The freeway was to be the stuff of miracles back in the days of modernism and promise of the future. Whisking along in our turbine-powered bubble top cars we were to travel at speeds exceeding 100 mph while eating a sangwich. Mention the word freeway to an Angeleno these days and they'll explain why they've been living off hot dogs from the corner 7-11 instead of whisking across down to enjoy something more delicious. Just this morning a gasoline truck flipped over on "the" 134 freeway near Burbank. Add some rain and about six months of dried rubber and oil on the road and you have a quick and soupy recipe for what is a slightly more craptastic than normal driving experience here in LA.