Several years ago, I had one of those "somebody should invent this" ideas:  Incorporate GPS and digital messaging into Citizens Band radios, so that motorists could alert each other to common road hazards, like ice, floods, high winds and - I'm such a tease - speed traps; all with the touch of a button. Unfortunately, CB radios have limited range. For an ice hazard to remain constant through the night, motorists would have to rediscover and rebroadcast the alert, over and over again. That's no good. Eventually, somebody's gonna slide into your Aunt Gertrude's living room. There goes your inheritance, a swell thimbel collection, featuring the complete "Famous Monsters" series from Franklin Mint. Same thing with speed traps. Either way, Gertie's gonna get nailed.

Enter Trapster (trapster.com). This free service is sorta like my idea, only without all the dorky 1970s horse crap. It has a bunch of other cool stuff too; stuff I never even thought of. God damn it; I'm an idiot.

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In every motorist's life, there comes a time we'd like to go "Obi-Wan Kenobi" on a Highway Patrol officer. Ya know, "The Force." An omnipotent stare. A wave of the hand. "You don't need to see my driver's license and registration." The would-be ticketer falls silent, drools, and mutters, "Uh, I don't need to see your driver's license and registration. Move along." Or better still, employ your Jedi power of suggestion to impart a bladder-control problem on the fucknob and take off.

Okay, that's not gonna happen in our universe, young Padawan, but don't give up; there... is... another... another Jedi mind trick available to motorists. We've already discussed California's 11-99 Foundation. In this article, we'll discuss another breed of license plate kung fu that might just influence an officer's opinion in your favor: I'm talking about special "military" license plates.

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Everyone loves a good conspiracy theory.  I'm from Nevada - it's what we do here.  Aliens.  Area 51.  Disemboweled cows.  ["Oh my!"]  And if it's not about flying saucers, you can bet your government bail-out check that it's a cover-up for something even more diabolical, something too weird and sexual to imagine.  What it is, we don't know, but they're doing it, and getting away with it too.  Meanwhile, just next door in free-lovin' California, they can't keep a secret - not even a good one like California Highway Patrol's 11-99 Foundation.  This one has everything:  cops, speeders, bribes, corruption and a secret society.  No dead aliens.  Shit.

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If you upgraded to Windows Vista, you have my sympathies. Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like a brand new computer that gives you the finger and then chokes on its own vomit. And then there's the incompatibilities. My new IBM box didn't cost half as much as the software upgrades required for Vista compatibility. Some apps wouldn't 'compat' at all, requiring abandonment of old favorites for new-fangled and unfamiliar replacements. ...that don't work.  No upgrade pricing.

So, why extend this frustration to your automobile, your 'baby?' Well, car computers (or "carputers," if you're übercool) promise the ultimate in on-the-go convergence, merging your favorite devices and mobile apps into one machine, and then adding sprinkles. It's a fancy new breed of PC cat. Now, if only it wouldn't pee on your upholstery.

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Living in the Sierra has its pluses and minuses.  For drivers, the mountain roads are fun, even at modest speeds.  On the downside, you'll stow your Porsche for up to six months out of every year (unless, of course, your other car is a Cayenne - you smug bastard).  But then, snow means skiing, the speed junkie's winter surrogate.  This week, we received our first dump of Tahoe pow pow and this got me to thinking about a young snowboarder I met on a chairlift last season, the son of a Highway Patrol officer.

Yes, I shared a chair with hellspawn.  My reaction?  Well, three things occurred to me:

• Eject him from our perch of 30' up.  Listen for the thud.  Laugh hysterically.
• Bitch, bitch, bitch about speeding tickets.  Insist he owes me lunch.
• Pick his brain.  Guile him into revealing the "secret word."
  

I chose the latter.  I know, I know - "Pussy!"  But then, this, it would turn out, was a worthwhile choice.  This animated and outspoken child of the Dark Side revealed how he'd received three warnings for speed, but never a ticket.  "Huh?!"  My eyebrows lifted.  "M-m-might you share your ninja secrets with this humble gaijin?"  And he did.

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