Month: June 2012

Smoke gets in your eyes

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 3 Comments
The Squeaker of the House
Ordinarily Mr. Boo would be fetching that orange squeaky toy from room to room, demanding playtime (squeaka squeaka squeaka), but it’s too damned hot to play Squeaker of the House today.

Deadlines have been eating up my mornings and record temperatures and smoke have been smothering my afternoons. I had to close all the windows for much of yesterday as a waterless thunderstorm up around Peckerwoodland Park shoved the plume from the Waldo Canyon fire right through downtown Bibleburg.

This morning all the varmints are stretched out on various bits of floor, trying to stay cool. It’s already 82 inside the house, so this is pretty much a lost cause.

Buddy (a.k.a. Mr. Boo) is not amused. Of our three critters he is the one most affected by heat. Turkish just flattens out until he looks like a big white throw rug with blue eyes, turning himself into a radiator. Miss Mia Sopaipilla simply naps more. But Mr. Boo insists on conducting business as usual and it always ends badly.

For example, this morning he was eager for a walk. And for about 30 seconds he even enjoyed it. After that it was just like walking a dog, only in slow motion. I’m going to buy a skateboard and henceforth shall tow him behind me like a hairy, bug-eyed little trailer.

Fire on the mountain

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments
Waldo Canyon from Palmer Park
The Waldo Canyon fire as seen earlier today from Palmer Park — which is now closed to keep it from getting lit up, too.

The mercury is knocking on the century mark down here in Bibleburg, but it’s a whole lot hotter in them thar hills.

Manitou Springs got cleared out last night and early this morning, and the Air Force is weighing in with a couple of C-130s that can drop 3,000 gallons of fire retardant in less than five seconds, according to The Denver Post. Two more are inbound from Wyoming.

Down here in the flats it’s oddly quiet. Lots of folks are watching the fire the way a bird eyes a snake, taking cellphone pix and muttering to themselves.

We’ve gotten a few calls from friends and family who wonder if we’ve been forced out onto the open road with only a few simple possessions and the menagerie enjoying a Romney ride atop the Subaru.

Nope. Herself is still at large in Mouse Country, I’m stuck in an un-air-conditioned office wrangling word count and the critters are trying to find cool spots to stretch out. Good luck with that. It’s not exactly fur-coat weather, is what I’m saying.

Still, there are worse things. We know a few folks who’ve been chased out of their homes by this bloody fire, and a few of them are staying next door until things cool off a bit. They may be waiting a while — there’s nothing but sun, heat and wind in the forecast for the next 10 days.  Y’all start doing your rain dances now, please. And thank you.

It’s not the heat, it’s the stupidity, part 2

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
The Waldo Canyon fire
The Waldo Canyon fire, as seen from a couple blocks west of Chez Dog.

Sonofabitch. Now we’ve got a live one encroaching upon greater cosmopolitan Bibleburg.

Dubbed the Pyramid Mountain fire, it started somewhere near Waldo Canyon and is already estimated at some 600 acres. An assortment of mandatory and voluntary beat-it orders are in place for west- and north-siders, but at the moment it seems the prevailing winds are pushing the thing north and west, so Your Humble Narrator is not in danger — at the moment, anyway — of becoming a hot dog, har har.

The fire has been declared a federal emergency, and renowned feddle-gummint rassler Dougie Lamborn (R-Hypocrisy) reportedly “stands ready to assist if federal resources are required.” In light of the serious nature of the event I’ll refrain from delivering the obvious ironic rimshot.

More as we hear it.

• Late update: The fire is now officially named for Waldo Canyon (no “Where’s Waldo? jokes, please), and late word is that it’s torched a couple thousand acres and displaced about as many people. Nobody hurt so far, according to the local rumormongers, which is good. You can replace burned-up people, just like you can replace burned-up stuff, but the process takes longer and the outcome is uncertain.

The winds seem to have died down, but it’s always creepy to look at the sky at 9:30 p.m. and see peach-colored clouds and a moon that looks like an orange slice from some kid’s Halloween candy haul.

It’s not the heat, it’s the stupidity

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 5 Comments

Jeebus. Four days of record-breaking heat in Bibleburg and more on the way. Lord, I know it was supposed to be the fire next time — I just wasn’t expecting it so soon.

Speakings of fires, have I mentioned that we’ve got ’em out the wazoo? Up near Lake George, around Fort Collins, at Pagosa Springs and around Mesa Verde, for starters.

The Springer fire near Lake George is thought to have been human-caused, if you can describe as “human” one or more of the lesser primates banging away at a propane tank with the old smokepole. Yes, that’s the rumor behind the news, as The Firesign Theatre would put it. And the crazier the rumor, the greater the likelihood that it’s true. We also have a serial arsonist lighting up the roadside grasses in Teller County. Good times.

The menagerie and I are left alone to endure this smoky pestilence, Herself having pissed off to Mouse Country for some class of library confab at which they all dress severely, put their hair up in buns and practice the hissing of “Shh!” at each other. Just as well, I suppose, as the metaphorical flames of multiple deadlines are licking around my feet and I can’t seem to stomp them out fast enough, which makes me unpleasant company.

And at least we still have a pot to piss in and a window to throw it out of, unlike a whole bunch of folks up in Larimer County, whose homes are now portable, fitting neatly into their cars’ ashtrays. Makes a shit monsoon feel like a gentle summer rain.

A bed and barkfest

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 35 Comments

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Idiocy as regards real estate abounds in the O’Grady genes.

My paternal granda abandoned first County Clare in Ireland, then Canada, for Bogalusa, Louisiana, and later Perry, Florida. One of his sons, my father, bought land outside Ash Fork, Arizona, based on an ad in TV Guide. If you want to see what the End Days will look like, I’ll give you directions.

Herself and I have purchased property outside Weirdcliffe, Colorado, a town with no stop lights, more cows than people, and more rattlesnakes than cows. And we have owned no fewer than three houses right here in Bibleburg.

I’d say that last pretty much proves my thesis.

Which brings me to the House Back East, otherwise known as the Robert A. Heinlein Memorial Crooked House.®

It was the home of our beloved next-door neighbors Marv’ and Judy, with whom we shared a common driveway, garage, political philosophy, sense of humor, the occasional meal and not nearly enough time. When Marv’ died, and Judy decided it was time to move back to Chicago to be with family, we agreed that rather than share a driveway and a garage with strangers who might not appreciate our politics, humor and cookery, we should buy her house. And so we did.

It seemed smarter than playing the market. We made a bundle when we sold the Weirdcliffe place with its 43 mountain acres, and immediately sank it into the market, which promptly transformed said bundle into a flaming bag of fiscal poop on our retirement porch, from which we had hoped to tell generations of snotnoses yet unborn to get the fuck off our lawn.

So, yeah. With the market still tottering about like a drunken O’Grady from County Clare, we thought more property would be the ticket. But what to do with it?

Rent it long-term? No, thanks. Mom and Dad tried that on a small scale and quickly grew weary of tenants skipping on overdue bills, setting kitchens ablaze and generally acting the fool, which they could get a-plenty from their eldest child in their own home.

Turn it into office space for Your Humble Narrator? That would be swell if I earned enough to justify more space than it takes to make shit up for Bicycle Retailer and Industry News, or review bicycles for Adventure Cyclist, a task that occurs mostly on the open road.

Aha! How about short-term rental? We’ve enjoyed renting vacation houses in California and Hawaii, and for reasons that elude me at the moment there may very well be people who wish to visit scenic oligarchical Bibleburg, if only to tell friends and family, “It was every bit as bad as you’ve heard.”

Well, to be fair, there are worse places than Bibleburg, and I have lived in most of them. The Robert A. Heinlein Memorial Crooked House® is minutes from Monument Valley Park, your jumping-off point for cyclo-cross-bike-friendly, off-road bike rides to Fountain on the south end, Greenland on the north end, and any number of places to the west that are not presently on fire.

Palmer Park, 730 acres of pure joy enclosing some 30 miles of trails, is about a 10-minute ride from here.

Group road rides leave at 10 a.m. weekends from Acacia Park downtown, a short leg-stretching spin away. Saturday’s ride is strictly for the insane, but Sunday’s goes to the U.S. Air Force Academy, which has the best roads in the Pikes Peak region. All  of them are uphill in both directions.

Dogtooth Coffee, the official java supplier to Mad Dog Media, is but a block to the south. Patty Jewett Golf Course is a chip shot to the east. Grog, groceries and other goodies are likewise within easy reach just a few moments north at the Bon Shopping Center, home to the fabled Safeway of the Living Dead. Organic vittles may be found a short drive west at Mountain Mama Natural Foods. And as it happens, the best liquor store in town is on the way there — Coaltrain Wine & Spirits.

The house itself, you ask? It’s tiny, like ours, under 1,200 square feet, with hardwood floors. One bathroom and two bedrooms, only one of which has a bed at present, a queen size. The second bedroom is part office at the moment and will eventually get a full-size bed. Soon there will be a love seat in the living room that folds out to a single bed. The largely unfinished basement hosts the furnace, washer and dryer.

The small kitchen has a gas range/stove combo, refrigerator, sink and no dishwasher. It adjoins the living room, which at present has a four-seater table, a giant ugly-ass hutch of dubious lineage, a minimalist Sony stereo and a rocker with footstool. Expect a few comfy chairs, a table, and perhaps an TV/DVD-player combo to be added directly, along with an Airport Express extension to the DogNet across the driveway. Oh, yeah, and there is a lockable shed for bikes in the fenced back yard. Pets are welcome.

We haven’t settled on a daily rental charge, but it will be reasonable and include free wireless Innertubes. A portion of the proceeds will be donated to either Care & Share, the Humane Society of the Pikes Peak Region or Bike Clinic Too.

The biggest downside is that there are crazy people next door, but since you’re visiting this website you’re hardly in a position to be judgmental about that sort of thing.