Please forgive a brief ramble. I just want to wave and say hello and mention a few things which are not intrinsically worth an entry, but which may be worth something in aggregate.
I'm not unemployed, I'm NSFW. (T-shirt by Diesel Sweeties.)
Well, okay, I really am unemployed. Still. I’m using my (alleged) retirement fund to pay the bills and hold on to the remaining scraps of my sanity, i.e., burning my old-age to pay for my middle-age. It could be worse; at least I had accumulated some money before Ragnarok. There are plenty of people in situations far more dire than my own.
Those people in worse situations would include everyone in the Gulf. According to some estimates the BP adventure has already passed the event horizon, and while it will take a while for the full effect to blossom, the Gulf as we know it is ancient history. Whether you feel the ecological loss was worth the oil and corporate profit is a matter of opinion and politics; to me it’s not, and never will be. But on the positive side, maybe the enormous methane deposit sitting under the oil will bubble up into a megacyclone of fiery death that will strip Florida down to the oolitic limestone.
Speaking of megacyclones, the National Hurricane Center is predicting busy year, with a likelihood of more than five major storms and a 51% probability of one striking the Florida coast. While I know some people don’t have much use for the NHC’s predictions, they are interesting from statistical and sociological perspectives. If we get hit, it’s going to hurt. I don’t know anyone who has made any preparations for hurricane season, and my own stocks haven’t been fully replenished. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist (or a meteorological probability analyst) to know that going a few years without a major Florida landfall will lead to locals ignoring hurricane season like they do the homeless guys standing in 96° heat by the I-95 ramps.
Speaking of the poor, destitute, and potentially crazy: If I haven’t returned your phone calls it isn’t because I’m living in a refrigerator box, nor do I hate you, nor have my extra-dimensional handlers decided to recall me to my native reality. It’s only a mild resurgence of my naturally antisocial tendencies (endemic among writers), brought on by a combination of the subconscious pressure of continued unemployment, the research I’m doing for my writing, general heat-related irritability, and my shifting circadian rhythms. I talk to everyone sooner or later, even people who don’t exist. I’ll get back to you eventually.
At least this godawful heat has reduced mosquito population on my porch a little. I was getting tired of the constant annoyance of the little bastards sitting out there in their tiny guayaberas all day, slapping down tiny dominoes and bitching about Fidel. C’mon, guys, you’ve got a lifespan of less than two months. There’s no way you know anything about Cuba, and certainly not as much as the stray cat that keeps wandering through my yard with a Cohiba in his mouth. He seems to have a line to what’s going on. At the very least, his stories are more interesting.
Yeah, okay, maybe the heat is getting to me. I should push the big red button to fire off this smoke signal and get back to real writing. I have a couple of dozen essays almost finished, any one of which is likely to be more interesting than this.
{ 2 comments }
you’re the one and only man who knows how to use the word RAGNARÖK.
just a FYI.
Heh heh.
Wait, that’s a real thing? I thought it was just a word hair metal bands made up.