So yesterday, one of the main "highways" in Los Angeles was closed. The term "highway" is used loosely there, typically fit only for a spacial rather than a temporal reality. The particuar example in question was "the 101
." "Why was it closed?," asks my cybo-blogger audience? Golden Ass shall impart upon you the vital information. There were deer stuck on the highway. They somehow got on
the highway in the first place. How
is a fitting question. Another one of those Los Angeles highway mysteries for which one expects no answer. Anyway, it should be born in the mind of those foreign to L.A. that "the 101" is in most places either on the side of a mountain or sourrounded by mountains. What that means is that the 101 is graced with two less than deer-friendly conditions: A) monstrously large walls on boths sides, or B) a monstrously large wall on one side only, with a monstrous drop to any living being's death on the other. Let me clarify; those conditinos are less than deer-friendly to a deer who somehow got stuck in that position in the first place.
Moving on. As noted previously, "the 101" was closed. Eric, Audrey
Blummber's wonderful husband, imagines that they must have been dancing and prancing around in circles circles of sheer terror. "They" - the dancing highway deer authorities, that is - had to tranqualize the poor deer and transport them from the highway. For once, since it was closed, it the term "highway" could be employed to describe a temporal reality. But in L.A., in which deer dance in the highway, all the world truly is a stage.