There’s too much cursing in this world, and I am part of the problem. For me, cursing is the natural by-product of trying to accomplish something or get somewhere. I’m always trying to get somewhere, and thus tend to travel in a blue streak.

One of these days I need to calculate how much of my life’s cursing has been:

A.  As a pedestrian cursing at motorists and cyclists;

B.  As a cyclist cursing at motorists and pedestrians;

C. As a motorist cursing at cyclists, pedestrians, and, well, pretty much everything.

Offhand, I’d guess my cussing volume, from most to least, would be  C, B, A, — even though I’ve spent more time as a pedestrian than as a cyclist, and more time on a bicycle than driving a car. Maybe my propensity to swear is proportional to my desired speed of travel. Continue reading 19. The Curse of Portland →