Some fun facts about how Hurricanes are named.
And yeah, I bet more people would heed evacuation warnings if storms were named more menacingly.
I pity the fool who don’t get outta my way! 
As I sit in my study, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, contemplating whether or not to go on a run at the beach, I think about how lucky I am to reside in California where the typical holiday weather is warm and mild, like the first kiss of a budding schoolyard romance.
Then I think about the east coast, where wintertime is more like a bitter divorce between a once happily married couple fighting for sole custody of the dog.
It’s a wonder that people can live normal lives in areas of the country where the seasons can bring out the worst in Mother Nature. Having to put chains on my tires to drive to the corner market, or having to drape an engine blanket on my car to ensure that it’ll start in the morning are utterly alien concepts to me. My vocabulary does not include the words “avalanche safety”, “ice the roads”, “snowshoes”, “thermal underwear” or “window scraper”. I’ve never seen frost on the inside of my bedroom window. I’ve never had any part of my body stick to a frozen pole. And I must admit that when people ask me if I’m “winterized”, I don’t know what the heck they’re talking about.
And quite frankly, I think I’m a weaker person for it. I’ve never had to think about having enough heating oil to last through a winter, worry about how much snow is weighing down my creaking roof, or even plowing the driveway. Heck, I shudder at the thought of having to walk between my car and office at six in the morning when the morning temps drop to a bitter 50°.
And so, to all of my friends out there having to put up with snowdrifts as high as an elephants eye, here’s big ole’ Hot Toddy to ya. You stay warm…and Merry Christmas!
Here’s an interesting experiment. Trust me on this one.
Open up a tab (or window) and launch this link (or just click it. A new window will spawn).
Open up another tab (or window) and launch this link (or just click it. A new window will spawn).
Sit back and enjoy!
I’ll admit, I sometimes let this run for hours…
Yesterday was hot, though not so terribly hot if you happened to be a hyperthermophile floating contentedly several miles below ground in an as-yet undiscovered superheated pocket of primordial ooze. In fact, if you were a hyperthermophile on a day like yesterday you’d more than likely be donning your fluffiest winter parka and turning up the thermostat, bitterly wondering to yourself why it was suddenly so chilly at this time of year.
For the rest of us living organisms, yesterday was thoroughly and blisteringly hot. If it wasn’t for the wonders of indoor air conditioning and ice-chilled alcoholic beverages yesterday could be marked down on the wall calendar with the singular word “UNBEARABLE” boldly printed in block letters and underlined in the most striking shade of red one could find amongst the collection of pens from the small corner drawer of the kitchen, secreted away for just such an occasion.
But the heat does have positive benefits, the least of which is making people in more tempered and comfortable climes stare at images of us during the evening news and tell each other, “See, things could be worse. We could be over there,” as they point at our location on the heat index map projected on the green screen behind the overly chipper and poorly dressed weatherman. Silently they would nod at each other over this bit of wistful insight with a sly smile, then settle back down to their game of Scrabble.
Yes, my friends, yesterday was miserably hot. 102° at 11am in San Diego. LA hit a record of 113°. This was not a day fit for beast nor man.
Seattle weather in southern California. It’s amazing how quick (the royal) we are to complain about the rain, but when your life revolves around outdoor activities, when it rains your weekend trail running plans are completely shot to hell. Driving becomes impossible because Californians simply can not drive in the rain. It’s like an “idiot chemical” messes with our synapses at the slightest hint of inclement weather. Our rods and cones get jacked up. Electrical impulses between our brain and our appendages become interrupted and incomprehensible. We deserve the jokes.
It’s as if we’re hardwired to do stupid. In fact, I firmly believe that there’s a complex underground, secretive cottage industry that revolves around anticipating what stupid thing we’ll do next, then attempts to warn us not to do what we’re thinking of doing. Like, oh….I dunno, playing in traffic, running with scissors, or lighting a camp fire and pitching a tent in a parking lot of the local dollar store. We have to be told that this sort of activity is unacceptable.
Then you have the times where we’re too sly for our own good. Like a monkey farking a football we’re often left scratching our heads trying to make sense of our surroundings. For example, I wanted to give my San Marcos GNC on Auto Parkway a few hundred dollars for items I needed, but I was unsure if they were going to open back up five minutes from now, or five minutes from then… Needless to say I simply left, unable to comprehend exactly when they intended to return, opting instead to order online from a different company.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to believe the wicked string of bad luck I had encountered within the span of a few hours. Taking the easy way out I decided to just give up on life. Stripping off my clothes and tossing them into the parking lot I quickly realized that I was not cut out to endure cold, windy, and wet climes whilst naked. Hoping against hope that I would stumble across a store that specialized in togas, imagine my surprise when, in a fit of delirium brought about by exposure to the freezing elements I blindly shoved my way through the glass doors of a random store and found myself here:
Finally, my luck was turning. Warmed again by a bolt of newly-acquired bleached, albeit scratchy material majestically bound about my glorious naked torso and cinched tight with a strand of stately golden rope, I confidently strode outdoors like a victorious god into the embrace of a dimming sun as it strained warm rays through stifling dark clouds. My restored belief in the kindness and dignity of mankind was, alas, shot down in a ball of fiery demonic flames when I caught sight of this travesty:
I firmly believe that there’s a special place in Hades for self-important bastards like this. Mental defects such as this “person”, who can’t park straight because they believe that the world revolves around them, deserve to be the target of divine wrath and swift holy vengeance.
I have a reoccurring dream. This dream is to purchase a fleet of beater cars. Obtuse, heavy, and ugly. And with these vehicles I’d hunt down and park inches away from jerks like this. I’d park one on each side of these jokers, making it impossible for offenders of common decency, such as this individual, to get into their cars. And I’d sit there, in my royal robes and sun-god smile, and laugh. I’d point with a sharp, judgmental finger, and laugh.
…And so, this is how I spent fours hours of my life this past Saturday. Ya know….just in case you were curious.
