In keeping with my job, I've been doing a good bit of traveling across the country lately, experiencing the West Coast and East Coast in ways no one's been able to do since the fabled days before the Rap Wars of the mid-90s. While I've enjoyed driving around in rental cars on some of our nation's finest highways and/or by-ways, I have a bit of advice for both coasts.
First, to those of you driving up and down Interstate 81 in Virginia -- I know you like to think of yourself as dangerous, hellbent-for-leather, biker dudes, the kind of roughnecks who'd have a bumper sticker reading "Speed On, Brother -- Hell Ain't Half Full!" and a tattoo that said "Momma Didn't Love Me." But seriously, going 66 in a 65 does not qualify you for the fast lane. Get the minivan with the suction-cup Garfield in the right lane.
Second, to all of those people who've been waiting to make a left turn in front of me in Los Angeles -- just go already! There is no turn signal, there never will be a turn signal. I'm sorry, Cletus, but you're just going to have to cross your fingers and punch it. There's a reason you have insurance, and buddy, this is it. (P.S. Hang up and drive, Stefan. Spielberg will call you back.)