Someone spilled paint all over my community last night. We had our choice of everything from heavy rain to blinding snow within a 50-mile radius. As you can see, it was not a fit night for man nor beast, although it was interesting to keep checking the weather widget as it passed through.
A moment of silence for our readers in the states that suffered more from this system.
I snagged this image because of that oddly perfect oval hovering over Windsor. I’d like to know what caused that, if anyone knows. Years ago, I used to get almost a daily e-mail from a reader in Los Angeles, a surfer my age named Paul. We had some nice exchanges about surfing, something I’ve always wanted to try but will likely have to save for my next lifetime. He had a way of talking about it that walked a line between Spicoli and Bodhi, and a lot of it boiled down to weather. Surfing was a way for a guy who lived in Los Angeles to stay in touch with the natural world, via the vast ocean on the other side of the hills. He would e-mail me weather maps of Pacific storm systems, and demonstrate why a storm here meant waves in Malibu, but one there was better news for Santa Barbara, why this place was a better winter beach and that place one for summer, how you could anticipate the waves for days, and plan your week around it. He made me understand it at a level I’d never considered before, and one that, needless to say, isn’t part of the popular image of surfing, even a little bit.
Then one day he wrote and said, “Circumstances require me to give up my internet connection for the forseeable future, enjoyed reading your blog, take care, bye” and I never heard from him again. I wonder if he’s still out there. If he is, maybe he knows why it was snowing in an oval over Windsor last night.
I’m looking at weather maps to keep myself from looking at election-result maps, because they give me a headache. There are two things I managed to mostly avoid when I was a reporter: politics and entertainment news. Of course I covered elections and the like — only the fashion reporter entirely avoids those — but I was never the one with the patience to sit down with precinct maps and exit-poll results and tap calculator keys all night. Those folks provide a huge service, but they make watching election returns pretty rough. I gather Mitt’s washed up, but we knew that was coming. Huckabee’s showing was an interesting thread, but still can’t win him the Strange New Respect award from the media. And Hillary and Obama continue to run neck-and-neck, which is exhausting, for both them and the Democrats, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
I don’t listen to talk radio, would only know Hugh Hewitt if he jogged down my street with his man-boobs a-jiggle, but did he really say McCain “can’t be considered a frontrunner by any conventional standard”? Whatever. These folks are delusional.
So now that we’ve established I’m tired and goofy this morning, how about some bloggage? I don’t really have any, but Fark is always on the job, and…yes, yes, this will do just fine: What do you do when you find a rattlesnake in your backyard in St. Petersburg? Call the law, of course, and if you’re lucky and they think the snake is SEVEN FEET LONG, they’ll send three cops with shotguns.
Personally, I think those guys just like to blast away.
I think this will be an early-nap day. If I made my coffee any stronger, it would be pudding. Play nice, and I’ll be back in a bit.