If at First You Don't Succeed, Skydiving is Not for You.

It’s Sunday, and so far today, I have been muy productive. Are you totally impressed by my bilingual abilities? You should be, because they are dope. The other things I can say in Spanish are “en fuego!” and “el gato!” AND I can combine my three Spanish words/phrases to make the very impressive “el gato es muy en fuego!” which may or may not be grammatically correct but makes for a humorous phrase that hopefully won’t ever have to be used in real life. It would be a funny thing for someone to pop into a room, say, and then leave, all random-like. I would like that. That should be added to every sitcom ever, don’t you think?

So anyway, very productive. I’m having a visitor tomorrow so I did some housecleaning, which included the very classy and not-at-all disgusting tasks of spot-cleaning cat urine out of the hall carpet; scrubbing grime from the tub floor; and scooping the litterbox. I know! The Queen of England has NOTHING on my glamour, NOTHING.

I had two things I wanted to discuss today. I have to get prettified soon and go see a matinee of a show that one of my favorite local actors is in, and it’s at a fancy theater so I probably shouldn’t wear my jeans that are ripped out at the ass and my “Zombies ate my Brain” t-shirt, as much as I love them both.

First: there is a huge problem happening locally that needs to be addressed.

Suicide by skydiving.

Before I start, I just want to say that there is nothing funny about suicide. I am not making fun of suicide. Please let me repeat this in case you decide to get up-in-arms and all “AMY IS MOCKING MENTAL ILLNESS YO SHE HAS NO FEELINGS OR HUMAN EMOTION.” Nope. Not the case. Actually have more empathy toward people with depressive tendencies than a lot of other things in the world. THERE IS NOTHING FUNNY ABOUT SUICIDE.

However, two people in the past three years in my area have killed themselves by jumping out of a plane. ON PURPOSE.

This is very, very distressing.

First, in 2008, this young man pretended to be taking photos for a school project and went up in a small plane with people skydiving. He then LEAPT FROM THE PLANE WITHOUT A CHUTE before the other people in the plane could stop him and landed on a house. And died, obviously.

This was disturbing on a lot of levels and we talked about it at work a LOT. I mean, I get people who want to end it all. I do. Things get overwhelming. But in such a painful, scary, and over-the-top way? That boggles my mind. You can’t have been thinking, as you fell, “This was a very, very good idea!” I can’t imagine you thought that, right? I get pills. Or even cutting. But jumping out of a plane? That takes sincere dedication. Also, can you even IMAGINE being the people who lived in that house. “What was that NOISE on the ROOF, Harold?” “I’ll go check it out OH MY GOD RUTH IT IS A DEAD MAN.”

But you know, I was pretty sure this was a one-time occurrence. How often do you get suicide by sky-diving? And it’s not like I live in a HUGE area. I mean, sure, it’s a big area, but it’s not the sky-diving capital of the world, or anything.

Then, last week?

This happened. 

And this gentleman was an actual skydiver, who had jumped over 9,000 times! Who taught skydiving! And he went up, left a note, jumped, PURPOSELY UNHOOKED HIS PARACHUTE, and then fell to his death.

This is even sadder. I mean, this was a man who wanted, I think, to die doing what he loved. So awful.

I don’t even know what conclusions to draw from this. I can’t imagine wanting to commit suicide in what has to be the scariest way possible, other than getting eaten by bears. This is just incomprehensible to me. I suppose people who have actually skydived might have different opinions on this? Maybe it’s a lovely way to go. Maybe your adrenaline is so high that you wouldn’t feel a thing when you hit, I don’t know. But I’m scared of planes and I’m scared of heights and I’m scared of jumping off of things (including small things, like curbs or steps, because, as mentioned repeatedly, CLUMSY) so I know if I were ever in a skydiving situation? I would not even be able to jump. I would stand there in the doorway until someone shoved me out or they landed the plane. No way I’d jump out of a plane. And definitely not to my death. Eeesh.

Oh, and sidebar, eaten by bears. Remember that guy that WAS eaten by bears? Do most people find that sad or funny? Is it awful I think he totally got what he deserved and the only person I feel any sympathy for is his girlfriend? THAT GUY THOUGHT HE WAS A BEAR. And that the bears were SIMPATICO with him. Dude, you so deserved to be bear chow. No sympathy. Sympathy for your poor, deluded girlfriend you got chomped along with you, but not with you. YOU ARE NOT A BEAR. But you ARE bear FOOD. I didn’t watch the documentary about this because I don’t care to watch crazy people who think they are simpatico with wild animals. Wild animals are WILD ANIMALS. You are insane to think otherwise.

Second thing we have to discuss. Personal space.

So I was playing around on Wikipedia. Sometimes I get caught in a Wikipedia link situation and I get trapped and forget where I came from, like a maze. I honestly don’t know what brought me to this, but I found this the other day:

This is a graphic of the personal space with which the average American is comfortable with various people in their lives. This made me laugh until I almost choked to death.

OK, so first, I have total personal space issues. Yesterday, I went to a concert. It was my first outdoor street concert. I’ve been to outdoor concerts before, but this was a free street concert thing. I’ve always had to pay for outdoor seating before. So I went in expecting it to be insanity. I avoid free things, because usually free things are full of looneys and/or people who are badly behaved and/or people who are entitled because nothing brings out entitlement like giving someone something for free. I’m going to write a scholarly paper about this someday and it will win a prize. Is there a prize for awesome scholarly papers? What if I include many pie charts?

So, outdoor concert. Not as bad as you might think, but my personal space was TOTALLY VIOLATED. There was a guy pretty much humping his girlfriend in front of me (who, apropos of nothing, apparently thought he was Robert Smith from The Cure, what with the hair and the stench of emo desperation and black nail polish and such); there was this weird group of throwback Woodstock hippies in front of me, one of whom was a man smoking a cigar as big as he was and that smelled like burning hair perfume for an hour and fifteen minutes; there was some kid with a soul patch (heaven and saints preserve us from affected facial hair) who decided smoking a GIGANTIC joint in the middle of the street with all of the cops milling around was a good idea (and this just tickled the SHIT out of the Woodstockians – “OMG, do you SMELL that? Boy, THAT sure does take me back. Ha ha ha. Just like the old days!” Shut up, Patchouli Joe, there’s nothing awesome about smoking weed in the middle of a crowded street with adorable children with painted faces and balloon animals running around, it’s just douchey) and there was a guy who thought this was a mosh pit who kept smacking the shit out of my arm as he flailed around aimlessly to every single song. I love the band, I loved the concert, and I actually didn’t have a breakdown (I think I might have had a bit of a contact high, come to think of it), but I did go home and take a hot shower because PERSONAL SPACE ISSUES.

(Oh, also? I don’t have an issue with smoking weed, per se. So again, don’t be judgey. I just think probably there’s a time and place. Also, I think it makes you very, very stupid, giggly, paranoid, and a waste of space, in 99% of cases. I don’t care for drugs that make my amazing brain stop working as quickly and efficiently as it does. And yes, I am speaking from experience, so you know what? Suck it, haters.)

ANYWAY BACK ON TOPIC FOR THE LOVE OF PETE.

This graphic says that the only people we’re comfortable coming in our “intimate distance” bubble are “family, pets, and very close friends.” And that bubble is EIGHTEEN INCHES from us. That is only a FOOT AND A HALF. You know who gets that close to me? My cats. My nephew. And people who want to get punched. That is SO CLOSE. That is all up in my face. No thank you. One time, a person I know who was chemically altered decided he was going to lick my neck and ears because he gets away with that shit with other mutual acquaintances and apparently the chemicals he was on told him it was a good idea to try it with me, too. He’s very old and I almost broke him into a million pieces shoving him away and running to the bathroom to Silkwood scrub myself. GAH WHAT THE HELL.

“Personal distance” is 1.5 to 4 feet and is for friends and acquaintances. Since I’m reserving my intimate distance bubble for cats and nephew, I’m grudgingly allowing people I love into my personal distance bubble. BUT DON’T YOU GET ANY CLOSER.

“Social distance” – 4 to 12 feet; “Public space,” more than 12 feet. I want to create a final category: “Keep the frig away from me space,” 27.5 feet. I think at that distance I won’t have to smell your cologne, deal with your nonsense, have you make weird eye contact, have you touch my arm while we’re talking (what the hell? Get that off me! I don’t know that you washed after you peed! GERMY HANDS OFF JACKASS!) or various other things that I find upsetting and make me want to curl up in a ball and rock.

What? Yes, I’m totally fun in social situations. Why do you ask?

Alright. Time to be pretty. Christina Aguilera says I’m beautiful so IT MUST BE TRUE. I suppose it can’t hurt to brush my hair, though.

Baby, You Can Drive My Car. But if You Start Texting, I'm Tossing You Out of It.

New York State recently had a new law go into effect. This law - the Distracted Driving Law - went into effect on July 12 and is an extension of the cell phone law that went into effect in late 2001, which prohibits drivers from using a cell phone while driving without using a hands-free device. The Distracted Driving Law takes it one step further. You are now not permitted to text, email, play games, or get on the internet while driving.

The fine isn't much - a $150 ticket for either talking or texting.You also get 3 points off your license.

Here's the thing.

WHO THE HELL IS DOING THIS.

Alright, yes, I get it. I've spoken on my cell while driving. I got my first cell way back in days of yore - 2001, I think - yeah, I know, did we even have CARS back then, weren't we still in HORSE AND BUGGIES, ha ha - and I remember thinking I was one cool kitten, driving around chatting with people. Really, it was just kind of douchey. I didn't need to be talking to those people. It wasn't something that couldn't have waited. It just seemed like a very, very adult thing to do. Talk on the phone? While driving? Yes! I am a very important businesswoman! I could very well have Grey Poupon in my satchel! I also lived in another state, and there were no cell phone laws there then. (Just checked. There still aren't. Except school bus drivers aren't supposed to be talking and driving. So that's good. Progress! You go, Grand Canyon State!)

I then went years and years without a real cell phone. Well, I had a cell phone - I think I've mentioned this - that didn't have internet access, and the "5" button didn't work unless you went all ragemonster on it and bashed it with all of your might into submission. Did I talk on it in my car? Well, I went almost seven years and made approximately 20 calls on the thing, all-told. I talked on it once in the car while I was parked, does that count? It was a phone I had because in this day and age, you need a cell phone. There aren't pay phones on every corner, and sometimes you're driving somewhere and your car breaks down and you're alone. It had no bells or whistles. I didn't think about it much. It didn't text. It didn't have games. It had one ringtone. It didn't have internet access.

I recently upgraded to a Droid. I seriously am quite sure that an angelic choir sang when I opened the box. The phone makes calls. But the phone texts. It has internet access. Apps! APPS! WHY DIDN'T YOU PEOPLE TELL ME ABOUT THE GLORY OF APPS? I was always one of those morally superior "why are people always GLUED to their PHONES" people but I haven't looked up from the damn thing since April. I'm getting a hunchback from always peering down at it. It is a love affair, what I have with this phone. A very, very serious thing.

Here's the thing, though. I don't talk on it much. Main reason being, I hate talking on the phone to anyone but a select few, and when I want to settle in and talk to those people, I want to be comfortable, in my bed, with a phone that doesn't heat up like hot lava and threaten to lose its charge before I'm done waxing poetic on the merits of Tide vs. Gain laundry detergent. (I'm being facetious. I've only had that conversation a few times. The answer is, they are both amazing and make your laundry smell like it's been hung on the line; buy whichever is cheaper that day. And use coupons. Who cares if people look at you like a crazy bag lady. You have extra money in your pocket; their pockets have nothing but lint. WHO'S LAUGHING NOW SNEERY MCJERKFACE.)

I do text, though. And Tweet. And everything else you can do on it. If I have it, I'm going to use it to its full advantage. At first, I was just using it for the games, but I haven't played a game on it since I discovered Twitter. Twitter entertains me a lot more thoroughly than Angry Birds. (OK, Angry Birds fans, I know, you're probably ready to lynch me. Here's the thing. Angry Birds crashed twice on me, when I was pretty far into it. The thought of re-doing all of those annoying little fiddly levels AGAIN, a third time, is crazy-making for me. I'll talk to my Twitter friends instead.)

A few years ago, people started murmuring that we needed a New York State no-texting-while-driving law. I remember when I first heard that, I laughed so hard I choked a little. "Yeah, because people are always texting while they're driving," I said, between spates of laughter. Everyone looked at me (as they do, often, it's like the default setting) like I had two heads. Apparently, EVERYONE texts while driving. I did an informal poll; all of my friends said they'd done it. One showed me how; she put the phone on the center horn part of her steering wheel and texted with her thumbs while steering with the remaining 8 fingers on the wheel itself.

This is not a good idea. Who thinks this is a good idea? Or are you all well aware this isn't a good idea, but just think, shit, who cares, I have to tell my BFF I'm almost there, mix my margarita extra salty tonight? Or tell my kids to put the TV dinners in the microwave? Why can't whatever you're saying wait?

I get talking while driving. And I don't condone it, but I think it's doable. Yes, it's better to have a Bluetooth. And it's illegal to do it without one, at least in New York State. But listen, half of the time, we only use one hand to drive, anyway, so having one hand on the wheel and the other on your cell - not that big of a stretch. Also, you're not all that distracted, talking and driving. If you've ever had a passenger, you know. It's doable. Is the optimal driving experience both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, no talking, no distractions? Yes, sure. But the optimal life experience is a ton of money, a geeky-smart-hot boyfriend, and a house on the ocean, and I don't have that, either, so there you go.

The problem in New York State seems to be once we have a law on the books, we don't enforce it. I sat at a fairly large intersection early last week - the Latham SPUI - as the first one at the light, and decided to do a very serious scientific experiment (which will most likely be written up in many prestigious journals. I know. I just can't help how fancy I am.) I counted 21 cars going past me before it was my time to go. Out of those 21, 9 drivers were on cell phones (without a headset; I couldn't tell how many were using a headset. I don't have that kind of laser-perfect vision.) Two were looking at themselves in the mirror on the sunvisor. (While driving through a kind of confusing new intersection. You're gorgeous! Eyes on the road, now, please!) One was turned around talking to, or looking at, someone or something in the backseat. (I kind of feared for my life with that one.) One was eating a gigantic sloppy sandwich. One was picking his nose. So out of the 21 drivers, 14 were doing illegal, stupid, distracted, or uncouth and unsanitary things while driving. I'm no math wizard, but that's 66% of the drivers. And now I want to stay home forever and for always, or buy a bubble like Jake Gyllenhaal in Bubble Boy. (Shut up, it's so awful it's kind of awesome. No, ok, fine, it's just awful.)

But those 9 people should have gotten tickets, right? I mean, under the law that's been on the books for ten years? Why do you have a law if you don't enforce it? What's the point? Is it one of those laws that they only enforce when you've done something else heinous wrong, then they tack it on to the other things? If so, no one's going to stop texting while driving.

Also, you're gaming? While driving? Seriously? This is something people do? This is more unfathomable to me than texting. Phone screens are small! You need to pay close attention to those suckers! So you're doing that, the l-shaped Tetris brick is dropping, and BAM YOU JUST KILLED FIDO YOUR KIDS ARE WEEPING HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY WITH YOUR NEW HIGH SCORE, HERO.  You can't wait? You can't wait until you get wherever you're going to play your triple-word-score on "Words with Friends" or roll a Yahtzee or drop one of the black bomb birds or whatever? I think your priorities might be a little backwards.

I have checked my phone for new texts while in it. I'm not going to say I haven't. I've even read them - while at red lights. Not while the car is moving. I have not responded to them. Nothing is so pressing it can't wait. And yes, while we're at it, I'm that asshole who insists you wear your seatbelt while you're in my car. Put up a stink about it, and you can walk your ass home. I'm driving, and the last thing I want is an accident where you get thrown into ME because you didn't have yours on. Yes, it's all about me. I could care less about you. Seatbelts are the law, and you're a dick if you don't wear it. Put the goddamn thing on and shut your mouth.

Here's my point (yes, yes, I have one, shut it, mouthy.) You are driving a car. A car is approximately 3,000 pounds. (OK, I'll get back to the point in a minute. Really? Google says that's true. Isn't an elephant 2,000 pounds? My little grey car weighs more than an elephant? I don't think that's possible. Really? I'd kind of rather have an elephant. They seem enjoyable. Also at least one of them can fly, so maybe I'd be lucky and get one of those. Score! Free plane AND a cool pet!) You should honestly be doing one thing while behind the wheel of that vehicle: driving it. You shouldn't be talking, texting, gaming, searching the 'net, putting on makeup, eating, playing with CDs, what have you. It's kind of a gigantic responsibility. You don't only have your own safety to look out for; you are also responsible for the safety of all of those other lunatics, at least (according to SCIENCE) 66% of which are very distracted.

It's a car. It's not a diner, beauty parlor, juke box, internet cafe, or phone booth. It's a 3,000 pound metal death box on wheels hurtling down the highway, you know? I don't know if we so much need a law for that. You know what law I'd like enacted and enforced? Common Sense. Found breaking it: I get to pummel you with a soggy pool noodle until I tire of the exercise and go check Twitter to see what my friends are up to. I'd vote for any politician who brought that to the floor.