So, I was on my way to work this morning, tooling along Hearst Ave., when a man in a shiny red SUV pulled up alongside me and called out, "Excuse me! Your tire is very flat!"

"Uh, thank you!" I called back. I was half a block from the gas station where I usually fill up. I pulled in next to the air hose, figuring I could put some air in the tire and then figure out what to do next.

However, when I actually inspected the tires, my general feeling was, "Holy crap, I've been driving on these things?" They were bad. The left rear tire was flat, and the right front tire, though not actually flat, had a nice big crack in the rubber. The other two were not in hot shape either.

I paused to reflect that these were, as far as I could remember, the original tires on a 1992 model car.

As I mused further, I became aware of the big blue sign on the business across the street: Goodyear Tires.

I decided that this was the universe's way of telling me to buy new tires already. So I took my car across the street, and told 'em to give me four new Dunlops and an oil change while they were at it.

I'm just really glad that I didn't have a tire blow out while I was on the freeway. I suspect that would not have been pretty. Not at all.

Then I figured that this was the universe's way of telling me to take today off from work. I mean, if it had been really important for me to go in today, I could have had someone pick me up from BART, or rented a car, or something. But there was nothing critical going on today, and I'd been planning on leaving early so that I could get back in time to finish packing and get to the airport in time for my flight to Washington D.C. tonight. So, I called my boss and told him I wasn't coming in.

Whew! Thank you, nice man in shiny red SUV!

(The odd similarity of this experience to what happened to M'ris during her move has not escaped me. There may be a rotten tire rubber epidemic going around. Check your tires, folks!)

Okay, off to read other people's journals and get ready for WFC.