If you’ve been reading the NYTimes and Slate.com recently you’ll know that you shouldn’t be talking on your cell phone while driving. The U.S. has withheld findings that talking on a cell phone while driving has very deadly consequences.
“Even with hands-free use, phones suck your brain out of the physical world, fatally distracting you from the road. Second, the effect is as bad as driving drunk. Hands-free phone use can impair driving skills more than intoxication does.” – William Saletan, Slate.com
So once again as a cyclist and motorcyclist who daily has to deal with meandering SUV’s and people intoxicated on their own conversations. . .
Hang it up LA! I thank you and so do all my loved ones. . .
I’ll be back with something more up beat about the garden soon. . .Have a safe and happy summer. ..
Links to the cell phone truth:
Cell phone zombie
LATimes from 2008
Mother Jones
NYtimes article on data withheld by US
Research study recently released
Cell phone use compared with drunk driving
Slate article today. . .
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Pregnant Pause
There is a place in Studio City that I heard about when I was twelve. Eye on LA did a spot on it, or maybe it was Huell Howser. This place makes great pizza, but it is famous for its salad that supposedly induces labor in expectant mothers.
I was the last to know I was gay, so when I was twelve, I just assumed that someday in high school, I'd take my overdue girlfriend, with some gloves and hot water to Caioti Pizza for "the Salad" and do it right there.
Plans changed.
I finally went last night with my overdue friend Crystal and her husband the Smoker. Not at all what I thought it was going to be.
My expectations after 20 plus years:
Big place that feels like a HUGE party is going on, feels a lot like Chevy's on meth. Wall of polaroids of women with big bellies, women with babies, women with twins, each marked with sharpies bearing the names, dates, poundage, etc. I also expected that each time someone ordered "the Salad" about eight or so wait staff would escort it to the pregnant patron, with sparklers and a catchy clapping jingle.
What is:
Tiny fucking place. Two servers, both as useful as armadillos with iphones. No babies, no polaroids. No fanfare, no sparklers.
Great Pizza. Great Roasted Beet Salad.
Here is the link:
http://www.maternitysalad.com/home.html
And you tell me if I was wrong to expect a trough of babies.
And one more thing, Crystal is still waiting.
*****
For your listening pleasure, ABBA.
I was the last to know I was gay, so when I was twelve, I just assumed that someday in high school, I'd take my overdue girlfriend, with some gloves and hot water to Caioti Pizza for "the Salad" and do it right there.
Plans changed.
I finally went last night with my overdue friend Crystal and her husband the Smoker. Not at all what I thought it was going to be.
My expectations after 20 plus years:
Big place that feels like a HUGE party is going on, feels a lot like Chevy's on meth. Wall of polaroids of women with big bellies, women with babies, women with twins, each marked with sharpies bearing the names, dates, poundage, etc. I also expected that each time someone ordered "the Salad" about eight or so wait staff would escort it to the pregnant patron, with sparklers and a catchy clapping jingle.
What is:
Tiny fucking place. Two servers, both as useful as armadillos with iphones. No babies, no polaroids. No fanfare, no sparklers.
Great Pizza. Great Roasted Beet Salad.
Here is the link:
http://www.maternitysalad.com/home.html
And you tell me if I was wrong to expect a trough of babies.
And one more thing, Crystal is still waiting.
*****
For your listening pleasure, ABBA.
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