Thank you.

We're coming up on the eleventy thousandth day of winter here in Rhode Island, and it's snowing again. Non-snowy states may think that up here in the Northeast, we handle any amount of snow like it's nothing at all, but that really isn't the case. We just slog through it and hope that driving conditions aren't like they were this morning, when it took me an hour to make my ten-mile commute to work.

Which brings me to the magic of Route 146, a state highway that runs north from I-95 in Providence until it hits the border, whereupon it becomes Massachusetts' problem until it runs into the Mass Pike. Route 146 is the highway version of an old person who insists on living like it was 1955 because everything was just so perfect then. On a good day, when the weather is agreeable, one can expect four lanes of the following on 146: frost heaves that run for miles; on-ramps that deposit cars on the freeway immediately with no room to merge; one puzzling off-ramp that deposits cars from the road to a residential neighborhood with no transition whatsoever; the remains of unfortunate animals that have been left where they fell for weeks or months; road signs obscured by overgrown trees and grass; and drivers regularly going 100 mph (the speed limit is 55, because it is the Olden Times). And then today, 45 minutes into what is usually a 20-minute commute, when the entire population is on the verge of winter madness, this:

So thank you, 146. Thank you for stating the most fucking obvious thing on the big LED sign you don't need because you never use it right. Because when there's actually something to tell us about that we might want to know, like, oh, say, an accident or a broken water main, you'll be sure to tell us something even more pressing, like ".08: IT'S THE LAW" or "BUCKLE UP: IT'S THE LAW" OR "NO TEXTING TEENS: IT'S THE LAW." Or - if I may be so bold to suggest something new - perhaps "146: BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO ALTERNATIVE. BWA HA HA HA HA."