Triangle of Death Update

Because of all this renewed fervor over stopping the murdering thugs, I was forced to get off my ass and waste twenty whole minutes of my day getting a brake tag yesterday. Hmph. Thanks a lot, thugs. Actually, it was quite simple, a good example of the Post-K world in which we live: there was a sign nailed on the gas station that said "Louisiana Vehicle Inspection Station", and two lines of orange cones set up. You drove in between the cones, paid your twenty bucks, and drove out! Cute, but so small no wonder I never saw it there the other times I drove by.

I suppose it was a good thing, because I read in the paper they were going to have sobriety checkpoints in Uptown last night, and I knew I would be driving home from work at midnight. One would think the crimestoppers have better things to do (like stop crime) than write me a ticket for having no brake tag, but then, it's how the city makes its money. Sure enough, I saw four NOPD cars during my drive.

More to the point, though, why don't new cars COME with brake tags? (The New York girl in my soul cries out, "INSPECTION STICKER-- WHAT THE HELL DOES BRAKE TAG MEAN ANYWAY!?!") Seriously, people. It's the dumbest inspection ever. They don't even check emissions like they do in every other state. All you have to do is put on your blinkers and lights, put your car in reverse for 15 seconds, and honk your horn. It's a pathetic excuse for an inspection. (I suppose I ought to note here that my last car actually failed a brake tag inspection last summer-- I am rather proud of that fact, since I think it's something you have to really try at.)

Oh, and no sooner do they put the stop sign back at Louisiana and Freret than the light comes back on. Efficient.

I am watching Jolee play with a straw. I have no idea what the appeal is. I gave him one and he got this look of wide-eyed joy. I think it's the crinkly plastic they're wrapped in. He's so weird.

Tags: new orleans, post-katrina, brake tag