Hal Walter demonstrates the capabilities of the Suzuki SX4 Snowplow Car.
And now, here’s Hal Walter with the weather! (Not brought to you by the Greater Crusty County-Weirdcliffe Association of Realtors®).
Archive for the ‘Snow’ Category
Looks like snow
April 30, 2017De la lluvia a la nieve
April 29, 2017
Stucco, wisteria, evergreens and snow.
Well, we went from rain to snow overnight — not much of it, it’s true, but still.
I was glad to not be Herself’s librarian pal from Colorado, who popped round for a visit en route to Arizona only to find her auto’s heater had crapped out as the weather worsened outside of Santa Fe. Also, and too, her windshield scraper seemed to have vanished mysteriously.
Good times. Maybe not. Anyway, she probably won’t need the heater or the scraper in Sedona.
We may not need them here much longer, either. Tomorrow’s high is expected to be in the low 60s, with 70s on tap for a few days afterward.
Snow and IceBook
April 4, 2017
We have a fine crop of tulips this spring.
“It’s totally snowing,” said Herself at dark-thirty as she was leaving for work.
“No sir,” said I.
As usual, she was right.
It wasn’t much in the way of a storm. Just a piddling little wind-driven dusting. Happily, it didn’t nuke the tulips, which have been popping up with more enthusiasm than the daffodils, which had a very short and sparse run indeed.
Forty-four steps later. …
It being slightly sucky outdoors, I decided to take care of a bit of business indoors, where it was warm.
Herself’s old iPad 2 had been awaiting recycling, along with my old 800 MHz G3 iBook. The iPad had already been wiped and reset, but the iBook had not; alas, when I tried to wipe it via Target Disk Mode the sonofabitch croaked on me. And after only 14 years, too. They sure don’t make ’em the way they used to.
So I had to take it apart to get to the hard drive — don’t want the terrorists to lay hands on all my classified data from 2003 — and lemme tell you, I am mighty glad I didn’t have to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Pulling the HDD required 44 steps and like Tim “Men Are Pigs” Allen I just knew I’d be left with a real small bag of important-looking shit left over.
First blow, then snow
February 13, 2017
“Forget about that California dam, hon’, we got a real problem right here at home.”
Well, it ain’t much of a snow. But the blow more than made up for it. We had to corral wandering bits and pieces of lawn art yesterday, which beats watching Stephen Miller lie on the Sunday shows like a creepy baldheaded teenager caught with a spank mag under his mattress. (“Uh, I read it for the articles? And anyway, the terrorists put it there!”)
Where does Beelzebozo find these alleged people? If you saw Miller lurking around a school playground, you’d probably call the law, amirite? The only video of this penis with ears should come from a vice cop’s lapel cam.
“Hands where I can see ’em, pally. And let’s get the mouse back in his house, a’ight?”
Meanwhile, the National Security Council is taking on Stooge-esque overtones, and not of the Iggy variety, either. Who knew we’d still be dealing with Russian stooges 53 years after “Dr. Strangelove?”
“Sir, you can’t let him in here. He’ll see everything! He’ll see the Big Board!”
Shoveling
January 7, 2017
Behold the Driveway of Doom.
Jaysis. Some days, the writing, it goes smooth like butta.
And some days, it goes more like shitting broken bottles into a flaming toilet. Something of a pain in the keister, is what.
This is the grotesquely scenic route toward explaining the recent dearth of bloggery in these environs. With mots of the bon variety proving elusive I felt compelled to corral the few I was able to catch, hoping eventually to assemble them into a remuda of paying copy.
Nix.
Notions kept arising with malicious intent, like Martin Sheen surfacing in the lagoon en route to snuffing Marlon Brando in “Apocalpyse Now.” False paths with bad endings. Curiously shaped bricks that, while fascinating in their own right, didn’t quite fit in the wall.
Gah.
Also, it snowed. One of those obnoxious, featherweight snows that, coupled with a stiff north wind, basically glazes a steep, north-facing driveway like a cop’s donut if the homeowner is distracted by journalism and forgets to clear it first thing.
Sheeeeeeeeeeeeyit.
While all this was going on I was striving mightily to avoid the actual news, which, wow, talk about your false paths and bad endings. The road goes ever on and on. Here be dragons. This way to the Dark Side. Thus I shunned The New York Times and NPR in order to remain blissfully ignorant and focused on the task at hand, viz., to wit, earning the meager handful of coppers I require to purchase my common groats and lentils.
And now I believe I need a break from all that. It’s the weekend, f’chrissakes. The toilet will still be on fire come Monday morning.
White Christmas
December 25, 2016
I’m thinking we won’t need to break out the Acme Atomic Snow-blower™ for this one. Photo inspired by the works of Michael Brangoccio.
Well, a kinda-sorta white Christmas, anyway. We do what we can. Happy happy joy joy to the lot of yis.
Snow cat
November 29, 2016
I don’t think I need to break out the shovel for this one.
It probably doesn’t qualify as the first snow of the year, but we finally got a dusting at El Rancho Pendejo.
The temp remains below freezing as of 9 a.m., and I’m having a very hard time getting excited about going grocery shopping. But we’re inching our way downward through the pantry toward the basics — beans, rice, chile, etc. — and something, as they say, must be done.
I could slap together a pretty interesting vegetarian combo platter with what I have on hand — bean burritos smothered in green and sprinkled with cheddar, sides of Mexican rice and posole — but that would just kick the ol’ can down the road.
Speaking of roads and cans that need kicking along same, some of us have been having an invigorating discussion in comments about the big bad feddle gummint and what to do about it. I don’t want the blog to devolve entirely into a civics course, but just for shits and giggles, let’s take it on faith that the government is too big and intrusive and our tax burden too onerous.
So how do we shrink the federal government to a manageable size? What would you cut? Whose ox gets gored?
And keep in mind that we are not just cutting functions here. We’re shitcanning people. Our fellow Americans. They enjoy their combo platters, too, as do the folks that sell and serve them, so spare them a thought in your calculations.
As of 2014 the U.S. government employed some 2.7 million people. Walmart only has 1.5 million or so on payroll in the United States; Amazon’s headcount is about 240,000 folks, or about twice as many as Apple.
So I don’t see all these sidelined federales landing cushy gigs moving boxes around an Amazon warehouse, greeting the penny-pinchers at Sam’s Club, or failing to fix my 2009 iMac at the Albuquerque Apple Store.
February made me shiver
February 1, 2016
It was a dark and stormy … morning?
I was burrowed deep under the covers and Herself was in the bathroom, getting ready for work and making noises about breakfast.
When I mumbled that she had not yet sung the “Please Get Up and Make Me An English Muffin” song, she replied with something about a beating, and so up I got. She’s small but fierce and a dick-punch before coffee always gets the day off to a rough start.
After being properly muffined, Herself bustled off to the Death Star. Me, I got the trash and recycle bins to the curb and was back inside before the snow started blowing around and about, announcing February’s triumphant debut in the Duke City.
Doesn’t look like we’ll get much in the way of snow, but it’s going to be chilly for a few days, and the knee warmers I was wearing on yesterday’s ride will go right back into the drawer. Uniform of the day will be tights, long-sleeved tops (two), tuque, gloves, wool socks and running shoes. Hep, hoop, hreep, horp. …
Evil weather is forecast in Iowa, too, where The Des Moines Register is covering the mortal shit out of the caucuses. So, too, is Charles P. Pierce.
Maybe Larry can enlighten us as to why Iowa enjoys this outsize influence on our political process every four years. I spent a lot of summers in Sioux City, and one in Iowa Falls, and I consider the state to be about as representative of America as a whole as a nursing home in the Pecker Woods of North Dakota.
Still, it should be amusing. If Iowa sends a few rats over the side of the GOP’s listing cruise ship, I’ll consider it a net positive.
Editor’s note: Oh, yeah, and some asshole brought a motorized bike to cyclo-cross worlds. Naturally, it is Someone Else’s Fault®, as per usual. Jesus wept. I am so over bicycle racing.
Snowmopocalypseageddonzilla!
January 24, 2016-
- “There’s a big ol’ GMC under here somewhere, I just know it.”
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- “Aha, there is is. Now where the hell’s the road?”
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- It’s a windshield, not a snowshield.
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- Time flies like an arrow. Snow flies like holy shit is this ever a giant pain in the ass.
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- Durwood runs away from home in slow motion.
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- They call it Maryland, but Mary (not pictured) won’t go out in it.
Photos: Herself | Mad Dog Media East Coast Bureau
Deep doodoo
January 24, 2016
Nope, no snow up there.
Thirty-six inches: That’s the final tally from Maryland, where the digging out has commenced.
“It snowed how much? Where? Let’s never go there.”
Adding insult to inundation, the gut rumble that started working its way through the kinfolk beginning with the brother-in-law has so far claimed 75 percent of the clan, with only Herself spared (so far).
Meanwhile, the mom-in-law’s flight back to Tennessee got croaked by the storm, so Herself the Elder is enjoying a little extra recovery time before clambering into an aluminum tube full of fresh viruses for the trip home.
This whole clusterfuck was intended to give her the chance to inspect a couple of properties with an eye toward relocating somewhere down the road.
I bet the trip made Albuquerque look like the Garden of Eden. The place has its warts like any other, but the snow rarely arrives three feet at a time and the only time anyone ever shits themselves is at the thought of living in Maryland.
“‘Maryland,’ you say? Sounds like Hell to me.”
Words and pictures on the DogPage © 2016 by Patrick O'Grady/Mad Dog Media. All rights and most lefts reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, redistributed, laser-printed, photocopied, crocheted into a sampler, knitted into sweater, tattooed on a floozy, spray-painted on an overpass, tapped out in Morse code, sublimated onto a jersey, shared in whispers in the back row of an adult theater, shouted from the rooftops, scored for tuba and banjo, translated into Squinch, or communicated via telepathy without the permission of and hefty payment to a heavily armed, whisky-addled cyclo-cross addict who knows your IP address. Bonehead shysters and the simpletons who employ them, take note: The opinions expressed on the DogPage contain toxic quantities of hyperbole, satire, parody and humor. Pah-ro-dee. Hyyuuu-mor. Acquire a sense of same or read at your own risk.
