Diatribe

I hate sunroofs!!

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DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour      

As regular readers of my diatribes have probably determined, I’m filled with more hate than a Super Bowl filled with Detroit Lions season ticket holders. However, there are some things I find more hateful than others…and one of them is a car’s sunroof.  Call it what you want…a sunroof, moonroof or even a Marsroof…I hate them!

Move....or you won't have all day

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DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour

The other day I was reading People Magazine. I often broaden my celebrity horizons with either People, or check up on the latest visits and impregnations by space aliens in the Star when I’m in the checkout lane at Kroger’s.

Who sets speed limits...Beavis & Butthead?

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DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour     

I live in a state where drivers show little if any regard for speed limits. Speed limit signs are like figuring tips on restaurant checks…add 15%-20%. Why does this nation have one flag, one national anthem and even a self-proscribed national pastime…but yet we seem to have 50 different plans for speed limits? Whatever happened to consistency?

Get up to speed — or get out of my way!

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DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour    

I seem to get behind a lot of vehicles that must be towing a loaded 53-foot trailer, because it sure takes them a long time to get up to speed. It must be punishment for childhood shenanigans. I am loath to know what I had done that earns me the personal distinction of trailing the only vehicles on the highway whose torque rating is in the low-single figures?

Toll roads — Modern day highwaymen

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DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour   

Throughout history thievery has been commonly associated with transportation. Stage coaches were robbed repeatedly and often; trains were ravaged by roving gangs of bandits (and bad actors); and in a more personal confrontation, the infamous highwaymen would “earn their livings” stealing from travelers making their way through the wilderness.

Sticks and stones may break .... my windshield

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DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour       


Have you ever been driving down the road, singing to yourself, “Doot doot do doot doot doot…life been good to me” when all of a sudden…crash…your windshield resembles an earthquake from those old dinosaur movies where the ground splits in two and animals and humans fall into the abyss? Chances are you’re driving in close proximity to a gravel-hauling truck. If your luck is as good as mine it’s a double-trailer gravel hauler.

Getting shin splints from car doors?

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DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour 

Regular readers of the questionable material I write will note that I often use my late-Uncle Barney as a substitute for situations I don’t want to admit about myself, like how he has large thighs and his gas pedal leg often rubs against a center console, or his stomach is too near the steering wheel even though the seat is in its full-back position on the track.

Your turn signals are on, dummy!

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DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour   

For years I’ve pounded the keyboard complaining about people who don’t use turn signals. I’ve even suggested to various municipalities that they use failure to signal laws as a revenue source that would far outperform speeding in terms of being a cash cow.

Vile thoughts from the left seat

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DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour 

In case any of you were concerned about my running out of driving-related things to hate…fear not. As long as there are traffic jams and people who insist on ruining my life by constantly making me slow down so they can make turns —– mostly like they’re dragging a 53’ Dorsey Trailer — there will always be moments for me to ponder my disdain for life as I know it.

The world was his drift pad

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DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour  

Every year about this time I wax nostalgic about my upbringing in the great state of Indiana. And why do I go through this exercise? I don’t know. Actually I’m just making this up because I thought it would create a good lead. However, there is a point to this story.