Did This Happen on Purpose?

First of all, I'd like to thank the Department of Installing Potholes for being so clever as to wait until there was the pinnacle of inclement weather to install and hide their deepest, most jagged specimens. Not only was there a pothole placed in just such a fashion that it would be mostly underwater, and indistinguishable from the rest of the slushy mess under a viaduct on South 81st Street, but it was made in a way that punctured the hell out of my tire. So, that was great. Also, nice job wrecking the Michigan Avenue-LSD Entrance Merge Tunnel Thing, because that makes people drive three miles an hour to get on The Drive, because the entirety of that roadway looks like the surface of the Moon. Good news: as soon as one gets past the Battle of the Marne area, everybody and their brother wants to floor it, which is a dicey proposition on a donut. I'm friggin' thrilled.

I don't buy the "salt erodes the street, and then eventually a pothole forms" theory of pothole evolution. I'm a Pothole Creationist. Some malevolent organization comes around and removes sections of the street and replaces it with weirdo rebar and, I don't know, caltrops, and then - if they're really dedicated to their craft - they put a decorative layer of grey slush and un-drainable water to mask it. Because really, cars and trucks gradually create potholes? That's insane. Do cars take parts of the roadway with them? Is it like The Great Escape? Do they hide the asphalt in their wheel wells, and then empty them when they're out in the yard for exercise or gardening? "The Krauts found Charlie Pothole. We're going to have to redouble our efforts on Tango."

In other, vaguely related news1, I'm really disturbed by the Carmax radio commercial that starts with "Kelly, I can't believe you're finally sixteen..." because it's at that point where the announcer (who is decidedly NOT sixteen) pauses just a leeeeeeeeettle too long before saying "and your mother and I are very proud of you." The pause makes you sound like a creepy predator in Indiana, Iowa, or Uruguay (um, "thank you," I guess, Wikipedia). It doesn't help that your harpy daughter then launches into fury over the fact that you didn't buy her "the bluuuuue one! BLUE BLUE BLUE!" and then my ears bleed. So, screw you, Carmax Commercial of Creepiness.

1I was driving in the car when I heard the commercial.