Neanderpundit

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On my way to work today, I’m driving up the Ryan in the middle lane. In the right lane is a flatbed ford F450, a biggish work truck, loaded with ladders and scaffolding and towing this ridiculously small trailer on which is a portajohn. The truck has 16″ split rims, dually on the rear, and the trailer has these little 8″ tires like you’d expect to find on a small wheelbarrow. The portajohn and the trailer it’s on are bouncing along like a toy.

I’m about ten car lengths back, attempting to pay attention to my driving as I notice the portajohn is not nearly as well attached to the trailer as it might be, and seems, in fact, to be holding on by a mere bungee cord. One final deep (typical, really, for Chicago) pothole, and the portajohn flies off.

Less than two seconds behind the trailer is a semi, which makes contact with the portajohn just about as it hits the ground, and it explodes like an egg just hit with a baseball bat. It’s apparently been in use a while, becuase green deodorant enzyme, clumps of turds, and wads of used asswipe are strewn over the road. Cars are hitting it and skidding and swerving. I manage to change lanes before I get to that spot, and avoid being showered, but even in the truck with my windows rolled up, I can smell the pine scented shit for miles.

Yes, I can crapblog without being personally involved.

Now, imagine the truck driver arriving on the jobste without the crapper? Imagine the drivers behind filing the insurance claim? Imagine the mechanic who must next change that semi’s oil?

ick.

At Dibney. I sat on a boat and had a long conversation with a British gentleman about books, and he reccomended ths book to me, he central character, Hieronymous Bosch (the LA detective, not the artist) is well written and compelling. I haven’t read a murder mystery this good in a very long time, and it’s a bit annoying this guy was out there and I have missed him all this time.

Now, my tastes vary. As will yours. While I know that Dan Brown’s work is mostly crap, I still enjoy reading it, as formulaic and predictable as it is. This guy is (at least from his first book) nothing like that. I’m reading his second, “black ice” right now. I’ll let you know howit goes. Meanwhile, stick your head in at the library and read Black Echo. If you like murder mysteries, I think you’ll like this one.