Riding in San Fran

Two of the many things that I would like to do, one day, are

1. own a motorcycle, and
2. live in San Francisco.

While reading up on some mildly intriguing Intel-Mac commentary this morning, I stumbled across a page which may not have cured me of these desires, but did put a serious dent in them, anyway.

It starts out as a commentary on lousy driving habits, with gems like:

Maybe just a general "Erratic & Inattentive!!" signal would work for a variety of situations. A blinking American flag light would be perfect. It would be immediately recognized internationally as a warning icon for out of control, unpredictable and self consumed behavior. Many of the right vehicles already have flags on them, albeit usually tattered to rag status. They just need prominent illumination.

and more general comments like:

America's priorities are so retarded. It's like the SuperBowl uproar and general freaking out about seeing Janet's boob pop out, from the same parents who sit their kids in front of movies featuring the Governator shooting peoples' brains out. If you'd rather have your kids know what spattered brains look like than see a woman without a shirt on, you shouldn't be having children. How did you even figure out how to have them?

But then it gets really thorough and graphical about the author's experience of a motorcycle accident, in San Fran:

Beyond being able to wash it, my hand and arm still wasn't able to do anything useful. It just hung around pitifully at my side while I watched it atrophy and wrinkle. I'd look at it and try to give it useful things it could do, watch it fail, and then sit it back in place as comfortably as possible and feed it more pain meds. It was like having grandparents move in.

Sobering stuff.