Roundabouts are popping up all over North America as an alternative to intersections. Roundabouts are, of course, those circular roadways that, depending on your experience, are either a) an efficient way of making one's way through an intersection in a relatively safe manner or b) an endless circle of chaos from which one can never escape except by an act of Congress.
This last option also describes an actual event at the Winter Olympics (minus any intervention by Congress), a subject to which we shall return later.
Roundabouts are generally perceived as a safer alternative to traditional intersections, partly because head-on collisions are virtually eliminated. This is, of course, if you are not blindly heeding the advice of our GPS, which once advised us to turn RIGHT in a roundabout.
Also, roundabouts are designed to slow cars down, again lowering the possibility of a high-speed crash.
But these advantages are admittedly car-centric. After considering much research on roundabouts, the government has concluded that if you are a pedestrian, and you head into a roundabout, you have about as good a chance of coming out alive and in one piece as a bee has of persuading a buffalo to fall in love with it.
Of course not all researchers agree with this assessment. Some say the bees have a MUCH better chance.
A Canadian guide to roundabouts has some practical advice for you pedestrians trying to improve your odds of traversing a roundabout safely. It advises you to use "assertive body language" and walk in a brisk and deliberate manner to let the cars whizzing by you know that you mean business. That you are no bee. That you -- HONK!!
Whew, that was close.
Should these measures fail -- and I cannot imagine that they wouldn't, even in a relatively polite country such as Canada -- the guide advises a more drastic step. A step IN the roadway, that is. Yes, the guide declares, if you are so daring as to actually place a foot in the path of a hurtling vehicle, drivers are bound to respect that.
And buffaloes will fall in love with bees.
Perhaps, in the absence of common sense from government leaders, we can look to the Olympics for inspiration to solve this problem. I mentioned an event that is reminiscent of the chaos that can build in a roundabout, particularly those that have more than one lane. This event is called the "short-track speedskating relay," which takes longer to type than it does to skate, and as far as I can tell goes something like this:
One member from each country/team lines up at a the start. Like Musical Chairs, there are more participants than there is space for them, ensuring that at least one team member will fall and be out of the game at some point.
The other four or so members of each team -- totaling 20 or so -- mill around in the middle of the ice, waiting until it's their turn to get tagged.
When it's their turn, they meander into the skating area, bend forward, and wait until they are pushed from behind on the bum by their teammate. Yes. On the bum.
So I'm thinking that pedestrians can use some of these techniques. They could hang out in the middle of the roundabout for a while, until they feel a bump from behind, given by a kindly car driver: "Your turn, mate!"
Or maybe they can just stick with traffic lights.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Thursday, February 20, 2014
It's just unnatural
There is a good body of research showing that kids today are spending less and less time outdoors and more time indoors, mostly glued to screens. This is apparently contributing to a whole host of problems, including increased obesity, decreased ability to use the imagination, lack of appreciation of nature ("Mom, what's a 'backyard'? . . . Wait -- we HAVE one? Awesome! Wait -- what is it again?"), etc.
These studies, however accurate they may be, are obviously not referring to the kids across the street from us.
These kids are outside all the time. Running, playing, screeching, repeatedly blowing the horn on an old VW Bug sitting in the parking lot. I don't have any evidence, but they probably even go down to the river behind our house and catch frogs.
On a perfectly sunny, warm fall day last year, as the horn on the Bug continued to shatter the quiet, the fact that we don't have normal neighborhood kids overwhelmed me. "Why," I asked the Hero, "are these kids outside on such a nice day? Why aren't they inside watching TV, or playing video games, or on their computers? Things kids their age are supposed to be doing?"
We shook our heads at all the things these poor kids are missing out on. Less of an imagination. Ignorance of nature. Obesity. Good grief, they not only know what a backyard is, they explore it. With their hands and feet and eyes and ears and noses. Poor things.
We can only hope that in time, they'll somehow catch up with their peers. And really, if we care about them as we should -- if we really believe it "takes a village" and all that -- we'll take them under our wing and do some mentoring: "See, grass contains gazillions of creeping, icky things that can crawl on you and give you the heebie-jeebies...OR you could just watch them through a cool nature webcam...here, let's go inside and take a look..."
These studies, however accurate they may be, are obviously not referring to the kids across the street from us.
These kids are outside all the time. Running, playing, screeching, repeatedly blowing the horn on an old VW Bug sitting in the parking lot. I don't have any evidence, but they probably even go down to the river behind our house and catch frogs.
On a perfectly sunny, warm fall day last year, as the horn on the Bug continued to shatter the quiet, the fact that we don't have normal neighborhood kids overwhelmed me. "Why," I asked the Hero, "are these kids outside on such a nice day? Why aren't they inside watching TV, or playing video games, or on their computers? Things kids their age are supposed to be doing?"
We shook our heads at all the things these poor kids are missing out on. Less of an imagination. Ignorance of nature. Obesity. Good grief, they not only know what a backyard is, they explore it. With their hands and feet and eyes and ears and noses. Poor things.
We can only hope that in time, they'll somehow catch up with their peers. And really, if we care about them as we should -- if we really believe it "takes a village" and all that -- we'll take them under our wing and do some mentoring: "See, grass contains gazillions of creeping, icky things that can crawl on you and give you the heebie-jeebies...OR you could just watch them through a cool nature webcam...here, let's go inside and take a look..."
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Overachievement isn't just for people
A recent weather report had this to declare about weather patterns in our area this winter:
"There have been several storms that have overachieved in this manner this year."
The meteorological explanation for "this manner" was a bit difficult to follow, but appeared to have something to do with various small storms joining together in a sort of Alliance of Storm Chaos.
And "overachievement" in this case seems to refer to the number of days area schools have been cancelled. It is estimated that in order for students to make up all the missed time, several extra days will have to be added not only to the school year, but to each of the summer months themselves, like leap days. This will, of course, greatly affect the seasons for the rest of us, so that in "August" it will actually be November. The good news is that the following year, spring should arrive in "January," provided of course that there are a minimum of overachieving storms.
It is all very complex, which goes to show that we shouldn't be too hard on meteorologists when they mess up a forecast, even though if the rest of messed up that much at OUR jobs, we would quickly join the ranks of the unemployed. "Underachieving," we might be called.
As we watched the Olympics this week, I imagined an Olympics for Weather Forecasters. Contenders would have to analyze a series of simulated radar patterns and predict the resulting imaginary weather. Those who got the closest would advance to the next round, where they would encounter obstacles like angry parents and school officials lobbying for a favorable forecast to keep the schools open, along with hopeful children pleading for lots of snow.
Finally, at the end of the grueling competition the winners would be announced and medals awarded. The forecaster who could guarantee no more "overachieving storms" this year would, of course, win the gold. The rest -- well, they would win a one-way ticket to Siberia.
"There have been several storms that have overachieved in this manner this year."
The meteorological explanation for "this manner" was a bit difficult to follow, but appeared to have something to do with various small storms joining together in a sort of Alliance of Storm Chaos.
And "overachievement" in this case seems to refer to the number of days area schools have been cancelled. It is estimated that in order for students to make up all the missed time, several extra days will have to be added not only to the school year, but to each of the summer months themselves, like leap days. This will, of course, greatly affect the seasons for the rest of us, so that in "August" it will actually be November. The good news is that the following year, spring should arrive in "January," provided of course that there are a minimum of overachieving storms.
It is all very complex, which goes to show that we shouldn't be too hard on meteorologists when they mess up a forecast, even though if the rest of messed up that much at OUR jobs, we would quickly join the ranks of the unemployed. "Underachieving," we might be called.
As we watched the Olympics this week, I imagined an Olympics for Weather Forecasters. Contenders would have to analyze a series of simulated radar patterns and predict the resulting imaginary weather. Those who got the closest would advance to the next round, where they would encounter obstacles like angry parents and school officials lobbying for a favorable forecast to keep the schools open, along with hopeful children pleading for lots of snow.
Finally, at the end of the grueling competition the winners would be announced and medals awarded. The forecaster who could guarantee no more "overachieving storms" this year would, of course, win the gold. The rest -- well, they would win a one-way ticket to Siberia.
Thursday, February 6, 2014
The great cake debate
The fate of the remainder of the Hero's yummy yet colossal birthday cake is perilously in question. Despite our best efforts to consume it in its entirety, after several days it stubbornly continues to exist, and even appears to actually grow in size when we are not looking.
We have shared slices with neighbors, coworkers, passing UPS drivers, hungry squirrels, etc., and still almost a quarter of the cake is left.
"We have to put the rest in the freezer," I told the Hero.
Had the Hero just learned that he was suddenly required to forgo clothing, he could not have looked more horrified. He searched desperately for a reason to keep the cake within reach of easy consumption.
"I think cake helps my canker sores," he announced. "We should definitely have some tomorrow before you freeze it. And Saturday too," he added. "And Sunday..."
And so it is that barring an emergency Congressional Act, the cake will likely never make it to the freezer. And after the cake is gone, we will be facing a month or two of salads and other green, healthy, non-cake foods to make up for our weakness.
Which will just about bring us to MY birthday...
We have shared slices with neighbors, coworkers, passing UPS drivers, hungry squirrels, etc., and still almost a quarter of the cake is left.
"We have to put the rest in the freezer," I told the Hero.
Had the Hero just learned that he was suddenly required to forgo clothing, he could not have looked more horrified. He searched desperately for a reason to keep the cake within reach of easy consumption.
"I think cake helps my canker sores," he announced. "We should definitely have some tomorrow before you freeze it. And Saturday too," he added. "And Sunday..."
And so it is that barring an emergency Congressional Act, the cake will likely never make it to the freezer. And after the cake is gone, we will be facing a month or two of salads and other green, healthy, non-cake foods to make up for our weakness.
Which will just about bring us to MY birthday...
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Happy birthday, Hero!
In honor of the Hero's birthday today, we relate a short tale that reveals his still-young state of mind.
"Oh, no," I heard the Hero say one evening. "Oh, no, no, no."
"What's wrong?" I yelled.
"Early Alzheimer's," he said.
He had been trying to put the electric toothbrush head on the toothbrush and wondered why it wasn't cooperating, when he realized he was trying to fit it on the toothpaste tube instead.
At least he had realized it, I told him reassuringly. If it were really Alzheimer's, he may have found himself attempting to unlock a door with the toothbrush.
"You...haven't tried to unlock a door with it, have you?" I asked.
"No!"
"Just checking."
But if birthdays are a reminder of advancing age, they are also a time to reflect on the past year and one's growth in the pursuit of one's goals. Or failing that, to eat lots of cake.
Which is exactly what we plan to do. We would share it with others, but...we seem to have misplaced the extra forks.
Maybe I'll check to see if they're in the door lock.
"Oh, no," I heard the Hero say one evening. "Oh, no, no, no."
"What's wrong?" I yelled.
"Early Alzheimer's," he said.
He had been trying to put the electric toothbrush head on the toothbrush and wondered why it wasn't cooperating, when he realized he was trying to fit it on the toothpaste tube instead.
At least he had realized it, I told him reassuringly. If it were really Alzheimer's, he may have found himself attempting to unlock a door with the toothbrush.
"You...haven't tried to unlock a door with it, have you?" I asked.
"No!"
"Just checking."
But if birthdays are a reminder of advancing age, they are also a time to reflect on the past year and one's growth in the pursuit of one's goals. Or failing that, to eat lots of cake.
Which is exactly what we plan to do. We would share it with others, but...we seem to have misplaced the extra forks.
Maybe I'll check to see if they're in the door lock.
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