It's always nice to have an excuse for neglecting the blog, the present one being that I had an urgent mission in Newfoundland: to sleep until whenever, rising only to soak in Dead Sea salts in my old footed tub, then maybe take a drive to Walmart, more to take in the scenery than to buy anything, closing the day with an arduous trip through an episode of Battlestar Gallactica...
Newfoundland experienced a "Wreckhouse wind." I looked this up. Wreckhouse is an area in the southwest of the island, that gets wind blasting off the ocean, funneled down a series of narrow valleys only to burst out onto the plain simultaneously, creating a massive pressure change and some sort of effect that can cross the whole province. You figure it out -- it's all right here. Enjoy the part about it blowing the narrow-gauge railway trains off the track -- Newfoundland central planning strikes again. All resemblances to Canadian Human Rights Commissions or American congress in session is strictly coincidental.
Fog has its uses.
Is it any wonder I can't make myself sit down and digest the implications of the Afghano-Obama-ditherama? I read, I listen, I shudder, I look out the window and think better thoughts.
LEARN SOMETHIN' NEW EVERY DAY
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