Category: Summer

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.

Hot town, summer in the city

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments

August is going out like a dragon that breathes fire from both ends. We just had two consecutive days of record-setting heat, as in 93 yesterday and 95 today, and may get the hat trick tomorrow, when the forecast is for 90-94.

Toss in a 5.3-magnitude earthquake near Trinidad that was felt as far north as Fort Collins and it’s already been quite a week, though it’s only Tuesday.

Tomorrow our new dog Buddy goes to the vet for the third time in a month — this time, he’s going under the knife for bladder stones — and Herself’s Wednesday I won’t even tell you about, other than to say that it starts at dark-thirty and ends at dark-thirty and involves work, study and more than a hundred miles of driving.

And Your Humble Narrator? I actually have a day free, so who knows? I might ride a bike or something, like those dudes contending (Not) The Tour of Colorado. Only slower. Much, much, slower.