odd musings

Since we call an orange "an orange," why don't we call a banana "a yellow?"

Yesterday I drove offspring girl to Portland. While I was there The Man came home. They hadn't seen each other for about a month, so I spent the night and thought it best to take off early this morning. Coming back the rain was so heavy and wind-driven down by the Columbia that I thought I was going to have to stop. There was so much water on the road the car was hydroplaning and slipping and sliding all over the place. It was scary, and I have no desire to do that again.

I drove through that for about 50 miles and was afraid it would be like that all the way to Seattle, but it started to get better as soon as I was a little ways up out the valley of the Columbia.

The Man and I were sitting and looking at the rain come down. "I wonder why?" I says, "And on May 26th, too."

"It's the glaciers," says The Man. "They have to go somewhere, man."

BP is going to put a five-story-high pipe over the oil gusher and then put heavy fluids in it, and try to smother the geyser. If that doesn't work, they might just nuke it.

One of my former students had a letter run in a big-city newspaper, and he really writes well. Now that's gratifying.

My favorite song now is "Midnight With the Stars and You," by Ray Noble's Orchestra, sung by Al Bowlly. It was the song emanating from the hotel ballroom in Stanley Kubrick's late-70's movie, "The Shining." I've developed a taste for stuff that's not only old, but corny as hell.

Welcome to The Long Emergency. What are you going to do today to help yourself make the transition?