Speed Limits

This morning I was gesturally blasted during my daily commute to Oakland by someone in a topless Jeep annoyed at the universal forces that brought us together on the same stretch of asphalt at precisely that moment. I admit, he sucked me into driving faster than my current "Save Gas" campaign manager (uh, me) would normally allow. It's not the first time, and as a driver who used to be THAT person I would empathize with THAT guy if I had been, let's say, applying deodorant while driving (which I've seen, honest-to-Pete), or doing something else that would land me on This List. But I was driving in a way that even my Irish grandpa, orMr. Debold (greatly-feared high school driving teacher), would've approved. I think. Slightly above the posted speed limit, eyes on the road, cell phone tucked away, deodorant applied long before. I was however, singing with force and gusto, which isn't on That List, so maybe what set Jeep man off was my resistance to him badgering me into cruising so far above the speed limit that my vocal cords and other body parts would squeeze shut (G forces would definitely be involved). He clearly had a perspective of speed limit mathematics and logic, that I lack now.

So, I would've re-gestured to Jeep dude but with both hands on the wheel, and my torso safely jammin' (if I do say so) to Jimi Thing....it just would've messed with a good thing. But it did occur to me there's a better way to think about speed limits - both official posted ones, and the completely arbitrary ones picked by middle-aged girls thinking they'll get better gas mileage since (un)NASCAR-like drafting on the Parkway has been deemed too dangerous for un-professional drivers like middle-aged girls. So I've been told (Mark!).

So I have a proposal, for all of us. Here we go..... ESPN.com. Or some source that gives you access to sports teams' jersey numbers (for people like my Mom, who LOVES sports and even watches the NHL on Fios, but doesn't care what Sidney Crosby's number is). Because the better way to approach speed limits is to.....

Pick the jersey number of your favorite athletes, in any sport, and drive that fast. Or slow, depending. Seriously! This was the best idea I ever had during a crappy commute to Oakland, so listen up.

Let's apply this idea using the Pittsburgh Penguins. For example, from now on my Parkway North commute will be at Kris Letang speed, plus or - rarely minus - Matty Niskanen. Parkway West, I'd love to pull a Sidney Crosby on you but....I'm gas-cheap and I'm unwilling to sacrifice my vehicle or those of the other commuting souls around me. Sorry, young bud. But I can happily and legally do Brooks Orpik down Broadhead Road. And Marce Andre....you're the man for driving through my neighborhood, unless the school speed sign is flashing. Then it's gotta be at Chris Kunitz speed or Butch the crossing guard will be PISSED.

See? Aside from the Butch factor, isn't it nice to assign your favorite athletes' jersey numbers to the roads you've got to drive every single stinkin' commuting day?

Suddenly, if we all did it, maybe topless Jeep dude would gesture with his THUMB up instead of *ahem*, because he knows I'm just hauling some Letang but and not trying to keep him from his 7:30am EST call with Beijing (because I have SO many better things to do. really). And the world would smile, and drivers would relax a little, and all of our traffic lights would turn green when we approached them. Okay. That really wouldn't happen. But it'd feel like all our lights turned green each time. And that's the point.....it's just a different perspective. I just want us all to land in our parking spots with our grooves completely intact instead of slightly partially knocked around by pressure to beat the posted speed limit by, oh, say, 38 mph.

Is that so crazy?

Even if it is, I'm sticking to it. I'd rather smile while cruising to my Pens or Steelers logic and singing my Jimi thing.

Or thang.