campus.  I used to curse cyclists because they always seemed so angry at pedestrians, motorists and the world in general.  Well, I officially had my first biker temper tantrum last week.  I was on my way to the campus, cruising down the bike trail when suddenly, out of nowhere, comes a (parked) Subaru wagon.  I swerved at the last moment and barely escaped a (surely) fatal collision with an inanimate object.  I pull around the vehicle and the tiny angry biker within me begins to kick my brain right where it counts (in the thalamus, I think).  The problem here is that the vehicle is parked perpendicular to and directly across my precious bike trail.  

Now being a sensible man, I wish to discuss with the owner of the vehicle the error he has made, you know, just to make this world a little bit better for all of us (for cyclists).  Problem is, the owner is nowhere near.  The tiny angry biker sprouts devil horns and says "Hey, don't you keep a pen and notepad with you at all times, let's communicate with our mastery of the written word."  So, I pull out my pen and paper and with my most mature, grown-up face on, I scribble out the words "nice parking a$$hole."  Then I drew a little cartoon hand with the middle finger extended and slapped my advice onto the windshield of the car.  I turned my cycle in the direction of the campus and tore off.  At this point my temper tantrum was over.  Now I was having difficulty pedaling the bike because of my uncontrollable giggling.  I was thinking of the person's face, "Did he really draw a cartoon middle finger?  Ouch."