Category: Bibleburg

Ash Wednesday

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments

Goooooood morning, Bibleburg!

Well, not so much. A bunch of people lost their houses last night — no idea how many — 32,000 Bibleburgers are on the run, and we’re looking at another hot, windy day, which is good for the Waldo Canyon fire but not so good for anyone else.

There’s a chance of thunderstorms, but a thunderstorm is what got us into this latest pickle, driving the fire down Queens Canyon to the Mountain Shadows neighborhood. Another storm lit up a few hundred acres around Boulder. Theirs, like ours, has multiple-personality disorder and is burning in any number of directions. So it’s not like anyone’s jumping for joy at the thought of Thor swinging his hammer unless Odin is taking a good long beer piss while Junior gets his workout.

We’re south and east of the evacuation zone and the worst we’ve had to face is the smoke from the remains of our neighbors’ hopes and dreams, with a little ash-fall for dessert. We’ll keep you posted. And thanks for all the emails, tweets and Facebook posts inquiring as to our safety. We’re still on the right side of the grass and it’s not on fire yet.

But I’d sure hate to see this lovely old neighborhood burn. I’ve lived in a whole bunch of places and this is the only one that’s truly felt like home. So please to commence your rain dances with all possible haste. That is all.

Don’t freak out …

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments

… we’re OK, but a lot of folks aren’t. A burst of 65-mph winds drove the fire downhill into northwest Bibleburg and it set about gobbling up houses like a stoner does potato chips.

There’s a mandatory evacuation in place for basically everything north of I-25/Garden of the Gods, which is about 15 minutes by bike from Chez Dog. But it seems as though the winds have abated. I’m trying to confirm with Satan that he’s not foreclosing on that mortgage he holds on my soul, but I keep getting voice mail.

I’ll keep you posted while we try to figure out what we can’t live without, just in case.

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.

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.