True Love

Something is happening.

Dogs are everywhere. Yap dogs lie in fat driver laps, big labs lick children like ice cream cones, fat-headed bull-toad terriers strut beside their fat-jowled owners and, worst of all, Chihuahuas in pink dog coats and, sometimes, little tutus tip-tip-tip across the living room of otherwise reasonable people.

The days of the free-range, doofus dog are over. Pluto doesn’t stumble into Mickey’s room and tangle in the electric cord any more. Goofy doesn’t yee-haw like an off-the-farm yokel. Dogs are the new fluffy handbag, the complement to strappy heels, the companion to a big guy’s bad-ass belt buckle. Accessories are everywhere and they breath and bark, or at least yip-yip-yip.

What happened? We are urbans. We don’t range the woods with shotguns and covered wagons any more. We don’t need a dog to fight off coyotes and rattlesnakes. We don’t need a ratty, burr-covered, mangy outdoors assistant. But we do need to look good as we walk down the hot city streets and, most important, bright-lit mall hangouts for teens and other layabouts. What could be better than a sharp-looking dog to highlight your new pink hair or that nasty tattoo!

But why dogs? They need care. They are messy. They chew expensive shoes and sofas. They plop droppings everywhere that we dutifully bag as we never would for humans. Dogs are kind of stupid—OK, they are stupid. And you are stuck with the same dog-look for a long time. You can’t get a new model each season without dealing with big disposal problems. The business opportunity looks like Rent-a-Dog, but people don’t change dogs. They love their dogs forever and I know why. Their dogs love them. Pure sloppy, undeserved, unconditional, lip-kissing love. You know your dog would die for you. Your dog lives for you to come home. Your dog wants to be part of you. True love.

We want an accessory that loves. That’s it. Love-doggies are what's happening.

This makes me wonder. Why can’t everything love me, not just my clothing accessories. I want my car to at least like me, to be happy when I sit in it, to feel the glee when I go fast around those hairpin turns. To hug me hard when I have to leave her in a parking lot and fly away for the week.

Or why not my house? It just sits there now and doesn’t say a word. It isn’t happy when I come home. I don’t want house slobber on me, but a smile would be nice.

The good news is love-stuff is just around the corner. I am calling on those genetic engineers to work hard on this one. A couple million neurons is all it takes. And there is lots of room in the attic or glove compartment for lots of love in all my stuff.

Some people say we don’t care about people anymore because we get our love from our pets. That’s hogwash. I love people. They just don’t love me as much as my new TV that knows my channels and plays them for me whenever I want. Or my new bed that has my number. Love stuff is the future. Get ready.

Going Fast, Staying Close

(I’m not talking about the latest dance or even harpooning big semi-trucks on long stretches of the interstate where only one or two off ramps fly by every hour or so. Come to think of it, why not grab on to those double semis for a ride—just aim the harpoon at their rear bumperlock and—wham—you reel yourself in and then take a snooze as those miles tick away. They already carry so many tons they won’t notice you, even in your monster SUV.

But that’s different idea about Putting Fun Back into Driving. Today’s idea is about getting to work, buying groceries and picking up your kids on Saturday driving on crowded freeways.)

Freeways have a problem. You know that. Most say there are too many cars.

But, saying too many cars is just thinking backwards. The best way to figure what’s going on is to think about speed. Now, cars go fast when there’s lots of room but when cars get close together they slow way down. That’s the problem.

Remember: not too many cars; just too many slow cars.

So, what to do. Think about the weather. It knows how to handle this problem. When winds get crowded by mountains they just blow harder over the top. You want to fly a really big kite-don’t go where it’s flat and open; go up on top of a mountain where the clouds bunch up. You can have a kite as big as your car.

We need cars to do what the winds do. When you are in a jam just go like crazy.

People do the opposite, though. When it gets crowded they slow down and even stop. At first, going slow sounds reasonable—if you get close, then you can bump and bumps are better going slow and worse going fast. But you don’t want to bump at all, not even going slow. So the slow-go is over if we can have a no-bump car.

The real question is how to do the no-bump. Think about driving even closer together. How can I hit you if you are holding me, like clenches in boxing. Or like the harpoons for semis. Every car is hooked tight together and dragged along really fast.

No wrecks. No slowdowns. No worries about reaction times from those bad drivers, dilly-dallying along, talking on their cell phones, having a cup of coffee, and God knows what else, as the car in front jams on its brakes and then after a few seconds it starts slugging along again.

OK you say, but this sounds like a train. Who cares. You have your own car. You go fast and won’t be late for the kids.

It does mean that freeway entrances will be tricky. Instead of going one at a time with those weird red lights that make us wait to enter the hiway, we will just queue up really close together and hook bumperlocks. Then a big puller comes and whisks off twenty or thirty cars at a time. Then you can dilly-dally all you want. Or talk on the phone. Who cares.