Sunday evening after the lame Super Bowl, snore, I’m driving home, doing about 75 down the expressway. I have the convertible top down and I’m reliving my youth.That was my mistake. Obviously someone, maybe the space alien who controls this sector of earth, read my mind, saw my pleasure behind the wheel and decided to make me pay for it the following day.I’m making up this space alien stuff, by the way. I really don’t believe we live in some matrix that is controlled by outside influences and we’re all just pawns in someone’s game.Who would believe that?Anyway, Monday morning ...