While the upper part of the coast gets buried, we’ve just got wind. Wind is lovely. It dries out the mud. It was a relief this morning to walk out over the frozen ground and not sink to the knees in a soup of red clay and muleshit.  I’m hoping that the incorporation of the latter into the former will provide a suitable medium for the return of something resembling  grass this spring, but I’m prepared to be disappointed. If the past twenty or so summers are a guide, we can look forward to severe drought conditions by early summer, and a screeching for government assistance by the same farmers who are buying the “ain’t no global warming” horseshit now.

I have a little proposal. If someone feels they can dismiss climate science, statistical analysis, and evolution, can we just have them sign a slip of paper that says as much? And when they report to a hospital with conditions requiring science-derived treatments, they can be directed to the faith-healing wing. You know, the one right above the fucking morgue.


There’s nothing that says “I’m just letting the house go to hell” like posting pictures of various household articles draped in vacant arachnoid installations. I’ve grown to like spiders. They’re quiet, and they eat at least a few of the flies that will besiege this place when it hits 103 degrees in June.  I’ve got to vacuum those up today, and mop a few floors.