I’m in the midst of writing a response to an opinion piece that ran in the Citizen a few days ago (go read it! And the comments! This way you’ll be ready to make fun of^h^h^h^h^h^h a more informed judgment of my piece), and got off on a tangent while discussing where people choose to live. It doesn’t fit with the rest of it, but I leave it here in all its parenthetical glory as a warning of how things can go off the rails (spoiler!) if you aren’t too careful, and have been at the Maker’s Mark:

(a quick aside: Some angry fellow on twitter kept badgering my councillor about the state of the 68 (his argument generally amounting to “When I drive to the park’n’ride to catch it at 8, there aren’t any spots! Then I have to park illegally and then I get a ticket!” Well, catch it somewhere else, bud. They go through neighbourhoods for a reason.), stating that the deplorable ability to get a seat on the bus (!!!!!!! Express bus doesn’t mean you get a seat, bud.) had caused many of his neighbours to move closer to their jobs. Well, duh. That’s actually a smart thing to do. Maybe they were just trying to get away from you…)(OK, that wasn’t so quick an aside. And here’s an aside to that aside: You might think, hey, Mr. High-and-Mighty, what are you doing living so far away from your job? Well, My Sweet works in Kanata, and she loves her job, and she bikes there year-round, and I’m more willing to put up with a long commute than she is, so there.)