The first cold, clammy day of autumn always reminds me of why my forebears fled the Emerald Isle for Americay. It wasn’t so much the Limeys and the Prods as the weather.
Doesn’t help that Herself is enjoying a weeklong vacation on the Big Island with a gal pal. Beaches for her, bitches for me. ‘Tis not at all the same thing.
Of course, last time I went to Hawaii the locals endured a volcanic eruption and a tsunami. Maybe it’s better that I stay put. For them, anyway.
Today was one of those absolutely gorgeous fall days that you’d like to capture in a Mason jar, tuck away in a closet and break out sometime in February when the ceiling and floor have become indistinguishable from one another.
The sun was out, the wind was manageable and the temperature crested just short of the 80s. Herself and I celebrated with a ponderous American breakfast — eggs over easy, pan-fried Yukon Gold spuds, bacon, toast and coffee — followed by a ride to work it all off.
This won’t last, of course. The National Weather Service is predicting a repeat tomorrow, but it all goes south after that, toward a “high” of 43 with a slight chance of rain and/or snow come Saturday, when I have to be indoors working anyway. Oh, well.
Tomorrow brings The Great Debate that neither side claims to be capable of winning (keep those expectations low, fellas; the rest of us certainly are). I’m unloading all the firearms and keeping the smokepoles upstairs but moving the ammo downstairs. TVs are expensive and we don’t want to frighten the neighbors. The ceaseless, volcanic profanity and hurling of beer bottles through windows that have not been opened will be bad enough.
And be glad you’re not driving I-25 through Denver during the debate. ‘Cause you won’t be able to.
How the hell did it get to be October already? Herself and I were just enjoying some adult beverages on the back deck, watching the critters gambol on the lawn, and had to beat it indoors before the sun had truly set because we were freezing our whatsises off (of course, anyone wearing shorts and sandals on Oct. 1 deserves to freeze his or her whatsis off).
We had to fortify ourselves with largish glasses of Domaine Vindemio, a powerful red from Ventoux. Then I put the last of the green chile stew on the range. The low tonight could dip into the 30s and for that one needs green chile and red wine.
Come Wednesday, of course, we will need distilled sustenance — tequila, single-malt Scotch or a solid hit of uisce beatha from the auld sod. El Prezbo and the RomneyBot v2.012 square off that evening for their first debate, in Denver, and there is no way I can possibly watch that sucker stone cold sober. (See Charles P. Pierce for a guide on how to watch a presidential debate.)
The RomneyBot is in full kernel panic, crashing and rebooting and giving off a strong whiff of ozone, and it wouldn’t surprise me at all to see him in mid-flail offer Obama a couple of billion to move out of the White House and set himself and the family up in style elsewhere.
Mad Blog Media 