If you know who Bill Nye is (and if you don’t, well, let’s just say I’m very disappointed in you), you know he’s a slightly goofy guy with caterpillar eyebrows who explains sciencey-type stuff in very simple and easy-to-understand terms. You should, then, find it not in the least but surprising that he was accused of “confusing” Fox Business Network viewers on the issue of Climate Change (or Global Warming, or whatever it is Fox viewers are denying it is these days). And Fux Biz News viewers were probably already confused enough, having tuned into their favorite teevee channel, only to see a black guy wearing James O’Keefe’s pimp outfit (sans hat). I mean, if you get your bidness news from Fux, it’s no wonder Bill Nye is way over your head. If these people were exposed to Michio Kaku (or, even better, Neil deGrasse Tyson; imagine that, a smart black guy), their heads would probably explode (which would be a worthy experiment, in my book).

Today is “football eve,” as we prepare for the coming of SU football season, which starts tomorrow at 8PM (Eastern) on that most vaunted of platforms, ESPN3. I, of course, cannot get that, because my ISP is Time Warner, while my teevee provider is Dish. And TWC don’t play that. Oh well, it’s on too late for me, anyway (though I have Friday off, and could, conceivably, actually go to the game if I wanted to spend money that could easily be spent elsewhere, and hang out alone not drinking $6 Bud Lights in plastic cups).

Anyhow, here is my pre-season deal: I will try not to talk about SU football (too much) when they win, and when they don’t win, we shall all just pretend it never happened. Unless they go on the road and beat USC in week 3 (Vernon, if you wanna make the trip down to LA, I’ll mail you an orange t-shirt; your other option is a trip to the Super Dome for the SU-Tulane game on 10/08), in which case I will feel compelled to mention it repeatedly (you’re probably safe there, though).

This is the most dangerous of seasons coming up, as expectations are high. My life has been filled with high expectations, followed by devastatingly depressing realities – and not just in terms of sports, either; the “day after” the 2004 election was pretty shitty, for instance, and then there’s been that whole Obama Administration thing (which may be worse).

At least the 2004 election disaster was over fairly quickly. The Obama Presidency has been an exercise in the 5 stages of grief, though I’m happy to report that I’m (mostly) out of the depression phase, and am more or less pretty solidly into acceptance, which, I suppose, means I’m prepared for a Clintonesque second term (I recall thinking that, surely, now that he wasn’t facing re-election, Clinton would just say “the hell with these Republicans” and do all the stuff he didn’t do in his first term).

No such illusions this time around. I’ll consider a second term (assuming there is one; the alternative is more than I’m willing to think about right now) a success if we just get through it without the Republicans strip-mining Yosemite.

Speaking of stupid (and Fux News), when you’ve been called out for being dumb by Sean Hannity, you know you’re dumb. Especially when (and I’m gonna hate myself for saying this) Hannity has a point. I mean, “corpseman?”

Just imagine the scorn and derision you’d eagerly unleash upon Dubya for saying “corpseman” (though, to be fair, Dubya has done more to turn corpsmen into corpsemen than any president since LBJ – or maybe Nixon).

Of course, I’m certainly glad nobody’s ever had tape running (tape, how quaint) when I’ve said something stupid (I distinctly recall pronouncing the ‘w’ in the word ‘sword’ publicly one time, and, trust me, I know better, and it haunts me to this day – even though it happened back in 8th grade).

It’s bad enough when I go back and read what I’ve written here later on in the day, and find typos, way too many commas (they’re the second-most affordable punctuation, though; I’m also quite fond of the semicolon), missing letters (if not entire words), run-on sentences (sometimes two or more run-on sentences connected by an “and” or a “but” or even just stuck inside parentheses or inside em (or en) dashes, which I’m generally too lazy to bother putting in the html code for — and then a lot of times I put multiple parentheses and or “-” inside of other parentheses and/or “-” and whattya supposed to do there – switch to braces and/or curly brackets or what – so that by the time you get out of the whole contraption, you can’t remember where you were going at the beginning of the sentence — and even “to” for “two” and “your” for “you’re.” Plus I never seem to be consistent with whether to put the “.” or the “,” before the close-quote or after (I learned it always goes inside, but sometimes it just looks funny), and then there’s the whole “?” inside the parentheses thing.

There’s no point in using a spellchecker, ‘cuz it doesn’t catch grammar errors or using the right word incorrectly, and if you believe a spellchecker would recognize “Michio Kaku” then you’re mucho cuckoo. That’s why I intentionally spell certain things incorrectly, so that you’ll wonder if I’m just being ironic (as opposed to moronic, though at times I’m unintentionally more ironic, which might be considered mor’onic).

And don’t think I forget for one minute that there’s a teacher-lady out there watching me, or that if I use a masculine pronoun for something, I won’t catch hell (can’t use “he” and I was chided by my 9th grade English teacher for using “it” and you really shouldn’t even use “she” because it has “he” in it, and you shouldn’t say “woman” because it has “man” in it, so you could say “woperson” except that’s got “son” in it, so you could go with “woperdaughter” I guess).

I mean, fercrissakes, I missed out on the whole “men get to dominate the world” thing (especially at my house, where all I get to “dominate” is the remote control). And even that’s a Pyrrhic victory, as I only get to dominate it as long as I do what I’m told (not that I’m actually looking to dominate anyone or anything; in fact, I’m more than happy to sit back and let somebody else take charge), and, no, it doesn’t help that my orders are always delivered in passive-aggressive fashion.

For instance,

“do we have anything good recorded“

translates to

“I don’t wanna watch Renovation Realities. Find something I want to watch, and do it now. And you better skip through the goddamn commercials, too, or there’ll be hell to pay“

Do you have to take away the pronouns, too? My god, please don’t take away the pronouns! They’re all I have left.

Even though I make excuses for myself (for one thing, I tend to copy and paste, re-order, and change stuff around, so that, for instance, what was once legitimately a “their” becomes a “they’re” or a word gets left out or whatever), and, anyway, I just don’t have time in the morning to edit and re-edit this stuff. So then I read it later in the day when I’m somewhat more awake, and feel like a goddamn moron ‘cuz I wrote “your never gonna believe this,” or something.

But, wait, what the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah, Syracuse (how unusual) and the crushing depression often associated with football season.

When I was a kid, the years between Larry Csonka/Floyd Little and Don McPherson/Marvin Harrison were mostly filled with “promising” 4-7 seasons followed by depressing 3-8 (or 2-9) ones (it wasn’t until the “he who shall not be named” era that we got into one-win territory). As for the NFL, the years after Joe Namath and Super Bowl III were filled with, well, not a lot. Todd wasn’t actually God. And Mark Gastineau was, well, he was as embarrassing as he was good at sacking the QB.

So, anyway, I not only learned how to deal with dashed expectations (one word: “beer”), but have come to expect them. Now, however, I no longer have beer to rely on. Well, not as much beer, at least. And this season just might require a whole lotta beer, if my youth is any indication.

At least the Akron Zips are off the schedule, so there will be no conflicts of interest with Kevin (not that Kevin’s around anymore; was it something I said?).

Well, it’s getting late, and today is my early day, so I’m not even going to bother proofreading this. You get what you get, and if I sound like a moron, well, consider it my attempt at solidarity with our President.

:fist:

So piss off, Hannity. Just because you’re so perfect doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be.

No, it’s not an homage to Woodstock. In fact, it’s not even that part of the Thruway (it’s the Real America, I-90 part that runs east/west, not that godless part that runs north/south). It’s that damn Irene again. Back in 1987, a bridge over Schoharie Creek collapsed due to flooding, and, with severe flooding in Eastern NY, Thruway officials aren’t taking any chances this time around. So they’ve closed the Thruway from Syracuse to Albany. This is a major hassle for anybody who needs to go that way. Now that I’ve developed a Tea Party mentality, I don’t care. It’s not like I was going to Albany (as long as this doesn’t affect any UPS deliveries or anything). In fact, I consider highways to be socialism, and I think they ought to sell off the whole Interstate Highway system.

Madden NFL 12 comes out today. This is really big news. Not for me. Every now and I again I get it, but quickly realize there aren’t enough hours in the day for me to figure out how to play the goddamn thing. I guess I’m just stupid, and I’m lucky if I have time to watch a little “real” football these days.

Oh well, time to find the oil of oregano. Still feel like I’m coming down with something.

I’m glad to see everybody pretty much made out OK on the whole Irene thing. They do such a good job of awfulizing everything, it’s hard to tell what’s really going on out there. Except that, once again, crack “reporters” from all the major networks proved that, if you go out into the rain, you’re gonna get wet. Not that Irene didn’t suck (and continues to suck) for a lot of people (like this idiot), and they say this morning that 20 people died (this is very serious – as opposed to when a US drone drops a bomb on an Afghan wedding party, which is more of an “oops. Those wacky drones” kinda thing).

You may not hear it on the national news, but one of the hardest hit areas was apparently down in the Catskills, which this morning is pretty much under water. At least one motel has guests trapped on the second floor with no rescue in sight (plus they’re running low on borscht; I just hope they don’t have the misfortune to be trapped with Jackie Mason, though I expect he stays in a high-class joint like the Concord. Oh, wait, they tore that down). The Mohawk River isn’t expected to crest until sometime today – at record levels.

Early estimates for the cleanup from Irene are in the $10-15 million range (which is a good thing, I guess, according to Glenn Beck). I expect the teabaggers to be first in line with their hands out for Federal funding.

I think we can all pretty much agree that the big heroes of the storm were NJ Governor Chris Christie, and of course NYC Mayor Bloomberg (is it too late for both of them to jump into the Presidential race?). Christie singlehandedly saved over 100,000 NJ residents from drowning with his brave decision not to go swimming in the ocean (which could have added three and a half feet to the storm surge, wiping out The Boardwalk in Atlantic City and – worst of all – f*cking up the return of Nucky Thompson on 9/25).

The footage of Bloomie jumping into the East River to save a family of tourists from Ohio will stay with me forever – or at least until September 11, when video of Guidi Ruliani begins to overwhelm us.

President Obama felt obliged to make a statement. I have no idea why, or what he really said, but I guess his handlers probably told him it would be good to get out there and remind us all that the President suffered right along with everybody else. I mean, he had to cut his vacation short and everything. And he was doing the big work: integrating Martha’s Vineyard. Civil Rights and disaster management. What a man.

Obama, Christie, and Bloomie. Heroes all.

Speaking of heroes, well, I hate to toot my own horn (can’t reach, for one thing), but I actually braved the storm to go swimming in the hurricane yesterday morning. Sure, it was dangerous – perhaps even foolhardy – but it was something I felt I had to do. The water got a little rough at times. When I was splashing. But I eventually managed to pull myself out, slightly exhausted – which I guess is like being a little pregnant – but no worse for the wear (then I cleaned the garage (a little), went grocery shopping, did laundry, and PM’d my pellet stove). And now I feel as if I’m coming down with a cold; guess I better find where we hide the oil of oregano these days.

Like all Americans, I’m looking forward to hearing the post-game wrap-up on Irene today. And tomorrow. And probably every day until at least until September 10th, unless some blonde chick goes missing somewhere or there’s a minor earthquake.

Unlike NYC, the trains are running here today (or they would be, if we had trains), so no holiday for me.

And that, of course, is the real tragedy.

At this moment, the Jersey Coast appears to be getting Irened. I hope Andy and the Philly area are all doing OK (I especially hope the Victory brewery didn’t sustain any damage). Except for Michael Vick. It would be somewhat ironic if he were to drown and/or get electrocuted. Good luck to my brother out on LI (he’s expecting to lose power; such is the reputation of LILCO, I guess; or, what, I guess it’s LIPA now; whatever it is, I hope the Shoreham nuke plant doesn’t go all kerflooey; I mean, it’s closed, but who the hell knows what they’ve got stored there – and how safe it all is), and to Sue and her menagerie.

I feel a little left out up here, as we’re just in the fringe of Irene’s wrath, getting a little bit of relatively light rain, though the latest storm track looks to have Irene going slightly west of where they predicted the other day, and there are now flood warnings. Seeing as I’m at about 1,000 feet above sea level I won’t worry about that too much, though if we get enough rain I reckon the stream that runs under my house (did I mention that?) might start exercising my sump pumps.

Mostly, though, I think it’s gonna be your basic Sunday, filled with laundry and grocery shopping (and listening to the rain, which is quite pleasant this morning). And maybe some PM on the pellet stove. Winter’ll be here before you know it.

I guess I’d better get the grass cut today, what with the hurricane coming and all. Not that I’ll be feeling the effects of it. Last I saw, we’re pretty certain to get “a shower” tomorrow, unless Irene turns west a little. If I get lucky, it’ll all stay east of here. Good luck to you folks in Irene’s path, though. They sure do a good job of scaring people, so it’s hard to tell if this is all just fear mongering. The big hassle, I guess, isn’t the wind (this will be a fairly tame storm in that respect), but the flooding. Flooding in a place with underground rat tubes like the NYC subway system would definitely be a bummer. I really wouldn’t wanna be around to see what washes up out of there.

Around here, this can’t help but remind us of the great “Labor Day Storm” of 1998. That was neither hurricane nor tornado, but a derecho, which is a straight-line storm with hurricane-force wind. Basically, a wall of wind. And it had a “supercell thunderstorm” embedded in it.

Where we were living at the time, we had no power for two weeks. It was hot and humid and we had no a/c. No refrigerator, either (what came out of the fridge when the power finally came back on was probably a lot like what’s gonna come up out of the NYC subway). That gotta pretty f*cking old after a while.

It was pretty surreal, driving around trying to get from one place to another. We are a city of trees, and they were all on the ground blocking the streets. They said we lost “tens of thousands” of trees. All I know is, it was quite a mess.

Funny, I don’t recall a clamoring to keep the government out of our lives when it came to cleaning up the storm damage. Of course, those were different times. “Pre-9/11” and all.

Anyhow, I hope everybody stays high and dry. Or at least high.

And may all your derechos be with cheese.

Golly, everybody sure seems to be in a tizzy over this whole hurricane Irene thing (when I hear that name, I can’t help but think of Irene Lorenzo from All in the Family; Betty Garrett passed away back in February at the age of 91, BTW). It’s knocked both Tripoli and Triple E out of the headlines. I guess I can’t blame them. After all, they gave this storm an Irish name, and, as the son of an Irish mother, I’m here to tell you, you don’t wanna butt heads with an Irish broad. Especially when there’s wind involved. Mom was more than capable of generating a Mighty Wind when properly motivated (and I managed to motivate her quite frequently).

Suddenly, all these “keep the government out of my life” and “kill all the State workers” teabagger-types seem to be interested in mobilizing emergency workers and public employees to protect everybody from the big, bad hurricane. I suppose they’ll be wanting cops and firefighters out on the streets, hospitals to remain open, DOT people ready to keep the street passable (except for that NYC worker who managed to trample that parked SUV after getting his Kubota – the crackerjack NY Post refers to it as a “sanitation truck” and a “snowplow,” which is pretty funny to those of us up here in the provinces who can tell the difference between a garbage truck and/or a snowplow and a tractor (or a payloader, if you prefer) – stuck in the snow last winter; you can give him the weekend off), and all that kinda stuff.

Why not let the private sector and the “free market” take care of everything? Then emergency services can be properly prioritized – according to who can pay the most.

The damn storm is still out in the ocean, but that hasn’t stopped gas prices from going up. Funny how they go up instantly, but take weeks and months to fall. The latest storm track has Irene going right over the middle of Long Island, which isn’t good news for my brother (but then, it’s supposed to be down to a category 1 storm by then). Great, first we get scoffed at by the West Coast for flipping out over a little 5.8 earth shaker, and now the Gulf States will be making fun of the East Coast Liberals for getting all bent out of shape over a measly little Cat 1.

Of course, the big question on everybody’s mind is, “who cares about Raleigh, DC, NYC, and Boston? How will this affect attendance at the NY State Fair?”

Good question. If the latest projections hold, we may be in for some rain up here on Sunday and Monday. If the bitch turns west a bit, we could get tropical storm-type wind and rain. Looks like the bad shit will stay to the east, though. So I guess you folks on the Eastern Seaboard should probably come on up this way. We don’t have deep-fried butter on a stick but there is the Big Kahuna Donut Burger. I think you might even be able to stroll through the cow barn and meet your future dinner. Mmmm.

All this panic and “news” coverage of Irene ought to send David Sirota over the edge. He was feeling mighty left out over the DC earthquake the other day (BTW, should’t this guy be dead and in hell already?). He tweeted something along the lines of “we have a huge earthquake here in Denver and the ‘national news’ doesn’t even report it.”

Now, I must admit that the pants-crapping panic of the serious Dee Cee reporters was pretty funny – especially as they reassured us that no tsunami was expected – but I did indeed see that CO had the biggest earthquake in 40 years reported on the national news, and I’m pretty sure a 5.3 doesn’t qualify as “huge” by any measure.

Also, Dave, who gives a shit about the national media? They’re about as relevant to me as Barack Obama is to Congress. Just something that makes a little useless noise from time-to-time, and gives me something to bitch about. About the only things I’ve learned from the traditional media in the past decade or so is that if you stand outside during a hurricane, you get wet, and Aruba is like the Bermuda Triangle for blonde chicks.

Sirota also tweeted

@davidsirota
David Sirota
I often wonder if the American heartland was suddenly incinerated if anyone in NY/DC would notice/care.

First, no.

Second, no offense to the “good” people out there on the prairie, but, at least IMHO, “the heartland” is tied with (if not in sole possession of first place) “the south” for the region most responsible for fucking up the country.

And third, States whose entire population is less than one big city (and the human population where I live – about 8,000 – is far outnumbered by the bovine population, so don’t think I’m a “big city” snob) should probably just consider themselves fortunate they still get 2 senators. Especially if they waste their two Senate seats on people like James Inhoufe and Tom Coburn (no offense, FK).

Then again, there are one or two good Senators out there in the Midwest.

A sad, sad day in Apple land. As you’ve no doubt already heard (and shed many tears over), Steve Jobs has resigned as CEO of Apple. Yes, the Jobless rate has increased yet again. Speculation is he’s doing personal product research on the next great Apple product, the iCasket (which of course will be white, come in 32 and 64 gig models, and will have a proprietary interface that won’t fit in a regular grave, so will require interment in an ‘iHole’). Mac fanboys (and girls) spent most of yesterday weeping over the genius that is Jobs (who could sell snow to the Inuits; in fact, there are those who say Jobs both invented snow – why do you think it’s white? – and sued God for patent infringement). As one saddened commenter put it: “Steve is a genius who can never be replaced.” Oh, the pain was palpable. “Tech” writers are unsure what to make of the Jobs’ resignation, but nonetheless dubbed the move “brilliant,” and “game-changing.”

Never fear, though. Much like the devastation of this week’s earthquake, we’ll all get through this. Jobs may be gone (or not; he wants to stay on as an Apple employee – probably needs the health insurance), but the next, “must have” overpriced proprietary devices are already slated for release.

If I could afford it, I’d definitely buy an iPad, an iPhone, and a new MacBook. Except probably not the iPhone, because I’m pretty much locked into my Blackberry for work purposes, and I more or less never use a phone. And, actually, I wouldn’t get the iPad, ‘cuz I’d prefer something with USB ports and a memory card slot (when Apple finally adds these features to its iPad, I predict they will be dubbed “brilliant,” and “game-changing”). I wouldn’t mind a new MacBook, though the one I have right now is getting the jobs (so to speak) done (when its touchpad isn’t acting insanely). And it was free.

Free is pretty much the price point I require these days. Unless Apple wants to come out with an ‘iPlow’ for my tractor (not white though, please; I hit enough shit trying to clear my driveway). Though tractor toys are already expensive enough without Apple getting their paws into them.

If Apple made tractor implements, I’m certain they’d be incredibly “stylish,” would become obsolete between the time they shipped and were delivered, and would, of course, require an Apple tractor – MacTractor? MacTract Pro? – (which would be dubbed “brilliant,” and “game-changing”) with an iPTO and i3PH.

Today isn’t an early day for me, but thanks to a line of t-storms that moved through at about 3:30 AM, the dogs and I all decided to go ahead and get up early anyway. The storms seem to be over for the moment, so the dogs have gone back to bed. I, however, am still wide awake.

It appears that some more rain (if not lightning; let’s hope the lightning is over) is on the way, but hopefully things will clear up before long because today is…

Yes, opening day of the Great NY State Fair. Presumably Governor Snotball will be here to do the official opening (assuming they can get the State Airplane through the rain) and do all that distasteful mingling with the “little people” and praising our cows.

It’s a privilege to be here in Sarah-Queues, and to see your many lovely cows. I only hope my friend Ed Koch and I will have time to drive for half an hour in our pickup truck to go to Sears while we’re here.

Then there’s the obligatory “money shot” of the Guv shoving a sausage sandwich down his throat (or maybe sticking it in the face of his girlfriend from the Food Channel, who will try not to look too disgusted – assuming they can get her off the plane in the first place).

I don’t have time to list all the activities of the day (sorry to disappoint you!), but the free (after you pay the 10 bucks to get in – but if you’re ‘in the know’ you got your discounted tickets long ago) entertainment alone includes the Pointer Sisters and Gatlin Brothers, the African Acrobats, and the Harlem Wizards Basketball Trick Show (good thing for the Wizards that the Globetrotters aren’t owned by Apple, or they’d have gotten a copyright on ‘Harlem’ and a patent on basketball).

When I was a kid, we used to look forward to “Fair Week” (this was before they figured they could make more money if they extended it to first 10 – and now 12 – days). Back then they had moon rocks on display, a guy flying around in a jet pack (which I was certain we’d all have long before now), live veterinary surgery (which was typically a dog getting spayed), and of course all kinds of glimpses into the future (you now, like the year 2000) in the “Center of Progress” building.

Not to mention the livestock. This may not be Ohio or Indiana (you can tell, because a Midwest butter sculpture wouldn’t celebrate a godless socialistic institution like school lunches), but by golly it’s still all about the livestock (I’m guessing few of you know just how many different kinds of chickens there are). But there’s more than just poultry.

The real stars of the livestock barns are the pigs, horses, and, yes, the aforementioned cows. A walk through the cow barn always yields the sight of a cow or two dropping a calf. Did you know that baby cows arrive in a big pink bag of saltwater taffy? It’s true – I seen it with my own eyes. And as a reward for all her hard work, mama gets to eat the whole thing (of taffy; not the calf).

Then there are the rides. Yes, the Midway. I never really rode the rides much as a kid. For one thing, I’m sure they were ungodly expensive even back then (and we weren’t exactly the wealthiest family on the block), and for another I was a decade younger than my siblings, and had nobody to ride the rides with. Sitting atop the Double Ferris Wheel just isn’t the same when you’re alone (it does help to explain my hermitic tendencies, though).

As I got older, my interest in the Midway and Livestock barns waned – replaced by my interest in girls and the beer tents. I vaguely recall many a warm summer night spent stumbling around drunk, checking out the babes (never much more than ogling from afar, much to my chagrin; hard to believe nobody was interested in a sweaty drunken slob, but chicks are funny that way).

Eventually, I found out that there was a whole new experience to be had after the Fair shut down for the night. Turns out, it never really closes, and if you head out there after the bars close, you get to hang out with the Carnies and the toothless, tattooed characters who staff the booths, rides, and sideshows all day long. Let me tell ya, you aint lived ’til you’ve partied with Alligator Man and The Human Torso until the sun comes up.

These were my kind of people, and I fit right in.

Of course, I’m old now, can’t stay up much past 8:00, and haven’t been out to the fair in years (last time I went was back in 1998, I think, when I worked a union voter registration table, and got to go watch Don McClean’s soundcheck). Somewhere along the way, Syracuse seems to have drifted south of the Mason-Dixon line (at least for the last couple weeks of August). Back in my day, the entertainment consisted of quality acts like The Cowsills (Mom’s been dead for over 25 years now, Katrina took Barry, and Bill passed away in 2006), Sonny & Cher, and Sha Na Na.

Now? It’s all Country shit. No offense to Country Music, of course, but, Christ, does everything have to be Country?

I mean, this is Syracuse, not Nashville.

But to each his own, and I guess they aren’t targeting me, ‘cuz I’m not gonna pay $50 (or more) to go see a concert anyway. And to be fair, in addition to Country, they also seem to book the ‘Geezer Rock’ bands. Always nice to see my wrinkly, grey-haired, bald-headed, tie-dye clad peers rocking out (wondering who the hell that young kid playing drums with Three Dog Night is).

Oh well, time to get ready for work, I guess.

Life is returning to normal here in the quake-stricken East. The tsunami watch has been lifted, and, though I’m still keeping an eye on it, it appears the water in my pool has settled down (right around the time the timer shut the pump off, coincidentally). Having been sequestered in my windowless (yet swaying) second floor office building, I was unaware of the silly news coverage (hell, this wasn’t even the first earthquake I’ve ever felt, and I’m not an intrepid Washington reporter). Now you folks out in California understand the scorn and derision I’m filled with when four or five inches (hell, even a foot) of snow shuts down some city and makes the national news. Or when Buffalo gets all kinds of attention for a little bit of snow, when it doesn’t even come close to what we get here.

Thank goodness we weren’t forced to evacuate; not for my sake, but out of concern for that herd of large, teetering women (yes, sexist, I know, but even the fat guys – of which there is no shortage – seem to take the stairs) at the office who routinely take the elevator down one flight; though they seem devoid of any outward physical defect (other than they weeble when they walk, but don’t fall down), I’ve noticed they all seem to have handicapped parking stickers, and have often wondered if maybe they stopped taking the elevator and parking as close to the building as possible, they wouldn’t need the stickers. Anyhow, I don’t think they’d have all been able to fit safely in the elevator together, so thank goodness there wasn’t a stampede.

Even at my girthiest, I’d be damned if I’d take the elevator one flight. Especially down. Not because I’m heath conscious, mind you – but because I refuse to wait, and am only slightly less appalled by the smell of the tiny enclosed space of the elevator – I did take it once when I was hobbled and on crutches – than I am of the public restroom.

So, anyhow, life goes on. Far more devastating to me than a little earth moving under my feet is the long, painful end of the summer.

Today, another sad reminder of summer’s impending demise is the unveiling of this year’s NYS Fair Butter Sculpture (presided over by NY’s Dairy Princess. Or something). Whatever will it be this year? Rest assured, I’ll keep you all informed. Unless I forget.

Another sign of summer’s end times is the return of the students to SU today (much like the swallows returning to Capistrano, except the swallows in this case are mostly girls – and guys, I suppose – from Long Island). It’s freshman move-in day, where wide-eyed teens move into their crappy, overpriced dorm rooms, parents in tow. Unlike back in my day, when I jettisoned my folks as quickly as possible, these kids seem to have their parents around for, like, a week. Go figure.

When I worked in the area “The Hill” as we call it around here, because – you may have guessed this on your own – the campus sits up on a hill, this was the time of year we most dreaded. All summer, one could drive through (and park on) open streets, patronize local businesses without having to wait in line, and meander through the streets without having to listen to rich kids with thick Long Island accents whine about how Syracuse sucks and daddy wouldn’t let them drive the Porsche to school so they’re stuck with the Saab.

I’m not saying Syracuse doesn’t suck (at least from the perspective of a spoiled little rich kid). I’m just saying I’m not paying over $50,000 a year to be here. But then, neither are they, I guess. Their parents are stuck with the bill.

Suckers.

Oh well, early day for me. Time to check the skimmer for critters, and then go about my day.

Stay grounded.

It may be the end of summer here, but the Arab Spring continues as Moammar Gadhafi’s regime has fallen. Yes, last night, um…. Wait a minute. OK, so perhaps “fallen” isn’t quite accurate. I blame Obama, whose illegal war wasn’t nearly illegal enough. I guess we’ll just have to let the French clean this mess up. Or the Italians. Isn’t Libya their mess in the first place?

Bill Moyers is coming back to television.

Bill Moyers says he is returning to public television in January, but he won’t be found on the PBS lineup.

His new hourlong weekly show, called “Moyers & Company,” will focus on one-on-one interviews with people not often heard on television, “thinkers who can help us understand the chaos of this time,” Mr. Moyers said in a telephone interview. “We’re going to be concerned with the state of democracy and the state of affairs, but we will leave the daily and weekly story to others and try to do the back story.”
[…]
Earlier this year, Mr. Moyers, who retired from PBS in April 2010, said he had received $2 million in financing from the Carnegie Corporation of New York for the new show, but PBS had told him it couldn’t find an appropriate time slot.

Yeah, there’s not an hour a week fro Bill Moyers. Wouldn’t wanna bump MotorWeek or anything.

Speaking of television, watching an hour of teevee takes 22 minutes off your life? Since 8 hours of work takes 16 hours off my life, I consider that a pretty good deal. In fact, all else being equal, and crunching the numbers, if I can manage to watch 16 hours of teevee a day (and spend the other 8 sleeping), that means I’ll live 68% longer than I ordinarily would. I think. I’m sure somebody will check my math. Don’t bother to tell me, though, ‘cuz I don’t have time. Life’s too short.

Especially if you have to go to work.

Today marks the beginning of the beginning of the end of summer. Yes, the NY State Fair begins on Thursday (which is “Governor’s Day.” On Friday, I hope to be able to post video of city-boy Gov. Snotball milking a bull), and when it ends on Labor Day, summer will be over and it’ll be football season. Actually, it’ll be football season before it’s over, as SU’s first game is on Saturday, Sept 1st. This is all very, very sad. Ordinarily, this is my favorite time of year, but if we have the kind of winter we had last year, then I’m really not looking forward to it. Oh well, time marches on.

It’s hard for me to believe we haven’t been out here for even a year yet. At this point last year, we were hoping for a quick closing so we could get in here before the weather turned to shit. So, naturally, the closing was delayed until the end of October. We had a couple of decent days, managed to get the first phase of fencing put up for the dogs, fortunately, but then things turned to shit. Literally. The Kubota was quickly pressed into service digging up the front lawn. And then the worst winter anybody around here can remember (and that’s saying a lot for us old-timers, who have seen a winter or two).

Then the thaw came (and the rain). Turns out, there’s a stream that runs directly under my house, and golly gee, my sump pumps got quite the workout. As did my septic system – more shit.

Ah, it all seems so long ago now.

I had big plans for the summer – lots of things to accomplish before the return of the cold weather. I have accomplished very little of it – partly due to the distraction of the pool, and partly because other things came up.

Hopefully we’ll get a nice, long fall. And SU won’t suck. Is that too much to ask?