Saturday, February 15, 2014


I have rededicated my Facebook page to radical truth-telling (and "likes" of KC donuts shops.)  What follows is a compilation of recent posts:

Jordan Almonds, treated piano compositions, cocktails made with lavender vodka, 7-string bass guitars, Audi sedans with augmented compression, and couples figure-skating...I would trade my passing interest in all of these for twenty minutes of hockey, bobsledding, or luge coverage.


"It was one of those days when life seemed little more than pounding sand down a rat hole." Thomas McGuane, The Bushwhacked Piano.

My experience with the storm in KC this weekend has me wanting to reach out to my Northwest friends with advice.

1) survey distance to beer store and cut a string that length so that you can navigate in white out conditions by tying the string to your front porch and then around your wrist.

2) pry any "4-wheel drive" or "all-wheel drive" logos off your vehicle if you plan on avoiding work--some would say weaseling--due to safety concerns.

3) assess condition of zipper on your snowsuit in case you have to go "tinkle" coming back from the beer store--WD40 the zipper, or create duct tape flap, if necessary.

4) clear an area for low-slung pets to do their business. If you have ever seen the face of a Lhasa Apso without a landing zone, whose wiener doesn't clear the powder, you have known true Snowmageddon.

5) don't watch abject, violent, or demonic scary movies; watch supernatural stories in which the ghost or ghosts is attempting to help the haunted recapitulate hidden wounds, and set a wrong right. The last frames of such films are almost always set in the morning, after peace has been restored, and the ghost no longer feels the need to scare the crap out of everyone.  We watched "The Awakening."

6) hope for snow and more snow--it is magical. What an amazing planet--breathable air, hot chocolate, and sledding.


I told some stretchers leading up to and during the big snow storm this week, but one rock solid truth: I love big piles of snow, almost as much as I love ravines, draws, and gulleys.


GMC Grandma Van Snowmageddon report: I've been delivering groceries to Midtown neighbors, many of them vegan, who drive electric cars. Corn, beans, hard tack, black powder, lead shot, animal traps, and tempting packages of bacon, which they sneer at, then snatch from my hands before slamming the door in my face. My "grandma driver" reputation is now a virtue, and I enjoy helping, driving 25 to 30 mph in whiteout conditions.


I'm towing a Fit, a Geo, and a Chevette in whiteout conditions with my GMC Safari. As the kids say, it's just a thing.


I was touched today by the level of concern about tomorrow's snowstorm and an almost company-wide willingness to at least think about proactively scheduling a day off.

At lunch I snuck out and pried the "all wheel drive" logo off of my car and began complaining of weather-phobic panic attacks, all the while updating our streaming Netflix queue from my phone. The remote for the Roku box is brand new, so no batteries will be required. I'm still sourcing a vendor that will delivers Swiss Miss , and will have Amazon drone-drop some Norwegian pajamas with footsies sewn on. A moldy Burl Ives album will be easy to find on a new-fangled "file-sharing" site, and we will stay safe.

Further, I've calculated the slope of our parking lot, the wind direction, and the projected precipitation to better understand how the snow may drift relative to my habitual parking spot. I believe I am prepared, and if it only snows two inches, I will call in complaining of early onset plantar warts.


I believe it is a sentimental disservice to treat dogs "like people" and to idealize their "human" qualities. Dogs need to be managed with a firm hand, and kept in their place. They'll feel more secure, and unwanted behaviors will be controlled. I would never say that I am an exemplar of dog training, or a "dog whisperer." But I think this photo shows that I am on the right path, and Pablo knows who has the upper hand.

Proud of Pablo. Wind blew over our recycling last night and he stayed on full alert for invaders (possum, raccoon, hobo) for at least an hour. Sleep-deprived but proud of our fiercely protective early warning sentinel. He does this stuff without a mastiff for muscle and backup, ignoring s.o.p. at your average Far East monastery.


Some of you younger folks may not remember this. Before ziplock bags were standard, there were these things called baggies, and buying baggies meant you always--ALWAYS--had extra twist ties in a drawer in the kitchen.I believe that ziplock bags should provide twist ties as a courtesy, now that baggies have been displaced. The plastic tabs on bread sacks always break. That's when I reach for a twist tie...that isn't there. ): 
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