Prizm Break

Snide Remarks #531

"Prizm Break"

by Eric D. Snider

Published on February 5, 2007

Our story so far: I wrecked my car, Progressive is a lousy insurance company, and Auntie Karen offered to give me her 1994 Geo Prizm -- if I came to Ohio to get it.

* * *

The plan sounded simple enough. I would fly to Columbus, pick up my free car, and drive back to Portland. It was early January -- not the best time of year to be driving cross-country -- but I figured if I took a more southern route (I-70 instead of I-80) the weather would be better. Gas should cost about $175 (those Geos get good mileage), I would need a couple nights in a Motel 6 (another $100), and the plane ticket should be reasonable. All told, my free car should cost me about $400.

The first indication of trouble came when I tried to buy a plane ticket: Apparently no one in Portland had ever wanted to go to Columbus before, because none of the airlines flew there. They had to scramble and improvise. "Um, wow, OK, Columbus," they said. "Um ... Let's see... Um... Well, we can fly you to Newark, and then back to Columbus! How's that?" It was the best I could do, and the ticket was only $115.

It was a red-eye flight from Portland to Newark. The flight was fine, with the only odd thing being that some woman had brought her cat with her, right there on the plane. Do you know how weird it is to be in an airplane, hearing only the normal airplane noises, and then suddenly to hear a "meow"? Your brain tells you it's the sound of a cat, but then another part of your brain punches the first part of your brain in the arm and says, "Moron! Why would there be a cat on an airplane?" And the first part rubs its arm and says, "Sorry! Geez! It sounded like a cat!" And then you hear it again, and your ears are like, "Guys, that is definitely a cat," and the first part of your brain is like, "See! I told you!," and the second part is all, "What the H? Why would someone bring a cat on an airplane?!" And you look around and see that other passengers' brains and ears are having similar conversations, and everyone's glancing about furtively to see where the cat sounds are coming from.

So yeah, some woman brought her cat on the plane. Hooray for kitty! I'm sure he'd always wanted to see the East Coast. And those people in the confined space with the recirculated air who are allergic to cats? Who cares about them! It's called the "red-eye" flight for a reason. That cat has just as much right to fly as everyone else does!

Oh, and even though it was 1 in the morning, the lady next to me ordered a vodka and tonic from the stewardess, then downed the vodka straight. Then she was out like a light. I liked her style.

The layover in Newark was less than an hour, and then it was on to Columbus. Immediately upon stepping off the plane, I knew I was in Ohio. People looked wholesome and corn-fed. I was definitely in the Midwest -- not geographically, perhaps, but anthropologically. (I pointed out last week that Ohio is NOT in the midwestern part of the United States, and it was pointed out in response that while that may be true, it's definitely part of the Midwest "mindset." In other words, people in Ohio are nerdy, and hence Midwestern. I can live with that.)

Auntie Karen and Uncle Tom picked me up at the airport then whisked me back to their cozy house in the quaint Ohio town of What's-It-Called. The town has a memorial library dedicated to Wagnalls, of Funk & Wagnalls, because What's-It-Called was Wagnalls' hometown. (Funk, of course, was from Funkytown.) I napped for a few hours, we had lunch, and then I was sent off in my brand-new free 1994 Geo Prizm!

The car had recently had engine work done, so everything was in top shape in that regard. Its only defect was that its four tires were showing the same signs of age that humans do: they'd become bald, wobbly, and prone to expelling their air. Still: free car. Even if I had to replace the tires soon, that's only a couple hundred bucks. Still a bargain.

I had planned my route using maps I'd found online, and that in itself had been a revelation. My specific knowledge of U.S. geography was shaky at best. If you'd asked me to draw a map of the United States entirely from memory, this is what I'd have come up with:

Seeing the interstate maps online, and then flipping through the road atlas Auntie Karen gave me, I was astonished. For example, you know how Cincinnati is in Ohio? Well, guess what's right next to Cincinnati, just across the Ohio River? Kentucky! KENTUCKY!! What's Kentucky doing next to Cincinnati? That makes no sense at all.

My route on I-70 would take me west out of Ohio and across the southern portions of Indiana and Illinois, then across the entire widths of Missouri and Kansas, into Colorado. In Denver, I would take I-25 north up to Cheyenne, Wyo., where I'd catch I-80 and proceed west into Utah. From there I'd be on familiar ground, having driven from Salt Lake City to Portland several times in the past.

I'd carefully determined the distances between major cities, approximating how long each leg of the trip would take. On that first day, Thursday, everything was fine. I zipped through Indianapolis and St. Louis, then decided to press on to Kansas City (another 250 miles) before calling it a night. I accomplished that and stopped at the Kansas City EconoLodge at around midnight. Thursday had been a success.

* * *

On Friday, I slept in a bit (I had not fully recovered from the mostly non-restful red-eye flight two nights earlier), then headed west again. I was supposed to meet up with a friend in Ft. Collins, Colo., Friday night. I had 600 miles to cover, but I reasoned that should only take about 8 1/2 hours, factoring in momentary stops for gasoline and food. The weather was clear. Conditions were good. The car was functioning properly.

As I drove across the state of Kansas, one thing I saw in abundance was anti-abortion signs. Not full billboards, but those half-sized or quarter-sized billboards that people put up unofficially on the side of the highway sometimes. I saw no fewer than eight of them on the subject of abortion. They produced these thoughts:

- What, has there been an epidemic of abortions in Kansas lately?! Good grief! I suspect Kansas probably has a rather low abortion rate. So either those signs are unnecessary, or they're working.

- I assume this is how it's supposed to work on the average motorist:

MOTORIST: (driving along) La-de-da... Here I am, driving along.... I have no opinion whatsoever regarding abortion.... (sees sign) Hmm. I never thought of that. Now I am opposed to it! (drives steadfastly forward)

Something else crazy about Kansas was that part of the freeway -- the only way to traverse the state -- is a toll road. A toll road! I guess they figure that if you're driving across Kansas, you're probably willing to do whatever it takes to finish the process. Pay a toll? Get out and push? Sever an artery? Yeah, yeah, whatever you want. Just get me out of here.

The maximum toll on this stretch of freeway (though it's not really a "free" way, is it?) is only $2. When I paid it, I remarked to the woman in the booth that I had never heard of there being tolls on the U.S. interstate highway system before. She said that it was a toll road first, before it became part of the interstate. She seemed a little defensive about it, actually. But I had noticed that the funds were being put to good use: On that stretch of the interstate only, there were three lanes in each direction, the pavement was smooth and well-maintained, and there were barricades on the side of the road to block motorists' views of any unsightly Kansans who might wander too close to the highway.

I reached the Colorado state line late in the afternoon. You may recall that Colorado was hit with a couple major snowstorms, one right before Christmas and one a couple weeks later. I was there in between them. The skies were clear, but there was evidence all around that Lady Winter had spread her beautiful wrath upon all the land's inhabitants. Also, it was frakking cold. As the altitude slowly rose, and as it got later in the evening, the temperature steadily dropped.

The roads started getting very slick, too. Slick with ice, that is, which my knowledge of science told me was the byproduct of the sub-freezing temperature. People were driving very, very slowly, myself included, yet even with those precautions, I kept seeing cars that had slid off the road.

So what do you suppose happens to me? A flat tire, obviously.

I was in the middle of nowhere, a couple miles past a rest stop but many miles from any real sign of civilization. No towns nearby, nothing. Luckily, one of the few things I know about cars is how to change a tire. In high school I had a 1978 Ford Granada named Felipe who was the frequent victim of flat tires -- not because I drove him over dangerous terrain, particularly, but because each time he did get a flat, we would replace the bad tire with a used one bought for a few dollars at a junkyard. Felipe hadn't known the touch of brand-new tires since about 1978, I would guess, and you get what you pay for: Each time we put a cheap used tire on him, he'd get a flat a few months later. So I became well-practiced at changing tires.

I had retained this knowledge over the years, and now, though I was loath to leave my warm Prizm, I had no choice but to brave the elements. (I checked later: At this point, 8 p.m., it was close to zero degrees in this part of Colorado.) The Prizm had a temporary "doughnut" spare tire and all the implements necessary to change it. I jacked up the car, took the lug nuts off the faulty tire -- and found the tire wouldn't come off the axle. Wouldn't budge. The wheel would spin, sure. But actually PULLING the wheel off its mount, no. Not even a fraction of an inch.

I beat on it, kicked it, pried it, swore at it, reasoned with it, read to it from the owner's manual, cuddled with it, argued with it, insulted it, berated it, apologized to it, bought it flowers, yelled at it, and finally gave up on it. I was Ike, and the tire was Tina. At one point a Good Samaritan stopped to help. (Well, I know he was good; I don't know that he was from Samaria. Probably not, actually, now that I think about it.) He wasn't like me. He was a real man, with a pickup truck and a cigarette and everything. He used a 2x4 to whack and pry the tire -- real men always have 2x4s handy -- but to no avail. He couldn't make it budge, either, and he was baffled as to the cause. Finally he wished me good luck and departed.

The realization dawned on me that I would have to call a tow truck. I was still hours from Ft. Collins. I was numb with cold. I had enough money for the trip, but I didn't have enough for unforeseen expenses like tow trucks and hotels and new tires.

Furthermore, and most alarmingly: I had no idea where I was.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Notes:

Since this entire story will be multi-part anyway, I considered splitting this installment in two. It's long enough, and there's a natural stopping point in the action (arriving at the motel). But I wanted to get to the real "meat" of the story, i.e., when stuff starts going wrong.

The Ohio burg that Auntie Karen calls home is Lithopolis, Ohio, if you must know.

Several helpful readers, after reading last week's column, offered advice for my Ohio-Oregon trip. Evidently I didn't make it clear enough in the column itself that the trip had already taken place. It is over, I'm alive and well, and I appreciate your concern.

I don't think I've mentioned Felipe before, but longtime readers of the column will recall my college-era car, Pedro. Why Mexican names for my cars? No idea.

This item has 62 comments

Nate says:
February 6, 2007 at 12:48 am
The state of Katrina. That kills me.
Some Girl says:
February 6, 2007 at 12:49 am
What I want to know is what you named your new car. Does it also get a Mexican-themed name? Or will you perhaps select a new ethnicity, like Peruvian?
lindsay says:
February 6, 2007 at 12:59 am
It was trippy enough last week when you said you had an Auntie Karen. I also have an Auntie Karen who I still call Auntie Karen even though I am 27. But now you have an Uncle Tom too. Unforunately my Auntie Karen divorced my Uncle Tom. Strange world.
Ryan Byrd says:
February 6, 2007 at 1:07 am
What the H?!?
Lane says:
February 6, 2007 at 1:42 am
I like the mental image of you quietly reading to your car from the owner's manual. Sorry it didn't work out for you.
Sam says:
February 6, 2007 at 2:47 am
You have you jack the car up first!!!

har har
O'Mallen says:
February 6, 2007 at 5:15 am
I-80 in Pennslyvania, Ohio, Indiana and possibly other states that start with "i" are all toll roads. I think every road in New Jersey is a toll road, specifically the bridges leaving New Jersey. While it is free to crossover into Jersey, leaving will cost you plenty (I think the George Washington Bridge to New York, during rush hour, as a a single passenger will cost $14).
stephkitten says:
February 6, 2007 at 5:34 am
FYI - If you had taken I-80 into Ohio, I believe (feel free to correct me if I'm wrong) that you also would have discovered the toll-road interstate phenomenon, and I also think its significantly more than $2. If I'm remembering correctly, I-80 through almost all of Ohio, possibly Indiana, and also PA are turnpikes (the Ohio turnpike, etc), and they all have a toll. I-70 also has a small toll section in PA. This is all rather random, but just an FYI.
Katie says:
February 6, 2007 at 8:22 am
On my last red eye flight, some lady brought her little dog on board, a la Paris Hilton. Between the dog's incessant barking and the toddler seated behind me wailing as if he was possesed, my eyes were very red indeed after I stepped off that plane.
steelem says:
February 6, 2007 at 8:53 am
I took our cat on the airplane back in June because we were moving from Indiana to Arizona. And yeah, it's kind of wierd when your carry-on makes noise.
Cameron says:
February 6, 2007 at 9:40 am
Speaking of Cincinnatti, did you know the Cincinnatti airport (CVG) is in Kentucky?
Momma Snider says:
February 6, 2007 at 9:41 am
Imagine the frustration of a pair of loving parents who are always willing to rush in to help one of their children in whatever situation they may be in, especially since Dad can do anything. And then the eldest son calls from about a billion miles away, in a state we've never even been in except as a layover at the airport. We would have grabbed some tools and WD40 and headed out, except he'd have frozen to death by the time we got there anyway. It was a helpless feeling.
Tara says:
February 6, 2007 at 9:53 am
Too bad I only now learned of the trip. I live in Kanbraska just off I-70 (not near one of those signs). You could've stayed with our family. But I hear the Kanbraska Econolodge is really tops - a "must see" attraction on our great prairie state(s).
Eric Herman says:
February 6, 2007 at 10:20 am
Funk, of course, was from Funkytown. :o)
Ben C. says:
February 6, 2007 at 10:23 am
I think Eric should be in charge of redrawing the borders of the states. His way is much easier to remember!
Jamie says:
February 6, 2007 at 10:34 am
I vote for your new car to be named "Jorge" or perhaps "Julio". (goes along with your other Mexican-named cars)
Steve says:
February 6, 2007 at 10:46 am
I had a rear tire that wouldn't come off once. Luckily, I was trying to change it in front of my own house and the temperature was at least 50 degrees above zero. Since I was at home, I grabbed a spare scissor-jack from the garage and placed it between the tire and the leaf spring. Then I cranked it until the tire finally popped off. Even so, I had to apply a lot of pressure to the crank handle to finally get the wheel off.

Oh, and if I had known about your plans, I would have cautioned you against trying to drive on I-80 in Wyoming during the winter. I have traveled both I-80 and I-70 several times, as I grew up in Colorado, and both of my parents were from northern Utah (Logan and Roy, to be precise). Sure I-70 goes right through the mountains (past all the ski resorts) while I-80 goes through rolling hills, but I-80 is susceptible to blinding ground blizzards. You may get just as much snow on I-70, but it's protected from the wind, which can make I-80 much more treacherous.

If you're ever in a similar situation (by which I mean driving from Denver to SLC) in the summer, try taking US. 40. It will take longer, as it's a two-lane 55-MPH road, but it goes through really interesting places like Dinosaur National Monument and Vernal, UT. The local motorcycle gang in Vernal is actually quite friendly to non-locals.
Emily says:
February 6, 2007 at 10:49 am
The map is classic. Hysterically funny. Thank you.
Paul says:
February 6, 2007 at 11:08 am
I wanted to point out some errors with your map (such as there is only one state, Indiana, in the state represented as "states that start with the "i") but then I realized how stupid I would look pointing out mistakes in a map that was intentionally messed up.
Momma Snider says:
February 6, 2007 at 11:11 am
I just noticed that he called Pennsylvania Philadelphia.
Brandon says:
February 6, 2007 at 11:31 am
Didn't you already blog this?
adam says:
February 6, 2007 at 11:46 am
can't wait to tune in next week!
AdamOndi says:
February 6, 2007 at 11:50 am
I came to the rescue of my wife one day when her tire blew out on the freeway on the way to work. I changed the tire to a dinky little donut spare and had her drive my car to work. I took her car to get new tires on the front (since the other front tire was in almost as bad of shape) and they had to spend about 20 minutes trying to get the rim off of the car to replace the tire. They finally had to break out a 15 pound sledge hammer and whack the rim a few times with it to break the rust and get the rim off. Bad times.
Momma Snider says:
February 6, 2007 at 11:53 am
Eric did mention all this in his blog, but only with enough detail so you're not on the edge of your seat, wondering if he's going to live through the ordeal.
Adam says:
February 6, 2007 at 1:05 pm
This has happened to me before more than once. To get the tire off, put the lugs on loose and drive SLOWLY. It will usually come off in just a feet. Good Luck.
richrich says:
February 6, 2007 at 1:27 pm
funkytown. har har. now that tune is stuck in my noggin, perhaps for days!

wontchu take me to funkytown?
Roisin says:
February 6, 2007 at 2:01 pm
That map could be entirely accurate for all I know. (I'm from Ireland.)
Super Deadly Ham Attack says:
February 6, 2007 at 2:07 pm
Wow, am I the only wimp who just calls Triple A when they get a flat in the middle of nowhere? You people make me feel lazy.
card says:
February 6, 2007 at 3:23 pm
I am one of those people with cat allergies. I am surprised the airlines allow people to carry on their pets. If that were my flight, I would make sure I had a seat as far away from that cat as possible.
Audrey says:
February 6, 2007 at 4:55 pm
"Hooray for kitty! I'm sure he'd always wanted to see the East Coast."

The sarcasm dripping from this line made me laugh so hard!
David Manning says:
February 6, 2007 at 5:04 pm
Yes, you have mentioned Felipe before, in some of the really old columns (I've read every one, and I remember everything you say because it's always so funny).
Jeff J. Snider says:
February 6, 2007 at 6:39 pm
Eric has never mentioned Felipe by name before, although he did twice mention that he drove a 1978 Ford Granada.
pizzatheface says:
February 6, 2007 at 7:31 pm
Yeah, I had a tire stuck on the rim once. But fortunately the manly man who stopped to help me happened to be carrying a sledge hammer with him; not some pansy 2x4. Of course this was in Idaho where everyone who has a full membership in the masculinity club carries a sledge hammer. That is, except me.

...I need to get a 2x4, I think.
corned_beef says:
February 6, 2007 at 8:56 pm
OMG that map is so hilarious. I'm equally geographically retarded, except in the other direction. I have little clue what's west of Indiana except for Texas (the big one) and California (the other big one). I mean come on, who can keep track of all those squares.
Deb says:
February 6, 2007 at 9:13 pm
I love the cat in the plane and the internal conversation! I really love your map--it is strangely similar to what my husband described several years after the fact, but in "reverse" since he was from Kansas, and wanted to go to California the day after HS graduation. His route was "west" which would take him across Colorado, then maybe some other state(s), and then California...
Chrystle says:
February 7, 2007 at 12:10 am
What's up with only male names being considered for the new car? Aren't cars like boats, and inherently female? I respectfully submit either Consuela or Rosario as names for your new car.
B says:
February 7, 2007 at 3:44 pm
Crystle: There have to be male cars and female cars, otherwise there wouldn't be any baby cars.
Auntie Karen says:
February 7, 2007 at 3:46 pm
Before she was adopted by Eric and driven to her new home, the faithful little Geo was definitely a strong, hardy, corn-fed female car named Miss Folsom Prizm. (And, as I have said before, her color was Folsom Prizm Blue). If Eric wants to keep that name, he is more than welcome, and if he wants to change it to something else, that is his prerogative as well. She now belongs to Eric and she lives in Portland. Her fate is out of my hands, muchachos.
Rob D. says:
February 7, 2007 at 4:18 pm
I know Eric is an honest guy who wouldn't exaggerate much, but I kept thinking this story is similar to the movies that are inspired by a true story.
Melis says:
February 7, 2007 at 5:23 pm
Please please please (por favor) name your car Pablo. Pablo the Prism-- or Pablito, since the Prism is on the small side as far as cars go, and Pablito of course would then make perfect sense.
corned_beef says:
February 7, 2007 at 9:34 pm
Karen, is it true that your car once shot a man in Reno just to watch him die
Auntie Karen says:
February 8, 2007 at 10:57 am
Geez, corned_beef, are you the only person out there who even GOT that reference? I mean, come on, it's JOHNNY CASH, folks! An American institution, practically.

But, sadly: No. No, she didn't.
Mark H says:
February 8, 2007 at 3:42 pm
The best part of the map is that there are two Carolinas. Double irony!
Stewie says:
February 8, 2007 at 7:51 pm
Every I road in NY has a toll. I think they require your credit score to cross it. At least now I have a name for my car...after five years he will now be a Boy Named Sue.
The Ides of Mark says:
February 8, 2007 at 8:25 pm
I live in Boston, where our mayor once alluded to "the state of Philadephia". Now I know what map he was referring to.
Megan says:
February 9, 2007 at 12:35 pm
The map made me laugh more than anything, and i wish I could print it out and hang it up at work, but then I'd have to explain it to everyone and they'd think my geography was poor. Oh well.
Laura says:
February 9, 2007 at 10:00 pm
Have you ever sat down with a piece of paper and a pen and tried to write down all fifty states? It's freakin' hard! I don't consider myself to be all that dumb. I mean, my self-drawn map would have significantly fewer mistakes than Eric's.

Except over on the East Coast. All those little states would be lumped into a big mass called "Pretty in the Fall."
Sarah Stankiewicz says:
February 9, 2007 at 10:41 pm
You mean you didn't learn the song "Fifty, Nifty, United States" in grade school? Maybe that was only required in my state of Philadelphia. I mean, I can write 'em all down and alphabetically, but draw them, no.
Don says:
February 9, 2007 at 10:45 pm
A few years ago, I flew a red-eye to Tampa for a convention. The guy sitting near me was reading "Sex for Dummies" while the white-trash family in front of me had B.O. that almost rivaled a college roommate who once skipped bathing for three months. Never again.
Katie says:
February 10, 2007 at 3:07 am
Fifty, nifty, united states and thirteen original colonies...

That song haunted my childhood years.
David Cornelius says:
February 10, 2007 at 8:14 pm
As a duly designated representative of the Greater Cincinnati area, I apologize for being next to Kentucky. Trust me, we're not too happy about it, either.
Murrie says:
February 10, 2007 at 11:58 pm
Name it Quique. I think it's the Latino equivalent of Eric and it's also a really funny sound. Keeekay. Quique. I hope to name all my children based on the silliness of the sound of their name.
Audrey says:
February 11, 2007 at 6:39 pm
Actually, "Quique" is the shortened form of "Enrique," which is Spanish for "Henry." It's still a fun name to say, though.
Deb says:
February 11, 2007 at 9:49 pm
I had a frame puzzle with every state cut separately, and you had to fit them all together--all fifty of them! It was hard, but I liked it because it was hard. I had to learn enough songs in school that haunted me, and thankfully that "nifty" one was not one of them. The puzzle was much more to my liking, and quieter. What's more, it worked to teach me where everything was. But could I draw it out and label each, so many years later? No, not any more!

Eric, I think you ought to consider a T-shirt with this map on it. Seriously. It is better than most, funny to those of us that know better, and even funnier when people don't know there is anything wrong with it! Although, I must admit, "pretty in the fall" in nicely curved lettering could be a good addition, you know, for general physiographic clarification in that eastern region, just like "big and mostly but not totally flat area" in the middle and "Dang big mountains" for the Rockies. :) Another addition could be the famous state of Mind with a "you are here" arrow, although I am not quite sure anyone knows of its exact location.
David Manning says:
February 12, 2007 at 7:35 pm
To JeffJSnider:

He has indeed mentioned Felipe SEVERAL times before. search it on the search bar for this site.
David Manning says:
February 12, 2007 at 8:12 pm
Here are the links:

http://www.ericdsnider.com/lenews/take-my-job-please/

http://www.ericdsnider.com/lenews/no-de-fence-against-drunk-driving/

...And, the third link was removed. (I'm not stirring up any trouble--I'm just reposting what I posted before, without the forbidden link.)
Jeff J. Snider says:
February 12, 2007 at 8:13 pm
Aww, DavidManning, I think it's so cute that you pointed out to me the search bar that I PROGRAMMED. Anyway, I should have been more clear. I meant that Eric had never mentioned Felipe by name in a column before. Both of the items you find by searching for "Felipe" using the search engine I programmed bring up instances of him mentioning Felipe in the comments after the column. So in a way, we are both right, assuming we can accept "twice" and "SEVERAL times" as synonyms.
Eric D. Snider says:
February 12, 2007 at 8:30 pm
Just to be clear, the "forbidden link" was deleted because 1) it referred to an internal page on the site, and 2) it didn't apply anyway: It was merely the text of this column, and thus didn't count as a previous reference to Felipe.
David Manning says:
February 13, 2007 at 5:12 pm
I know you programmed and created the site, Jeff. You know what else, I acknowledge that you were right in that I said "columns" rather than "reaction and comments." And while I really appreciate how you said " ...in a way, we are both right", I honestly cannot come up with a single example of how I was. Also, "twice" and "several" are not synonymous; I cannot argue otherwise. (I put it in caps, too--ouch!) So... that's that. Oh, and when I said "forbidden link," it was because I hadn't the mind power at the time to think of something more feasible to call it, much less just call it an internal page. (In retrospect, that's kind of a funny thing to call it--forbidden link, I mean.)
Lowdogg says:
February 14, 2007 at 10:28 am
I've learned that one must be quite exact with the Hon. Jeff J. Snider, but I can appreciate that attention to detail.

I was out of town and just now read this column. These are some of the best comments I've ever read on the site.

Eric, did you know frakkin is from Battlestar Galactica? Which my family and friends mock me for watching despite the fact that it is one of the best shows on TV?

And the map is genius. Anytime we get a graphic bonus is a plus, a la the Mohammed cartoons and the long-gone Eric-morphing-into-Pres. Batemen.
DukeBrymin says:
April 11, 2007 at 7:12 am
So, Jeff, did you do any programming for the site?
Sarah says:
February 14, 2011 at 4:48 pm
Yeah, so I'm a few years late, but I thought you'd be interested in knowing that Wichita, KS, is the abortion capital of the US. The leading abortion doctor there has to wear a bullet-proof vest to work everyday. I learned this while I was living in Wichita and was surprised that a place like Kansas would have so many abortions.

Eric D. Snider