Regardless of what you call it, the simple fact is we are in the third solid day of snow and freezing rain. The third contiguous day of a string of days stretching back to Sunday last, when the first round hit with cold, dead fingers. Since then, I’ve worked from home three days, four counting today. There is a bit of symmetry to it; I was able to get into the office on Tuesday and Thursday and stayed home Monday, Wednesday and Friday. The pattern would seem to repeat itself this week if I wasn’t already off the 24th and 25th. Although I seriously doubt I’ll be going anywhere tomorrow. The Boy gained an extra week of holiday because of this mess, for which he is thankful. Not so much in June when he finds he has to go to school an extra couple of days on the ass end to make up for now. Like he cares, he’ll take what he can get now and let June worry about June.

It’s pretty and all, but honestly I could do with a respite. The Fetching Mrs. and I were able to get out Saturday and I’m grateful, but our entire neighborhood is covered in at least a foot of snow. We tried to get out in the Mustang yesterday to stock up on foodstuffs, but that had folly written all over it. Even with chains, I barely made it to the end of the street and got stuck in my driveway coming back.

I’m getting a little bit of cabin fever. I suspect that may be partly due to stuff happening at work. None of us can get out of our various neighborhoods without herculean efforts and or a giant hair dryer to melt the snow, so we all remote into our desktops at work and ignore the fact that Windows Messenger does very little in the way of providing the visceral feedback you get from being in the same room with the people you work with and with whom you are currently engaged in solving nasty, business-stopping bugs.

Chat is a weird medium to communicate in. When I read what my co-workers write, my brain automatically uses their voices, but it’s soft and spoken as if from a distance. Almost like having an out of body experience or waking up from a coma or serious accident in the ICU where you hear the voices talking about your lost limbs or that big hole in your chest from very far away. Right before you open your eyes and it all crashes into your experience in that instance before the morphine kicks in. But with chat, you never wake up.

Not that that’s ever happened to me, or anything. Anyway, so, things are white all over and very, very cold. The source I have on my browser states 25.2 degrees Fahrenheit, before wind chill is considered. If I do, I’m sure it’s colder than a witch’s tit in the arctic.

Here are some pictures taken earlier today, documenting proof that Al Gore was right and the world is getting warmer :

This is looking out the front door. Notice the gate isn’t closing anytime soon.

Closeup of the bush in the previous photo. The gate gives some perspective of how deep the snow drift is in our front lawn right now.

Here’s the backyard deck. Know that the top of the deck is at least 2 feet higher than the ground.

Another angle on the backyard. It’s almost like a giant snow lake.

A shot down the street we attempted to get out on yesterday. What road?

She’s rich, she can pay off those debts and still have enough left over to wax her enormous thighs. She doesn’t need you, you co-dependent, submissive twit.

Hat tip: Liberty Girl.

You know who you are.

My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars
I first read this book as a freshman in high school. It left a a lasting impression on me because its accurate portrayal of the samurai life and the high standards of honor, service, and self-discipline was a stark contrast to what I was going through in the cutthroat jungle of high school social politics.

I vividly remember the moment in the book when Blackthorne finally understands the Japanese mind. How even the lowliest of workers had the highest honor, even more than Blackthorne did. It gave me strength at a time when I needed it the most.

This book sparked a lifelong interest in eastern philosophy and thought.

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My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars
I bought this on impulse one day at Powell’s. It had been over ten years since I last reads a Greg Iles book, Black Cross I think, and I really enjoyed that, as well as Spandau Phoenix. I figured I couldn’t go wrong and I was right.

This book is a taut page turner with a complex plot. The characters are well fleshed out. The good guys are likable and the bad guys are assholes.

I couldn’t put this one down.

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My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
This is a must read for anyone interested in how the U.S got to where it is now with its foreign policy.

The book, dense with facts, is a sobering read. It will pull the scales from your eyes.

It broadened my historical perspective and, while I’ve never been subject to Bush Derangement Syndrome, it made me realize that Bush’s foreign policy is very much a function of the incompetency of the CIA, an incompetency which stretches back to its founding and thus has tainted the foreign policy decisions of EVERY president since Truman.

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That’s fine for McCain to stand his ground. I respect him for that. But I don’t think it goes far enough. What I’d like to see, and I think I speak for the majority of Americans when I say this, is for those CEOs to be paraded to the National Mall, stripped naked, tarred and feathered and be pelted with rotten fruit and vegetables until they’re buried. Then they’re dug out of the pile of stinking vegetation, loaded into a van and driven to every major city in the country so they can be pelted again and again.

I bet the crowds would be huge. They could charge a buck to get in and there wouldn’t be any need for a taxpayer bailout.

My review

rating: 1 of 5 stars
I’ve tried reading this one three times. I got almost within a hundred pages of the end this last time and I could see the ending coming a mile away. Given how utterly annoying the characters are, life is too short to finish it.

Heinlein is a master at blowing your mind with great ideas, but even masters of their craft have turkeys.

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Parenthood: driving by yourself, you see a VW, and you say “Slug bug.” Out loud.

This is something we do as a family all the time. The Boy is the all time points leader only because he’s not driving and thus concentrating on not getting us all killed. It won’t last. He’ll be driving next year and I predict his point total to drop significantly as he concentrates on driving fast and racking up speeding tickets rather than spotting Beetles.

Of course the Wife and I both say “Slug Bug” when we’re driving alone and see one. How can we not. At this point, it’s Pavlovian.

Thomas Sowell on why imitation is NOT the sincerest form of flattery, especially when it comes to Europe, part one, part two, part three.