Small Wonders: The mind wanders in traffic

Few drives are more monotonous than Golden State (5) Freeway through California's Central Valley. But what does make it worse is a big-rig crashing into a tractor-trailer, bursting into flames and closing three of the five southbound lanes when you're trying to get home from a family vacation.

One's mind wanders in inching traffic, 90-plus-degree heat and having exhausted "99 Bottles of Scotch on the Wall." So here are a few things I thought about while stuck on the Grapevine the other day; more musings from the Muffin Top Man:

One of these days, Thing 1, my 8-year-old daughter, is going to figure out that we've never put film into that cheap camera she's been playing with since she was 3. And on that day, there will be much fear and trembling and gnashing of teeth.

I don't know why Lindsay Lohan was so upset about being sentenced to 90 days in jail. A little time in the slammer didn't hurt the careers of Robert Downey Jr., Paris Hilton or Martha Stewart.

Note to the car behind me: If my car is vibrating from the thumping bass of your radio, you should remember that there are other people on the planet, and turn the volume down a notch.

Dear BP, please leave a signed, blank check under the mat.

The breathtaking beauty of the jacaranda tree in bloom is soon replaced by an utter mess. Like a day at the beach or the dawning of a new school year.

NASA should study the molecular bond that cements soggy Rice Krispies to the side of the bowl. It could be used to glue heat-resistant tiles on the next fleet of Space Shuttles.

If you've ever called yourself an "old soul," you're probably not.

It is with both fear of injury and wanton desire that I ponder licking the yogurt off the Yoplait foil lid.

Vampires, Starbucks, Lady Gaga, 3-D movies. They're like Renee Zellweger to me. I just don't get the appeal.

I don't often tell jokes. But when I do, I've gotten them from my barber John. Here's one from the last time I saw him:

John: "Did you hear about that actress that went crazy and stabbed her boyfriend?"

Me: "No. Who was it?"

John: "Reese something."

Me: "Witherspoon?"

John: "No, with her knife."

Swap two letters and Grapevine becomes Gravepine. Which, when you really want to get home from a road trip, is an appropriate description of one's mental state.

Here's one from the wife: Cargo pants were the death of the fanny pack. Sad but true.