Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain, sometimes in a circular motion at close to 200 miles per hour, with a two-mile-side footprint. Mercy, this is awful.
Of course, all natural disasters are awful, and every time they happen, you are reminded anew of how each variety is awful. The sight of bare trees, stripped of their leaves and branches, sometimes even their bark, always freaks me out, as do photos like this, a classic of the genre — a half-destroyed room, where the doors of a cabinet have been flung open, but the glasses inside stand untouched.
Sometimes these things end better than you’d think. I recall a twister in Indiana that tore off a roof and destroyed a room. When the occupants rushed in, they found their baby sitting in her high chair in the middle of it, covered with insulation but otherwise unharmed.
Not so much in Oklahoma, I’m afraid. As I’m sure everybody will already know by the time they read this, at least one elementary school was destroyed, and perhaps two.
Which makes today’s accomplishment by dumb ol’ me — I had my first taste of rye whiskey, and friends, it was sublime — look pretty punk. It was this stuff. I’ve never sampled the stuff, because rye? Who drinks rye? Characters in old novels, that’s who. But boy, was it good. I had about a teaspoon, then drove home in heat that just kept climbing. It was 87 when I got home, so what the hell? A bike ride. Ten miles in 50 minutes was all I had the energy for, but I got ‘er done.
Not much bloggage today, but I enjoyed this: What your state bird should be. He has a point. Many points.
Fucking Apple. Ai yi yi.
More 80s today, but by the weekend? Highs in the low 60s. Because that’s how we roll now.