iLife: The Struggle to NOT order the new iPhone continues…

It’s no secret that I’m an Apple addict. When they write my life story, in fact, they might just call it iLife.  

Okay, not really. I just really love my iPhone. And my Apple TV. And my Macbook Air. Not the iPad so much (although the hubby uses that. For a guy who hates technology, he really likes that iPad) though. And, full disclosure, I do my reading on a shamefully un-Apple Kindle, track my fitness with an Apple-friendly Fitbit, listen to music (from my Apple device) with Bose headphones, and drive a non-Apple car (but only because the iCar doesn’t exist yet).

So obviously, I want an iWatch, even though it may replace my Fitbit.

In olden days, I was the first one in line at the Apple Store for the new phones. Yes, I was a later convert to iReligion, not joining the iRevolution until I got my iPhone 4S. But once I had it, I was hooked. I was up at 3am to order that first one at midnight Pacific time (which, honestly, is only a little earlier than the ungodly hour at which I wake up on school days to get a morning iCardio session in anyway). And I did the same with my current iPhone, the 5S, because, hello, they offered a new iColor for that one! And even though the back is always covered in a super cute case, everyone could tell from the front that my phone was far superior to theirs based on that little gold ring. And after all, that gold ring is what every little girl dreams of!

(I mean the ring around the button on my iPhone. NOT a wedding ring. Although I like having that ring too. Gollum would be so jealous that I have BOTH kinds of gold rings! Suck it, Smeagol!)

However, because I got that gold iphone 5S last year, my contract isn’t up with Verizon for another year. And yes, I’ve thought about breaking my contract and going to AT&T for the new phone, but I’m on a family plan now. And there are other people’s phones at stake (namely my darling husband, who has my old iPhone 4S because he had a nasty habit of buying Samsung phones with keyboards and then breaking them. Not because they were pieces of crap—which they were—but because he would get angry when the technology on them didn’t work exactly how he wanted it to and throw them on the ground. After the third time he told me his phone “broke,” which is code for “I had a temper tantrum and threw it,” he was assigned my old phone. Which, despite his assertions to the contrary, he adores. Because it’s an Apple product. And I won’t hear any iProtestations he makes.). So terminating my plan isn’t a feasible option.

Nor is paying out of pocket for the phone without the contractual upgrade, because I seem to have somehow unwittingly turned into an adult with financial responsibilities.

I know. It’s terrifying to me too.

But the husband and I bought our dream house in February, which, while still being our dream house, is also a money pit. And when it comes down to having hot water to shower with or the iPhone 6, I’m afraid the hot water wins.

Let me rephrase that: hot water is the bigger priority, but only because I’m not that impressed with the iPhone 6.

Sacrilege? Yes. But before you excommunicate me from the iChurch of Apple iSaints, hear me out.

I, like many Americans, struggle with shopping addiction. We’re living in a material world and I am a material girl. On a teacher’s salary.

Shh. Did you hear that? It was the sound of debt mounting.

I’m not as bad with it as some of my shop-a-holic brethren, but I’ve been known to assert my control over a bad situation by binge shopping. And this iPay thing sounds like a recipe for disaster when you can simply wave your phone at a cash register and take home anything you want.

I actually like the act of waiting in line (okay, not that part) and pulling out my wallet, then carefully selecting which credit card can handle the purchase I’m about to make. It forces me to ask myself if I really want what I’m buying.

Waving a phone to pay is like getting frozen yogurt. It sounds so innocent—until you load your cup with all of the candy toppings and are suddenly eating six times your daily recommended caloric intake in one delicious sitting.

No bueno.

But I could learn to exert a level of self-control over my purchases, even with the freedom to pay with the device that is already always in my hand.

My bigger gripe with the new phone is the size. I know that older people (cough my dad cough) think the iPhone is too small as it is. Their receding vision necessitates a font size that can be seen from space (seriously, you can literally read my dad’s phone from space. He uses 12 trillion point font. Yet he claims he can see perfectly and doesn’t need glasses. iDenial much?), and a larger phone will allow more than one letter to be displayed on the phone’s screen at a time. So I actually think that the iPhone 6+ is a great option for the older generation and people who don’t mind having the equivalent of an iPad mini as their phone.

I, on the other hand, have 20-20 vision and don’t WANT a bigger phone. I actually wish the iPhone was about half its current size. I don’t use it as a reading device or a video watching device or a gaming device. I prefer to use my Kindle, my television, and social life for all of those purposes. Tabletizing phones doesn’t help the fact that an iPhone is already too big to fit in a fashionable woman’s pocket. So I’m actually really disappointed that the iPhone 6 is ALSO bigger than the current models.

So, I’ll wait, hoping in vain that when the iPhone 6S comes out, the S will stand for smaller.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll probably be on the corner panhandling for money for the new iPhone by the end of the week.

iLife forever!

I don’t care what Siri’s political beliefs are–I’m too busy playing Words With Friends

So a couple of months ago, I bowed to the inevitable and got an iPhone.

I had held out for years in an attempt to be non-conformist. I don’t LIKE doing the same thing that everyone else does. But the peer pressure got to be too much and I caved.

Of course, I waited until I could get the newest release and woke up at 3am like an idiot to pre-order the iPhone 4S so that I could at least have the far superior model to what everyone else had on the very first day possible.

And I have to admit, it was one of the best decisions I’ve made.

And one of the worst.

On the plus side, I’m no longer in the cellular dark ages. I can do all that cool crap that everyone else has been doing for years. And I am, in fact, kicking myself for not doing it earlier.

But the 4S is a joke. Like Siri was cool for the first day and a half when I asked her all the stupid questions that everyone else was asking her. And I laughed when she got mad that I kept asking about Hal 9000. (Please tell me that someone other than my dad knows what I’m talking about.)

Although I was extremely disappointed that when I asked what the airspeed velocity of an unladden swallow was, she didn’t ask “African or European swallow?”

But I giggled with moronic delight when I asked her “Who’s the boss?” And she came up with the ONLY correct answer.

And then I never used her again.

I mean, I know people are all up in arms about her unwillingness to provide you with the location of an abortion clinic. But, to be fair, what dumbass is walking around and suddenly says, “Hmm, I think I need an abortion before I walk another five blocks. Siri, where’s the closest abortion clinic?”

Actual answer from Siri on MY phone.  Just saying…

(That wasn’t a statement of political belief. I’m just saying you should probably make the decision before you leave the house. And maybe get a doctor’s recommendation on where to go instead of Siri’s. Yes, your iPhone can do a lot of things. And the x-ray app is kinda cool. But that doesn’t make Siri a medical professional.)

I also think the 4S was a complete rip-off. Like yeah, it has Siri and a better camera, but it looks EXACTLY the same as the 4. Which completely and utterly defeats the purpose of putting out a different phone, because unless I walk around obnoxiously asking Siri questions every three seconds, how are random people supposed to know that I have a better phone than they do?

Come on, Apple. Priorities.

But none of those things are why the iPhone is slowly destroying my life.

And it’s not even because I’ve spent a huge chunk of my savings that SHOULD have been spent on shoes buying worthless and pointless apps that amuse me for a couple of minutes before being forgotten about forever.

No, it’s because of the soulless, mind-sucking, life-destroying mental vacuum that is Words With Friends.

I’m totally addicted.

I honestly didn’t even plan to download the game. When I was a child, Scrabble was used as a torture device and the only form of punishment that I truly feared. Because being sent to my room wasn’t much of an inconvenience. I had my books and music and tv in there. So if I smacked my little brother upside the head for something and heard, “Sara! Go to your room!” it was like, okay, time to play!

But Scrabble? Oh no. That was REAL punishment. It was the only board game at my aunt and uncle’s Ocean City condo, and if my brother and I didn’t behave well enough, we had to play Scrabble with my mother instead of going to the boardwalk. I tried calling Child Protective Services, because that was CLEARLY a form of abuse. But when they showed up, my parents made them play Scrabble too until they finally lost, at which point they just turned to me, shrugged, and said, “You’re on your own, kid.”

Now that I’m older and have a much larger vocabulary, however, the game has become ridiculously addictive. Of course, it probably helps that it’s the high-tech version, because I still have nightmares about old-fashioned Scrabble sets in that Mommy Dearest, no-more-wire-hangers kind of way. But the game is approximately 94% more addictive than crack.

At the moment, I have nineteen different games going with fourteen different people. I’m not exaggerating. Like I know I sometimes blow things out of proportion for the sake of humor on the blog, but those are real numbers. I swear on Bruce Springsteen.

In fact, the thing that I hate most about Maryland’s new law prohibiting the use of cell phones even at traffic lights is that I can’t play while I’m at a light.

Well, okay, I CAN. I just have to keep my phone in my lap and my sunglasses on so it doesn’t LOOK like I’m looking at my phone when I’m stopped at a traffic light. Which is probably pretty conspicuous at night and when it’s raining.

And it’s probably bad that I play at school. Usually with other teachers during our planning periods, but also with former students. Who are also in school. But they’re at my old school, not the school that I currently teach at, and because they’re no longer in MY classes, I no longer feel compelled to tell Rachel and Alli to get off their phones. (I promised I’d mention them today… Hi guys!)

But I think my favorite thing about the game isn’t that I’m consistently beating my parents. Which I am. And it feels great. (Sorry mom and dad. Please don’t pull out the real Scrabble set next time I’m at your house. I’ll behave. I promise!)

No, my favorite thing is playing bad words to see what it will accept. For example, a certain four-letter word beginning with an “s” that means excrement is acceptable, although f-bombs aren’t. And it accepts “chode” and “dildos,” the discovery of which made me laugh out loud so loudly that people assumed I was having a seizure.

At this point, I will literally play any moderately profane word to see if it accepts it, even if it means I will lose the game. Because I apparently have the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy. If he met me online and didn’t know what I looked like, Jerry Sandusky would love me.

But I also think that the game is secretly trying to kill me by being so addictive that I WANT to play it even when I’m driving.

And I have proof.

Words With Friends doesn’t recognize the word “Jews.” But it DOES recognize “shivah,” which is the Hebrew equivalent of a wake (but less fun), when Jews mourn for seven days after someone has died.

See? Jews aren’t okay, but DEAD Jews are.

Coincidence? Or evil plot?

To be honest though, I don’t really care. Because I’ve got nineteen games to get back to.

Peace out.

Hands-free laws are like communism. In theory, they work. In theory.

A week ago today, a new Maryland law went into effect making it illegal to use a cell phone while driving without a hands-free device.

In theory, this is a great law. In theory. But as Homer Simpson would say, “In theory communism works. In theory.”

In reality, however, this is usually still a good law. Driving with a cell phone SHOULDN’T be legal. Just like how radar detectors probably shouldn’t be legal in any state. But I’m really glad they are in most of them.

Unfortunately, in the last week, I’ve proven that I personally am the exception to the rule, because somehow I’m a MUCH more dangerous driver when I have to worry about my Bluetooth headset.

For a normal person, this doesn’t make any sense. A normal person was probably already using his or her Bluetooth before the law was in place because it’s easier and safer. But I got my first cell phone right when I was learning to drive. So I can literally count on one hand the number of times that I’ve driven a car without having a cell phone with me. (And every single one of those times was a panic-driven mad dash home to get my phone when I’ve realized that I forgot to bring it. I’d honestly rather show up naked somewhere than show up without my phone. It’s like Linus with his blanket. I just can’t be without it.)

With that said, I don’t talk on my phone all that often, either in the car or otherwise. And the few people who I actually do call on a regular basis are on speed-dial, so when I DO use my phone in the car, I do it safely.

I will admit that I’ve been known to text from the car. I know, I know, I’m a monster. But everyone who texts has done this before. If you’re going to come after me with pitchforks and torches, you’d better go after everyone else too. I HAVE, however, limited myself to doing it at lights or in non-moving traffic because my school had an assembly on texting while driving that was so emotionally scarring that it’s probably going to wind up costing me a sum that could bankrupt Bill Gates in therapy bills down the line.

I made it through the first two days of the new hands-free law with no problem. Last Thursday night, in preparation for the law’s first day, I found my Bluetooth headset (which during the blizzards last winter, I decorated with pink rhinestones—I glued rhinestones on almost everything I owned during the blizzards. Rosie should be grateful she has fur, because if she didn’t, I probably would have bedazzled her too), charged it, and put it in my car.

As soon as I got in the car on Friday and Saturday, I put it on and promptly forgot about it because it’s pretty comfortable.

Which meant that I forgot to take it off and LEAVE it in the car for future use.

So by Sunday, when my dad called me as I was running some errands, I had no clue where it was. And in the ten minutes between when he first called me and when I finally located the headset (which was somehow under the floormat on the passenger side of the car. I still no clue how THAT happened), I almost died approximately 17,986 times. Had I just answered my phone (or figured out how to answer it on speakerphone on the Palm Pixi—if anyone can help me out there, please let me know!), thousands of innocent lives could have been saved from the potential danger that I put them in while trying to find my headset.

And unfortunately, I went through the same process several times before figuring out that it’s a SECONDARY offense to be talking without a hands-free device. So as long as I’m not speeding or running a light or drinking a beer while driving, cops can’t pull me over FOR talking on my phone.

Now they tell me.

But I AM trying to follow the rules. I found a clip to hold my headset in place in the center console when I’m not using it so that I’ll always know where it is, and I’m making a concerted effort to leave it in the car when I am done driving.

However, when they stop letting me hold my ipod to change the playlist that I’m listening to, I’m moving to a state with less stringent driving laws.

Which won’t be Virginia; I love my radar detector too much.

Or Delaware or Texas. Because I freaking hate those states.

Which probably leaves one of my favorite states, New Jersey*. Get ready for a new neighbor, Bruce! I think you should invite me over to welcome me to the neighborhood. Because I love you.

*(Yes, I know New Jersey has hands-free cell phone laws too.  But it’s just a better state anyway.)

But until I move, if you call me and I don’t answer, it doesn’t mean that I’m ignoring you; it’s far more likely that I died in a fiery crash while trying to find my Bluetooth headset to answer your call.

I love my phone. I just hate talking on it.

I hate talking on the phone.

Those of you who know me are sitting there with a very puzzled look on your face. I know. I always have my phone in my hand. Picturing me without my phone would be like picturing my dad without coffee. Like Linus without his blanket. Like Harry Potter without his glasses. Like Cher without an inappropriate outfit. Like Britney Spears without a baby bump and bare feet. It just doesn’t work.

I’m completely and utterly addicted to my phone. But I hate TALKING on it.

I think the reason for this is because I’m so ADD. I have trouble focusing on a conversation with no visuals to go with it. For example, I don’t mind talking on Skype. (Although, to be fair, if I’m talking to you on Skype, I’m probably looking at MYSELF while talking to you. Because I’m just that vain. But you really can’t tell. So it’s okay.) But JUST the phone? I can’t do it for more than a minute or two.

So I go to extreme lengths to avoid having to talk on the phone. I don’t have a landline for this reason. A landline has NO purpose except for talking on the phone, therefore I won’t have one in my house. Plus, the only people who ever called me on that phone when I had one were solicitors and my grandma. Pass. (Sorry Grandma. But you have my cell number, so I don’t feel TOO bad.)

I also NEVER answer my cell phone except when my dad calls. And I only answer his calls because they last for less than 30 seconds and if I DON’T answer when he calls, he immediately assumes I died and keeps calling every ten seconds until I do answer. I’m not quite sure how that logic works. If I’m dead, I’m clearly not going to answer ten seconds later, and if I’m alive, clearly I’ll call him back when I see the missed call. But I try to answer on the first call just so he doesn’t tell Facebook that I died and cancel my account because I missed his call while I was in the shower or something. THAT would be tragic.

The next step to avoiding using the phone is to never listen to voicemail messages. My outgoing message used to say not to leave a message because I wasn’t going to listen to it, but then people started leaving long rambling messages just to piss me off. It worked. But my friends know at this point that I’m not going to listen to their messages, so if they want to talk to me, they should text or email me.

In general, this eliminates all need to talk on the phone unless I have a story to tell that’s too long to text (which is, I think, EXACTLY what this blog is for).

Unfortunately, sometimes this doesn’t work out the way I’d like it to.

Like with my Grandma. Who I love dearly, don’t get me wrong. But she and technology are mortal enemies, and cell phones are no exception. She has a cell phone (the most basic phone possible. She says she wants all the technology that mine has. But I just can’t deal with that, so she has the type of cell phone that existed in 1986, just smaller), and she decided at one point that she wanted to learn how to send text messages. I thought this was great, because it meant there was one less person I would have to talk to on the phone.

I should have known better.

After an entire afternoon devoted to teaching her how to send, receive, and read text messages, I thought she had a pretty firm grasp on how to do it. So I showed her picture messaging.

Big mistake.

The next day, while I was at school, my phone kept vibrating. Finally I checked it during a planning period, assuming that there had to be some emergency because no one would so completely spam my phone while I was at school unless someone had died or at the very least was trapped down a well somewhere and I was the only number available to dial for help.

No.

It was 47 picture messages from my grandma, all of my grandfather sleeping in his easy chair. Then 286 text messages asking if I got her picture.

When I called her to ask her to please stop blowing up my phone, she told me that when I didn’t respond, she figured it meant that none of the messages actually sent, so she just kept resending them.

Luckily, by the following day, she had forgotten how to text and I never re-taught her. I answer her calls now, just in case she suddenly remembers how texting works.

So if you call me, and I don’t answer, try not to be offended. It’s not you, it’s me.

Unless I don’t like you. Then it’s you.

So if you TEXT me and I don’t respond, then it’s definitely you.

And please don’t send me picture messages of my sleeping grandfather. It’s seriously creepy and weird. And old people, like dogs, look dead when they sleep sometimes. No one wants to see that.

If your cell phone gets wet, lie. If it falls in the toilet, LEAVE IT!

I hate Verizon.

But I hate all the other cell phone companies MORE, so I’m sticking with them for now.

I’ve actually been with all of the major cell phone companies since 1996, when I got my first cell phone.  It was the original Nokia.  It was about the size of a cinderblock and worked in approximately 0.00000000001 percent of places I went to.  But I had a cell phone. And NO ONE I knew had a cell phone that wasn’t attached to a car in 1996. Except the drug dealers. And me. But no one else did.

 And while Verizon epic sucks, they epic suck SLIGHTLY less than AT&T, Sprint and TMobile.

Over the years, I’ve learned some tricks to handling Verizon. First of all, when you call them, ALWAYS lie and say you’re the policy holder even if you’re not. I’m still on a family plan with my mom (because it was cheaper for both of us now that my brother and father have defected and gotten iPhones), and even though we’ve told them roughly 500 billion times that I’m authorized to make changes, somehow I’m still not allowed to. But if I call and say I’m my mother, I can make changes to the plan with no problem. And this is necessary because my mother refuses to call Verizon under any circumstances. Ever. Even if they cancelled her plan, I would have to deal with it.

The biggest problems come with the phone insurance though. Because in theory, the insurance is fabulous for if your phone dies.

In reality, it never actually applies.

But there IS a way around this.

You just have to be willing to lie a little.

For example, water damage isn’t covered. So when my brother jumped in the pool with his phone in his pocket several times (yes, ladies and gentlemen, that genius is now a doctor. I fear for the future.), the phone wasn’t covered by the insurance.

By the third time this happened (I’m sure he’s a good doctor. But literally, multiple times forgetting to take his phone out of his pocket before jumping in a pool—you do the math), my brother decided to tell Verizon that he didn’t know what happened to his phone. He must have lost it.

Presto! New phone.

This is always the way to go. Whenever they ask you what’s wrong with it, just say you don’t know.

This comes in particularly handy if your phone winds up someplace where you’d rather gnaw your own limbs off than go after it.

This happened to my friend Janie*. We were at a bar one night and she went to the bathroom. The line for the women’s room was too long (as is often the case), so she, being braver than I, went into the men’s room.

(*Names have been changed to protect the guilty.)

When she came back, she had a look of horror on her face beyond anything that I had ever seen. Seriously. Picture the girl in the closet from the Ring. That kind of terrified.

I immediately asked her what happened. Was she okay? I assumed that at the very least she had just witnessed a grisly mass murder.

It was worse.

Much, MUCH worse.

She had dropped her phone in the men’s room toilet.

I tried to comfort her. “It’s okay,” I said. “Just go to Verizon tomorrow and tell them you lost it. It’ll be fine.”

“But I didn’t lose it,” she said, and to MY horror, she plopped the wet phone on the table in front of me.

Yes. She went in after the phone.

Of course, the best part of this story came later, when we went to another bar. We were sitting at a table and the phone kept vibrating randomly. Janie was talking to a guy who was friends with one of my friends, and he picked up her phone and asked her why it kept vibrating.

Janie explained about the men’s room toilet.

To the guy’s credit, he didn’t cry or run screaming. He just politely excused himself and spent the rest of the evening in the men’s room washing his hands. He didn’t come back until after last call when they MADE him stop washing his hands and leave. Poor guy.

If it had been me who dropped a phone in a men’s room toilet, I would have left the phone where it was and gone to Verizon the next morning with my story straight. “I don’t know what happened to it. I think it was stolen.”

Now, if you don’t have the insurance or aren’t a good enough liar, I’ve heard that rice works to soak up the excess moisture. But if that doesn’t work, just give me your password and I’ll call Verizon and say I’m you.

I’ve gotten very good at that game.

And if anyone from Verizon is reading this, my name is Tigran Kapinos.

I told you I’d get you back someday for putting that cricket video, Tig!

The only thing worse than the Metro? Driving in DC

I am one of those rare, strange people who enjoys driving in New York City.

There’s an easy explanation for this: I learned to drive in the DC area.

No one is ever going to dispute that New York City drivers are crazy. They are. But they’re the GOOD kind of crazy. They’ll scream at you and give you the finger and zigzag around you in traffic. But they can do all that without ACTUALLY endangering your life. That’s why I say they’re good drivers. They have to be good to drive in NYC without dying. I can identify with that kind of driving. I respect that kind of driving.

But DC drivers are the worst of the worst. Marylanders will argue with you that Virginia drivers are the worst, and Virginians will say Maryland drivers are the worst. But it doesn’t matter where you hail from. If you’re driving in DC, I probably hate you.

 I’m a native Washingtonian, and I love my home city. But as far as traffic goes, it is the worst city in the world. Part of the problem is the city itself. I know it was laid out deliberately to be confusing to anyone who attacked, but honestly, no one who attacks is going to do it by land anymore. It’s as out of date as a walkman.

I still don’t understand why there’s no J Street in DC. Like there’s all kinds of theories about it. But none of them make any sense. Why would you use letters for streets and then leave one out? I mean, I get it if they did it to screw with peoples’ heads. I would be impressed if that was the case. But it’s not. It’s random.

Then there are the traffic circles. I have no problem with traffic circles in general. I understand how they work (if not the need for them), and don’t have a problem navigating them. But 99.999 percent of the population lacks the ability to handle them. Putting the average person in a traffic circle is like putting metal in the microwave; it causes a serious problem and it stinks. And something (in this case, my head) might explode as a result.

Traffic circles DO, however, have one perk. Say someone you hate is crossing through the circle. If you don’t manage to hit them when you try the first time, you can drive around the traffic circle a couple of times to wait for them, and get them when they cross the other side of the circle.*

(*Note: I am not responsible for any legal repercussions if you do this. I’m only telling you for entertainment purposes. Or in case Dan Snyder is crossing Dupont Circle. No Redskins fan jury will
find you guilty. Go for it. You may even get a medal.)

 I have seen more stupidity from people driving in DC, however, than in any other area of my life. And I’m a teacher. There literally used to be a sign on Constitution Avenue that said “Red means stop.” Really? Are there REALLY people driving who don’t know that? Don’t you think there’s a bigger problem if you need a sign like that?

The DC government knows that its drivers suck. That’s why they have a law against talking on a cellphone without some kind of hands-free device while driving.

 In theory, this law is great and could save lives. In theory.

But this law has a side effect (one that even I have been guilty of). You’re driving in DC and your phone rings. You’re not sure where you’re going (and your navigation system is useless in DC because sometimes there are two streets with the same name, but one is in NW and one is in SW and there’s no distinguishing between the two on your nav system—been there, done that, felt like an idiot), and you need to talk to the person calling you so that you can find out where to go.

But you can’t find your headset.

Crap.

This leads to the frantic scramble to find it before the phone stops ringing. During this panicked digging through your purse/center console/backseat/glove compartment, you wind up paying less attention to the road than you would be if you were texting while driving.

In desperation, you look around for somewhere to pull over so that you can call your friend back.

HAHAHAHA that doesn’t exist in DC! What are you? A tourist?

Then, you finally decide that you HAVE to break the law so that you don’t spend the rest of your life driving around the city aimlessly looking for streets that don’t exist. So you answer your phone, but you have to keep your head low, to avoid getting a ticket if a cop sees you. And at this point, if you’re still alive and haven’t crashed your car, you’re probably going to get pulled over anyway for weaving all over the place like you were drunk.

Again, in theory, it’s a great law.

But it doesn’t help with the idiots who think they’re still on the Metro and are reading the newspaper while driving! (I’ve seen it! I mean, who still reads a real paper newspaper these days, let alone WHILE DRIVING? And they’re worried about people talking on their phones?)

Then again, maybe the bad driving and the horrible street layout is part of a plan to make DC more green. I know that I’m more likely to take the Metro than drive there, because I fear for my life every time I cross the border from Maryland into DC. But then again, if that was true, wouldn’t Metro service be better to encourage people to take it?

Like the mystery of J street, I guess there are just some questions without answers.