August 5, 2008
After a review of your traffic collision report #--- - ---- occurring on 07/27/08 you have been issued a citation for the following:
22350 CVC Speed, "Unsafe Speed for Conditions."
THIS IS AN EXPLANATION OF THE VIOLATION.
The California basic speed law (22350 VC) requires a person to drive their vehicle at a speed that is safe, reasonable and prudent, while having due regard for weather, traffic and roadway conditions. If you don't, it is possible to get a speeding ticket, EVEN IF YOU WERE TRAVELING AT OR BELOW THE SPEED LIMIT.
For example, if the fog is so thick you can't see the end of the hood of your car, driving at 25 MPH is unsafe. Thus, a person could be cited for "Unsafe speed for conditions" for driving at 25, even if the speed limit is 25 or higher.
If you cause a rear end collision by running into the car ahead of you, the safe speed just prior to impact was zero. If you had been driving with due regard for traffic conditions, you would have been able to stop your vehicle prior to impact. Being distracted by looking at something, adjusting your radio, etc., are the very actions the law is trying to discourage.
Speed Approx.: 10
Veh. Lmt.: 35.
Wow. In a really bullshit, ridiculous way, that makes sense.
Lesson learned: When driving, do not glance over your shoulder to check for oncoming traffic. This is the very action the California Basic Speed Law is trying to discourage against.
One last time? I have a really horrible, Paint-quality satellite picture for evidence. And then I'll never mention it again. Maybe.
Just, y'know, tell me I'm not crazy and that you see:
1) The bike lane that ends in the middle of nowhere,
2) the cross-hatching,
3) the island that makes all decisions final,
4) the right-turn only lane,
5) the stop light,
6) the Shell entrance,
7) the In-n-Out entrance, and
8) that everyone in Davis is hungry and wants to cut over to #7 for food.
Then imagine the fact that I'm coming in off the freeway where the speed limit is 65 mph[A], and there are quite a few cars coming over the hill from behind[B], and the black Honda in front of me has its blinker on and is in the process of merging to the left[C].
Now. When you think about how slowly this guy must have been going if he was pretty far ahead one moment and not the next, does the fact that I wound up in his back bumper[*] make me a bad driver?
Tonight is one of those nights, except that for the first time, I realized that when I went through and dumped the fics I wrote for Creative Writing during winter quarter, I left a couple out.
So because it's something to keep me busy, and also because I find it really funny that I don't actually remember writing half of this stuff, here they are:
Title: The Highway Kind
Word Count: 589
I wasn't happy with the ending of this one and could never come up with anything better, so I think I opted to pretend it didn't exist. Good call.
( He plans the trip during his lunch breaks - fingers tracing blue highway lines over the wrinkled ridges of yellowing pages. Twenty-seven miles north to Portland to start, then a curving right down toward Nevada, pit-stops when necessary.Collapse )
Title: Scratch Paper
Word Count: 2,340
Final assignment for the class was an edited version of an earlier, workshopped story. I posted the first draft, wrote the expanded one the night before it was due, and wasn't a fan, which I guess is part of the reason it disappeared. Go figure.
( The first is an old Safeway receipt, salvaged from the crack between the seats of his mother's rusty Datsun and smoothed out over the sun-split leather of the steering wheel...Collapse )
Word Count: Who the hell even knows. 600-something.
( When they're five, fun is playing in the backyard with the scooter they share, and helmets Mom makes them wear for 'safety reasons.'Collapse )
Can we just talk for a second about how I got dressed this morning, put my things in my bag, rode my bike across campus, took a Psych exam, and then realized - an hour after waking up - that my SHOES WERE ON THE WRONG FEET?
It's definitely true, you guys. I look at my feet while I walk sometimes because I'm shy or something, and today as I was going to turn my scantron in, I went, "Well. That's kind of weird. My moccasins are pointing out the wrong way."
And then I noticed that they felt funny, too.
HEY, WHAT'S UP. MY NAME'S KIM, AND I'M AN IDIOT.
So about these epic battles.
This fly, you guys. THIS FLY.
I went over to the window earlier to look outside, and RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY EYES was this fly. So I moved my face over a little bit and THERE WAS ANOTHER ONE. And I was like, 'I DON'T WANT YOUR DISEASES IN MY ROOM, GET OUT,' because two guys in my building have staph infections and who knows where they came from, y'know, and so I went and grabbed the fly swatter.
I couldn't find the second fly, but that isn't the point of this story, so we're going to skip over it, all right? Because the first fly is a MUTANT. I hit him with the swatter like, five times in a row, until eventually he fell on the ground, dead. And I was like, 'YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT,' and bent down to put him in the trash.
TOO BAD HE CAME BACK TO LIFE AND FLEW AWAY.
A few seconds later he landed again, so I swatted him, again. And, again, he fell down 'dead'.
Until I hit him again and he jumped, went, 'HEY, WHAT'S UP, SUCKA?' and left.
I swiped at him midair this time, at which point he landed on his back in the windowsill. And I was like, 'AMY. HE'S JUST FAKING, I KNOW IT. HE'S ALIVE. HE'S ALIVE. HE'S A ZOMBIE FLY I DON'T WANNA TOUCH HIM MAKE IT STOP.'
And she just laughed because she refuses to believe the truth.
Until I poked him and he FLEW OUT OF THE CRACK IN THE WINDOWSILL AND CAME STRAIGHT AT MY FACE. TRYING TO ATTACK ME.
I lost track of him then because I was too preoccupied going, 'I TOLD YOU, I TOLD YOU, AUGHKJLFJKDLA;JFL,' and trying to hide, but I know he's lurking somewhere, and when he comes out?
Yeah, that's right. He may have won the battle, but he WILL NOT WIN THE WAR.
here in a moment and larger than life.
274 days spent waiting for
7,862,400 glorified moments of chalk-covered sidewalks,
red-checked picnic blankets, and
clouds of blue barbecue-smoke
that stretch and disappear across bluer skies.
2,184 hours of asphalt-stained toes, and
iced-tea kisses, and
sunlight dripping golden through reading-tree branches that twist
around a juncture perfect for sitting,
but also for storing my thoughts, and dreams
the way I feel about you.
+ and = signs teaching the only kind of math I ever want to learn,
and it’s forever, in my other life, no knockonwood necessary,
just 72 years from now
to a girl like me
and a boy like you,
fingers tangling together in a way that’s
but mostly just
Here, summer’s subtle, minor -
Superman’s eyes behind Clark Kent’s glasses;
and humid like someone forgot to shut the sauna door.
Small little gravel bits leave
small little impressions on heels
and tree trunk confessions go unscratched
because in real life, there are no initials
-and even if there were-
yours are still a mystery
and if I’m honest,
some days mine are too.
So here's the thing.
Once in awhile, there will be a book, or movie, or television show that will seep into my subconscious overnight, and when I wake up in the morning, I WILL BE COMPLETELY OBSESSED.
This happened to be the case with Greek, the new [or, old? Season finale's coming up soon] ABC Family show about college, and frat boys, and relationships, and blah blah blah blah blah.
I tried to keep it a secret and everything. I really did. (Except for the few times I threw caution to the wind and made capslock posts asking Scott Michael Foster to marry me and stuff, but those definitely don't count.)
You've got to understand though, when the urge to fic takes me, I become weak. And this past week, the urge to fic did. Take me. Or.
ANYWAY, so I wrote this Cappie/Casey thing, but because I only sat down and messed with it in twenty minute intervals or whatever randomly throughout the week until today...it kind of sucks. Like. If it were alive, and I weren't against murder and things, I'd shoot it. There might be a couple of redeeming qualities, but mostly it's broken up all over the place and 'He said, she said, fjkdla;fja,' - possibly due to the fact that certain parts actually incorporate entire scenes. With dialogue. And. Stage directions?
Could've been a bad choice on my part.
HOWEVER. No way did I spend a hefty portion of the last month of my summer pounding out 6,740 words just to let them rot on my harddrive. I'M POSTING THE THING, DAMMIT. DON'T FIGHT ME ON THIS. :D
BUT FIRST, because I know most of you have yet to come to the dark side, VIDEO CLIPS! TO LURE YOU!
Most of them, I promise, actually contain bits that are in the fic (which you do plan on reading, right?). And I'm trying to refrain from posting the rest of the season in its entirety through the course of a thousand clips, but there are a few that are JUST TOO GOOD. SO I'M LEAVIN' 'EM. AND THERE AIN'T NOTHIN' YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT.
( +5Collapse )
Ready? Got all that?
Sick. NOW, FIC.
Title: A Drinking Song
Word Count: 6,740
( Cappie never really planned on going to college, per se...Collapse )
I'm sure you'll all be happy to know that I expounded on this post from last night, and posted it at dh_epic_fail [which you should ALL JOIN if you haven't already. And I know for a FACT that you haven't already, because there are no special bolded names when I look at the User Info. SO GO].
And prepare to be amazed... :D
( JK, I LIED, NOW UNDER A CUT. [I was all excited about being a rebel, too.]Collapse )
I gave her FNL, she gave me Tim, and I never wrote anything.
GUESS WHOSE FAULT THAT WAS?
Anyway, so last night I was going through my writing folder, and found a half-finished something that I'd started with the intention of posting for that meme, and tonight, after screwing with it a little this afternoon, I've got fic(let)!
Don't even play like you're not stoked. :D
Basically an expansion on this scene (starting at 4:55 - or say, 1:12 away from the end, if YouTube wants to play this switch-up game with me) from Git 'Er Done - Tim visits Jason at the rehab center and EMO ABOUNDS.
Title: The Smell of Hospitals in the Desert
Pairing: Sort of Jason/Lyla. Sort of Tim/Lyla. But...not really either. [See how that works?]
Word Count: 1,009
Rating: PG? Why not. Sounds about right.
( It's Lyla's damned idea to visit Jay at the rehab center before the Arnett Mead game in the first place...Collapse )