Well, not so much. Not in our little corner of Bibleburg, anyway. Heavy, blinding, wind-driven snow for a short spell, and now we’re left with some really icy side streets between us and the grog shops and grocers. Happily, I did my shopping around 8:30 this morning and even squeaked in a half-hour run before the shit hit.
I am skipping an appointment with my chiropractor, though. She’s up on the west end of Uintah, a feeder to I-25 that’s no fun at this time of day in good weather, and with frustrated commuters abandoning the interstate for side streets I think I’m better off right here in the old home office, where I can unravel my various knots with the judicious application of tonsil polish and vegetable beef soup. A guy could get his back cracked for real out there today.
I see a few cars on the roads, but they are clearly believers in some class of an afterlife. I am not, and even if I were, I would be in no hurry to get out there and risk meeting my Maker around some icy blind corner, as I would have a pretty good idea of His plans for me. Someplace considerably warmer, light on hymn-singing, I fear.
And besides, the local fish-wrap warns that we’re only between weather bands at the moment. As we speak, I see a few more flakes drifting down. Soup needs stirring and corks need pulling. I have a birthday coming up tomorrow, and I’d like to be around to bitch about it.
Mad Blog Media 
We are expecting several inches if all goes well, and its been coming down nicely. Also, any minute the temperature is supposed to plummet, meaning ice on the roads.
So I left the bike home today and got to work in the trusty Impreza, which still has a set of four Dunlop Wintersports on it for runs up to the ski hill. Cowardice is the better part of valor.
By the way, Happy Birthday, Patrick. Another year on the celestial treadmill gone, eh?
We will be down at the Santa Fe Brewing Company listening to some genuine slack key courtesy of Richard Ho’opi’i, George Kahumoku Jr., and the Rev. Dennis Kamakahi. Will tip one back for you and Hau`oli Lā Hānau, brah!
Well hey! Happy Birthday from me to you. Were I going to be around tomorrow, I might drop in to say hello and bring some beer to share or something. Instead, I’m supposed to be flying (yes, I know) out of the trusty COS aeropuerto at the lovely time of 0600 hours tomorrow, which means leaving my cozy house at about 0430, at which time I’m almost positive the air will be full of white frozen stuff, and the roads will be slicker than AIG balance-sheet tactics. I fear I will be sitting in the airport for the better part of the morning, if not the day; and it’s all because I decided to return to the world of international bicycle racing in my familiar role as a wrench for Team USA (which, by the way, is one of the only USA-related things I feel okay with these days). This year better be worth sure-to-be-shitty mornings like tomorrow’s.
But I digress. Congrats on making another revolution of our big ol’ star, and enjoy something tasty and cold for me. Here’s hoping Shannon whips up a delicious cake or some such for you!
Happy birthday Patrick. Tomorrow is my 53rd and will be celebrating in Keystone with 24 others 3 of which have a birthday this week. I think we have enough food and grog to last a week. They are having the Blues and Bar-b-que festival this weekend. It will probably be more like Blues and Booze for me.
I’ll tip a couple for you on your birthday.
Bill
Gents — Thanks for the birthday wishes. Khal, you be judicious out there; it’s a long slog from the ol’ bomb factory to Santa Fe Brewing Company and back. And Joey, make sure you ring up the aeropuerto before you drive the dogsled out there for the feds. It’s starting to look like a Russian novel out there. All we lack is the wolves and some really good vodka.
Imagine that, relative to the stars the Earth is in pretty much the same place as it was when you were born. I like to put these sort of things in the proper context: the Earth is 4.6 x 10^9 years old, and I assume you are significantly younger. In fact, relative to the age of this stratified rock, you are no doubt much, much younger. Your time on this planet has been but a snap of the fingers, geologically speaking. See? Hardly any time at all has gone by at all since you were born. You’re that young!
Feel better now?
Happy Birthday.
And the Earth is young compared to the Big Bang. Except we know we have incorporated material from a previous supernova, i.e., heavy elements from previously spent and exploded stars. Kinda like reincarnation. It is truly amazing to think of ourselves in the context of the history of the universe. We are not merely temporary or transient, but mere picospecs in the universe.
Speaking of Russian novels. Snow like this reminds me of those German or French formations stalled before Moscow, waiting for their doom.
Well, on second thought. The French made it to Moscow. Then they died. The mind is a bit muddled tonight.
Happy Birthday Patrick!
Here’s to another year of Mad Dog! Hip Hip Hurrah!
Now get to the grog! You earned it.
James
Patrick:
Salud! A hearty Irish birthday celebration should be had by all! I will drink a shot of Jameson 12-year in your honor this evening! I hope you, Herself, Mia and the Turkinator have a wonderful, if snow-bound day!
We’re awaiting the Great White Blizzard here in KC. So far, so good, but we’ll see.
Best wishes,
Jef
Happy birthday Shady.