I got in to work a half hour late, because I woke up fifteen minutes late. You may be wondering, “Hey, there seems to be fifteen minutes in that equation that have mysteriously disappeared!” Well, let me tell you where they disappeared to: I was forced to give those fifteen minutes to two turbaned Sihk men who were driving Pontiac 6000s about twenty under the speed limit. See, my problem with these men is not that they are Sihk, even though Christianity is still the one true religion; or that they were practicing their culural mores, wearing turbans, goodness know they’re permitted to do that as long as they don’t want to become policemen for crying out loud; or even that they were driving a prototypical Sihk automobile; no, my problems is this: they don’t know how to drive.

See, everyone was driving like crazy people yesterday, when it was snowing. Now, since it was snowing, there was (as happens when it snows) snow on the road. And the snow on the road made thing slippery. Yet people drove like the Fonz. So there were lots of accidents, and with the accidents the uberconcerned voice of the police media representative on 680 news. I can only assume that every other station had a similar conncerned cop telling everyone to drive like it’s 1910, because this morning, you would have though we were driving on an ice rink the way people were having a go at it. I could point out to them that the roads were salted, and the roads were sanded, and the roads had more freaking traction on them then they do in a midsummer’s afternoon!

This is what I get for living in Mississauga and not taking the highway at 7:00 in the morning.

Derek Webb writes a line in one of his songs that goes In our suburb, where we’re safe and white. I think he should live in Mississauga with me, and he’d be writing In our suburb, where I haven’t seen a white person in six years, and any that I have seen were Itallian, playing bocci ball, and saying something about Mother Mary so fast that no reasonable human being could interpret. Yeah, that’s what he’d write.

Now I have stuff to do, like work, and stuff. If you’re wondering what I’m going to say about America’s nuclear stockpile, let me say this: Where are the American blessed-are-the-peacemakers?

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