Traffic

We in traffic are demented ballerinas, pointing our toes: gas clutch brake, stop, start, go again. I feel a certian camraderie with my fellow commuters. They slow down to let me in sometimes, and I do the same. In traffic are countless opportunities to make someone's day a little better or a lot worse. My car coughs politely and purrs, just to let me know it's still there. I cough back. Steadily we inch over the bridge, I'm turning up my music, all of us stuck in the same boat. Over the lake we all go together.

The load on a communications device or system. One of the principal jobs of a system administrator is to monitor traffic levels and take appropriate actions when traffic becomes heavy.

Traffic in London is horrible. Nobody seems to care about the traffic lights. Everybody just runs across the streets. Extremely dangerous, if you come from somewhere where they don't drive at the left side.

It is said that Germans are very likely not to cross the road when the traffic light tells them not to do so by glowing red. So people think Germans are stiff people that obey easily to authorities, but in fact they stop for a different reason. They stop because they need some rest. As everyone knows, Germans work very accurate and are always exhausted. (All the people you see at the Loveparade are in fact from france or spain.) When a German sees a red light, stopping is no matter of following rules, but fooling the boss. Because the German appears late and says: »There was a red light blocking me, I could not come earlier.« And the boss is happy to have such an accurate staff.

Is traffic like the march of ants – the buzz of bees? Or is it something greater? The lack of group purpose in traffic removes it from comparison to the insects. One goes here, one goes there, no one goes the same place, but everyone is going to a place. hence: jams.

there is too much. there should be a law limiting each household to one car only.