Curmudgeon

I need an oil change. The little sticker in my window tells me I do. I last had an oil change three months and a few days ago, nearly 2,900 miles ago. The automotive industry tells us the magic number for oil changes: three months or 3,000 miles, whichever comes first.

I can't remember any other time in my life where my regular driving caused me to hit three thousand miles before three months time- so I'm not counting a planned road trip or an unplanned evacuation. This means that I'm driving something like 34 miles a day, burning about a gallon and a half per day. PER DAY. Back home, I'd drive maybe half the amount I drive here in Austin.

This is totally unacceptable. I hate to drive. There's a feeling like my time is not my own that I despise. It's like forced downtime that requires the full focus of my attention on the travel itself so one can barely think about other things. Your eyes are occupied, your brain is occupied. Insert obligatory rant about SUVs and Americans' thirst for oil. I feel like the road just snips years off of my life, one mile at a time.

Where the hell is my automatic flying car? Why don't we have better mass transit? When will teleportation actually work?

Pesky atoms.