Where's James Bond when I need him?

I've lost track of how many miles I've driven on this two-week trip in Calif., starting in LA and ending in SF. At each location where I've stayed for a few days -- LA, San Luis Obispo, and the Bay area -- I've put many miles on the rental car.

Or should I say cars, plural, which is why I lost track of the mileage. The first rental car was being way too weird, with the RPM jumping all over the place if I lifted my foot off the gas even just 1 mile an hour. Lame.

So I'm now on the second rental car and just decided not to look at the mileage, because frankly, it's a little depressing. Since moving to NYC five years ago -- after living nearly my entire life in Calif. -- I have come to loathe cars. I mean, I really can't stand them. I don't like riding in them, and I don't like driving them.

I couldn't even be persuaded to like riding in a sports car -- unless Daniel Craig as 007 was driving it. Bring it on, Bond.

And can we talk gas prices for a second? Gas jumped up 60 cents in TWO DAYS! I mean, are you kidding me?

Oh yes, I do get annoyed with the MTA and the NYC subway drives me crazy sometimes. But right now, I'd take my seat on the subway where I can read my Kindle or write my stories or knit or just people watch: always an entertaining show in the Big Apple.