Yeah, it’s a little windy today. Why do you ask?
Archive for the ‘Wind’ Category
Whirlaway
February 12, 2017Gone with the wind, v2.0
November 4, 2016Hey, look, Pat O’B, I’m watering your lawn.
Gone with the wind?
November 3, 2016
Cue the Tom Waits. I think we’re headed for “Last Leaf On the Tree” time.
This is what our maple tree looked like before the wind started shrieking like an anti-Semite addressing the press at one of Der Trumpenführer’s Nuremberg rallies.
I’ll be curious to see what it looks like once the sun rises.
The tree, not a Trumpenführer rally.
A brisk spin
March 29, 2016
An ill wind
March 30, 2014
The northwest side of the Cheyenne Trail in Palmer Park.
Ah, jaysis. One of those forecasts. The devil must be eating beans again, because the wind is up, and it stinks.
After spending the morning working on various velo-projects and watching the trees prostrate themselves like monks before the altar I decided to leave all the bikes in the garage, no matter what class of tires they were wearing, and go for a 90-minute hike in Palmer Park.
Some dipshit lit the place up the other day, briefly, and with Beelzebub’s butt-trumpet blasting hell-farts hither and yon suddenly the Asplundh folks are in there turning foliage into sawdust. It’s either a fire-mitigation effort or a thinly disguised attempt to deny cover to those horny Bibleburgers who are either too free-spirited for a hotel or too cheap to rent a room, the park’s shadier nooks long having served as havens for spirited and unsanctioned rounds of Hide the Bishop.
There was none of that going on today — not that I saw, anyway — though I did spot what could have been a few post-coital cigarette butts along the way. There was, however, a veritable parade of mountain bikers disinclined to yield trail, unleashed dogs dropping deuces, and oblivious pedestrians.
One day these three factions will come together in some blind corner as yet uncleared by Asplundh and there will be a fine old donnybrook. I will sell tickets and use the proceeds to buy a house in some place where neither the wind nor the populace blows.
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 This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, redistributed, laser-printed, photocopied, crocheted into a sampler, knitted into sweater, tattooed on a floozy, spray-painted on an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.
