Traffic Advisory: No Traveling

I was up early, anxious to see the results of the storm, so I turned on the TV right away! Someone came in and without a word lifted my blinds, made a theatric hand gesture presenting the real world, and left me marveling how one can exude such rich sarcasm.

"You should go into silent film. Rival Chaplin."

I got my camera. Digitalize this, then.



Hard Scrabble Ed wishes he were out in the country, but I'm glad he's here in the kitchen making a stew and cooking pies.

The Tramp Steamer's doggie, Little Twerp, is deleriously happy, wanting to go outside again. This is her first snow ever, she runs and scoops the snow up in her mouth, leaving a mysterious looking trail.

Marginal Likelihood, he's back in bed after trudging home last night, two miles from work. He had to call his boss and ask permission to close. The boss said, what, you're still open?? Then it was too late for anyone to get him.

I figured he'd lie down and make a snow angel and give up the ghost. It was during the worst of the blizzard, thundersnow and sleeting. But he has promises to keep... Henrietta, for one. She's our secret house guest, his childish betrothed with child, prattling away in the kitchen now, unconsciously keeping us all entertained.

To me, it's just having the sound of a young female voice down the hall, that makes it nice.

So Long Stan, --fifty pills a day, Walter Mitty ex-Marine and ex-con-- is casually visiting from room to room, when there isn't a gathering in the kitchen or living room. Good natured man, thoughtful of others (sometimes conscientious to a fault, he will duck down when he passes between anyone and the TV and say "Sorry! Sorry, sorry...Ooooh, sorry for talking too!")

He enjoys a full house, as I do, but also escapes to his room, as I do.

Greg the Pedant is in his room as usual. He'll mediate disputes, then we put him back away, where I suspect he continues rolling his eyes. Since we're all alcoholics/addicts, we feel he is unfair in his judgements, and once considered evicting him for disruptive behavior.

You understand.

Murf The Surf is, as usual, never surfing but taking his computer apart or using DOS commands on a black screen to maximize speed. It's like he's waxing his board all the time but you never see him in the water. Sometimes he'll open a chat box on my screen, 'hey. does this work?'. I type back yes. And go make some coffee will you? His door is five feet down the hall. His messages probably bounce off sattelites over Austrailia to get here.

Me? I may Youtube or Google Earth, while listening to Dylan's Modern Times CD written in the voice of a man from the 19th century.

No one watched "The Secret Storm" (you can scroll down, it's still there). I can't believe you people. (Anonydoc, I expected you to at least express amazement, whether you watched or not.) 1955! Commercials intact. Back then, you know, soaps were still just 15 minutes, maybe nine with the soap selling. And they still hadn't graduated away from the rather sickening organ music.

No, I really don't understand why no one is interested. Isn't it amazing how much TV we missed before we were born. I'm catching up, while all you pioneers watch The Sopranos...(I'll see it in my 90's, I hope).

Wonderful day, I meant to say in lieu of all of this. Thanks for visiting!