More Snow Headed To Georgia–Tourism Idea

Not to put too fine a point on it, but another winter storm is casting it’s Winter Weather Atlanta.JPEG-05108frosty eye on Atlanta as it blusters it’s way across the south, promising as much as .75 of an inch of snow and a mere 40F as a high temperature–time to run for the grocery store and stock up on toilet paper, bread, and milk. (that’s an old Pittsburgh joke you probably won’t get, but so what….)

snowmiserIt occurs to me that the city could make a small fortune in tourism revenue sponsoring “flash tours” at such times by selling affordable package deals to northerns who would likely pay good money to watch the carnage while savoring the relatively balmy weather.  They already have the infrastructure–the only thing missing is some bleachers down by the highway for when the Snow Miser comes to Southtown, even though it’s in his brother’s clutch.

Hey, Atlanta–this was my freaking weekend. Want to swap?

I guess I feel bad for being a winter bully–especially if (when?) someone dies down there, but it’s hard to take this seriously–probably in the same way that some guy from Death Valley is bemused when we have a “drought,” the rich folks have to stop watering their lawns, and we can only wash our cars on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  I truly believe in this plan.  The rare southern businesses to stay open will make a killing, and the municipalities can use the additional revenue to, I don’t know, buy a second snow plow or something.  This makes me wonder what people in Calgary are thinking.  Hell, Minnesota is like this ten months a year–only it’s -40 degrees F, not the balmy 0-10 we’ve been seeing.

I heard God apparently told some guy in Decatur to build a massive 12703_650365338358467_1109895274_nbobsled and fill it with a pair of every creature (starting with Lolo Jones)….

*All kidding aside, as the storm is poised to strike, here’s all the luck and best wishes I can summon to Atlanta and the rest of the South. 


The Olympics–Volume 1

We got home and rushed to the television last night as quickly as we could after my daughters’ swimming meet–which they crushed, again, thank you very much–kicking the dog out of the way and stepping on both cats in a fervor to get the old set warmed up for…Team Ice Dancing. Hell, yeah.

That fervor was tempered somewhat as the first athlete we saw, an bildeAmerican from Michigan–I won’t increase his shame by actaully naming him, spent an inordinate proportion of his performance skittering sideways across the ice on his ass.  Now, I’m only an ice skating fan for three weeks out of every four years, and I know this Team Ice Dancing thing is new, but I’m pretty confident that ass-skating is not an official, sanctioned event.  Sigh. It’s hard to be an ugly, jaded American.

That’s the kind of jerk I am.  To be honest, I started out being snarky, but it takes a cold soul indeed to watch these kids–and the things they can do with a couple of butter knives duct-taped to their boots–on the ice:  Sow Cows (surprisingly, not a Pig-Cattle hybrid, but just think of the possibilties!  Monsanto?) and Sopwith Camels–normal sized guys throwing muscular tiny women  around like they’re rag dolls–and catching them. Most of the time. I immediately began cheering for the Americans and hoping the other teams would fall and sprain something, a horrific realization undoubtably rooted in my Cold War Youth–you damned kids with your damned walkmans and Ugg boots can’t imagine what it was like, waking up every morning and wondering if today was the day the Russians were going to nuke us into oblivion, our only hope for salvation resting in the hands of Patrick Swayze, Lea Thompson, and a bunch of cheese-eating high school kids from Colorado.

At that point, skating is the WORST thing in the world–except out comes Yuzuru Hanyusome 70 pound Japanese boy–literally, 70 pounds, this kid absolutely has worms–and pulls off an amazing performance like something from X-Men.  The dude can fly.  As my dad used to say: I shit you not.  Flying.  Without a jet pack. .  Yuzuru Hanyu is his name; breaking the surly bonds of Earth is apparently his game, and 97.98 was his score. I don’t know what the hell that means, but it was a lot. And oh, yes, he’s about 12 years old. Amazing.

Meryl Davis eyes up the crowd and thinks: Humans, good for pets OR food.

The couples came on a little later–we didn’t see the Americans skate, which is too bad because I’m absolutely certain that the top American skater is an Alien.  She may be wearing American skin, but underneath is some sort of Avian Space Creature sent here either to protect us or prepare us for our future as a food crop for invaders from the planet Aeriexopeia. She seems really nice–one of the networks ran a TV special Wednesday night on how awesome Olympic athletes are because their parents are so incredibly awesome–and her mom seems nice too, so I’m guessing she’ll lead the fight to save us from the evil, aquatic Humidorians.   I’m not the only one who thinks this.  I’m a little disappointed by that, but…I didn’t say she looks bad, just different and, frankly, the longer I look the cuter she looks.  I hear she doesn’t so much jump but levitate, lingering in the air for seconds at a time because her birth planet has a gravity that is 1.2 of Earth’s–but when she touches down, she skates like an angel.

More Olympics:


Smell The Irony: Ice Cube #1 at Box Office In “Ride Along”

So, Ice Cube is a big winner this week starring as a police officer in the “cop buddy-action-movie” Ride Along, and I have to say that I’m just tickled to death.

I’m laughing, of course, because I’m thinking of the video attached below.  I know, I know–Ice Cube sold out long ago.  I took my kids to see “Are We There Yet,” back when the kids were 7, and we had a fine old time at the theater, chomping on popcorn and laughing at the mean old gangsta was abused by a couple of little kids, and smiling when it works out in the end, but even a “crazy motherfucker” can have a soft spot for the kids, right?

And, on a related note:


Nice To See You Again

Alright, alright, alright–good to be back after a nice ImageThanksgiving with family.  We plunged onto the highways after an overnight ice storm, which was pretty much a relief compared to the furious onslaught of snow, wind, and ice the meteorologists predicted.  We kept it slow, had a few iffy spots crossing the ridges (Pennsylvania has a series of high ridges along the spine of the Appalachians, oriented north to south, that a traveler must cross to go east or west–they don’t look like much if you’re accustomed to the Rockies, or the higher segments of the Cascades, but one takes them less than seriously at his or her own peril).  I have to admit that while I was clutching the steering wheel a little more tightly than usual, I was also enjoying the snow and ice–very seasonal, it got me in the mood. I’m unabashedly in love with the landscape I live in, and a grey day of wind and foul weather is just one of its moods.

Turkey, mashed potatoes, the best stuffing I’ve ever eaten, cranberry sauce, and all that good stuff.  Seven pies on the table, quarts of ice cream, and growlers full of some fairly mind-blowing microbrew from my cousin Jarrod, a beer genius who, after several years apprenticing with a prominent Pennsylvania brewer has been hired as a brewmaster for an ambitious mid-western brewpub–good for him, and good Imagefor us. We get to drink some sublime liquid bread, and he gets to support his family doing something that he utterly and passionately loves. How awesome is that?  How rare?  I’ll be writing about him again soon enough–to keep you posted, to tell you where you can sample his work.

I took most of the past week off from this blog while we were away, and also while I finished my 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo–learned a few things along the way, too.  First, it is possible to sustain that pace for the better part of four weeks (I was actually done on the 26th)–something like 1800-1900 words/day.  Second, while doing so, one can expect to pump out some utterly horrific prose.  I got the words down–and will need about 20-30,000 to wrap things up–but the manuscript is a mess.  Still: I wrote 52,000 words in 26 days plus all the stuff I did here.  I even managed a couple of poems.  So I pretty much rocked.


Got the Christmas lights on the house today, too. The girls and I got everything bright and shiny in about 40 minutes–amazing what you can do in a light coat, without wearing gloves, at 23 degrees F.  We were motivated.  No pix yet, but here’s a stylized shot of our hundred-year old homestead from several years ago.  We’ve since gone to LED lights, eliminating that $35 spanking the electric company used to deliver each December, when we were using the giant, old-fashioned C-9’s.  Highly recommend the LED’s.

So, that’s where I’ve been.  How about you?

My Poetry Poetry

Clomping Down The Stairs (Winter Love Poem #1)

Clomping down the stairs,
No strength to glance back again
Steel storm door hissing closed
Lug-soled boots bang torden!
On the dry pine treads.
Yank on a soft scarf, spun around,
Teeth crack against teeth
Tongues hungry tentacles,
Roots seeking soil,
It’s snowing hard outside, blowing
Sideways, windows clatter
Your thigh insisting between mine,
Cold hands beneath your sweater
Growl when you flinch and shriek
thumbs forward, Fingers pressed
into the soft of your back
clench your hips,
a whisper:
I’ll drive.