We didn’t watch the “debate” last night, so I don’t have any personal observations to add to this morning’s raving, keening, caterwauling, hair-pulling, wailing, finger-pointing, and general post-shitting-the-bed cacophony.
So consider this an “open thread.” Got any thoughts? Lay ’em on us in comments. Our operators are standing by.
’Tis a fine soft St. Patrick’s Day morning so.
After a 24-hour sandblasting — I’m talking wind in the 30-mph area with gusts approaching 50 — we finally got a drop of rain to refresh the greenery without the need to crank up our irrigation system, tapping the invisible water that’s always in such short supply around here.
Now it appears to be snowing. Yay, etc.
Not snowing snowing, mind you. Not like it has been in Colorado or California. Hijo, madre. This borders on too much of a good thing, unless you’re a skier, or a yeti. Or perhaps an overdeveloped and underwatered desert community downstream from ski country.
What we’d like is a nice blanket that soaks into the sod before the wind can blow it to Hell. Water wizard John Fleck calls this “sublimation,” which means “the loss of snow straight to atmospheric drying without [it] ever having a chance to melt and make it to the rivers.”
As we speak, right on cue, here comes the wind again, as reliable as bad news from the campaign trail. We’re all doomed, some say. Proper fucked.
Well, the world ends for someone every day, yeah? A whole bunch of someones, most days. I’m not sure it helps to dwell overlong on when your turn might be coming round. Better, maybe, to spend that time seeing to it that the other guy’s parade is the one that gets rained on.
Mad Blog Media 