Is Construction Really Necessary?

So, I had church tonight. My sister asked me if I could pick up her friend on the way, and selfishly, I said no because I just wanted to pick up my girlfriend and that's it. After redirecting her question to our dad, I ended up submitting to her majesty indirectly. I just didn't want to start a huge explosion of whose "plus one" was more valuable -- Mine. Sis can be a bit manipulative.
Usually, my drive to church is quite simple: Right on the 303, Left on Cactus, Right on Bullard, and I'm there. My wonderful thorn, Construction, had different plans. Closed road after closed road hindered my right to pursue happiness. If I normally make a bee line to church, this would have to have been a moth line. I darted this way and that.
Crazy, dyslexic drivers, for some reason, love roads with construction, too. If it says "Speed Limit 35", they read "Leed Spimit 53" and plow through the atmosphere. Ooh, lucky them there are no cops around. I, however follow as close to the limit as possible, and that one time I feel a rebel, I will be introduced to red and blue for the first time since Spy Kids 3-D.
The only issue that deserves attention is why the construction was there in the first place. I have been forced to go thirty-five on an otherwise forty-five road for a year and a half now. I have seen NO improvement in the quality of the one closed off lane for twenty miles. Thanks Construction, for hindering my punctuality.
Anyway, on my way back from church, I needed to head west. The one intersection I needed to turn west on was blocked off. YAY! U-turns have been stealing the spotlight from most of my other driving maneuvers of the day. They should be called, sorry-for-the-inconvenience-turns. So what, if I get to my movie twenty minutes late because of those wretched orange and white cones? Fifteen of those minutes where previews anyway. I'll live. Surely, all of this will pay off.

Some day in the future, I can look at the perfectly paved streets of gold and look forward to no construction.

Rainy Night Schedule

Today, after rehearsals for my high school's Fall musical, I drove my sister home. At the point of leaving the school, the sun was gazing pleasantly upon us. We did realize, though, that upon heading North, toward our house, we were entering the bittersweet shelter of gray clouds, heavy with tears. Before the sobfest began, we encountered heavy winds. Now, these were exciting. I've never been a good estimator, but I would say these gusts were being thrown at our little Optima at about thirty miles per hour. If I were to foolishly relinquish my grip on the steering wheel, it would have drifted counter-clockwise and into oncoming traffic about as fast as you could say, "Hey Sis, take my phone and text Mom and Dad that were encountering some turbulence." I had to take hold of the that wheel like Captain Barbossa in the eye of an Atlantic swirl.
Little did I know, my outward frustration with the up swept dust and buggies offended those poor clouds held aloft by atmospheric pressure. The the doggy tears welled up and all I could do was stay calm, ironically enough. Getting home in two pieces (my sister and myself) was my sole priority at this point. I turned off my music to narrow my focus on homeward thoughts and followed the twenty-five car line inconveniently headed slowly and cautiously in the same direction as me. I did however have the opportunity, to my sister's dismay, to text a status update to my Facebook page reading: Texting and driving is bad, especially when there are thirty mile per hour winds attacking your car!
Childish, I know, but I was determined to notify the world of my current state, and what did it get me? Two "Like"'s and four comments. I'd say it was a win.
So, I drove down my street in the relentless weather, rolled the window down to feel alive, then rolled it back up immediately due to immediate confirmation. As if the hundred fifty quarter-sized drops that seized my car's interior weren't enough, as I pulled up to my long driveway, I saw our overturned, empty recycling bin helplessly drowning in a puddle of both its own tears and those of the sky. With determined bravery, I set the short-term goal of rescuing my blue friend.
I parked the car in the carport and dashed away, leaving my sister to run the fourteen paces up to the security of our roofed patio, alone. I, holding nothing but the sheer adoration of my region's much needed precipitation in my heart, ran as fast as I could down the twenty yard driveway. I swallowed a couple drops of rain... I sure hope they weren't two doomed junebugs seeking shelter. When I arrived at my recycling bin's side, I yanked it upright thinking, "It's gonna be alright."
I wheeled the bin all the way back down the driveway homeward bound again. This time, I was surprised by how fast I was running despite the light burden that followed me close behind. I returned it to its post next to the trash bin and sped inside with a new sense of pride, a completed goal, and a gained three pounds in water.

Running in the Rain: It's just one more thing that keeps me humble. I mean, who would have room to tease after exposing such an escapade? Who says a gentleman can't enjoy nature?

Ticket on the Yellow Sub

I've been giving The Beatles more and more of my car time lately. I stumbled upon six of their albums on my iPod the other week and remembered that one of my friends added them along with a bunch of other music a couple of years ago. I am proud to say that they are easily in my top ten favorite bands of all time. Listening to Maxwell's Silver Hammer, I got a strong sense of good storytelling from them. Good storytelling equals good band. I already like The Decemberists and Deathcab, two groups of amazing storytellers who, no doubt, took some influence from our English friends. One of my tippity top favorite groups, House of Heroes, took immense influence from The Beatles. I just don't know why I didn't realize my obsession earlier. There's something about their twangy, vinyl harmonizing that can't keep my feet from tapping. Sure, a good portion of their songs may have been inspired by drug-induced hallucinations, but in their case, it got the job done. They have me intrigued by their experiences in strawberry fields, shady octopus gardens, and glass onions. Although, their clever songs are the extent of my journey.
Across the Universe gave the split-up band from Liverpool great popularity, but, sadly, I haven't seen past the first quarter of the movie for unknown, frustrating reasons. I've been told its portrayal of the songs are often hit-or-miss, but now, my cultured self can properly critique on its own. I can confidently recommend my new, old favorite band to any friend of mine who's been in the dark as long as I have.

The Beatles: Just another fancy band I've come across on my journey to becoming the cultured gentleman I know I can be.