In a handful of hours.
It's coming down like crazy, the wind is howling, and this isn't even as bad as it's supposed to get. Once my headache subsides a bit I've got to go out there and fire up the snowblower, to see if it can handle what's dumped so far.
"Are we going to be able to go to work tomorrow?" Mrs. Fungus asked me.
I am not confident that we will. If the weather actually does get worse than this, I suspect the answer will be "no".
* * *
The price of oil jumped on speculation that OPEC would cut production, causing gas in the Fungal Vale to jump abruptly from $1.50 a gallon to $1.80. That turned out not to be true and subsequently the price of gas dropped to $1.70 a gallon in relatively short order.
The amazing thing about it was that the price of oil didn't skyrocket when this rumor was circulating; it went up a few dollars per barrel to something like $35 or so. And there's enough of a crude glut that even if OPEC did cut production, it would be months before the inventory levels fell enough to make the actual scarcity felt. All of the rise in oil prices would be artificial until then.
But $1.70 a gallon is a damn sight better than $2.46, as it was in August before that one refinery went "poit", and it's certainly better than the $3.40 it was one week after that refinery let out the magic smoke.
* * *
Incidentally, on the way to looking up those figures, here I predicted Jeb Bush would be the GOP nominee. "I would be greatly surprised if he failed of nomination," I said.
I am surprised, and holy shit am I glad I was wrong.
...furthermore, I'm reminded why I haven't ridden the bike since then: there's still that electrical system issue to worry about, but I haven't had time to.
* * *
That was written around 3:30. I went outside to do battle with the snow, and lost.
Look: we've gotten, so far, about nine inches of wet, heavy snow. The snow is supposed to continue through the night, and blizzard conditions on top of it--and my snowblower is a one-stage deal that can't cope with this nonsense. I utterly wore myself out clearing half the driveway down to the plow drift, and could not go any further than that; the snowblower simply does not have the power to handle this much of this kind of shit.
We're going to have someone come to clear that part. I can't do it. $60 is cheaper than a heart attack and a month in the hospital.
* * *
Anyway, back to the regularly-scheduled blogging.
* * *
If you are going to poor-mouth and insult your employer in social media, make sure that your other social media posts don't talk about all the nice things you do for yourself. You know:
Eagle-eyed Internet users archived Instagram and Twitter images of Talia Jane indulging in a spa day with a fashionable facial mask made of Lush-brand coffee grounds; showing off her well-stocked kitchen, where she baked sumptuous cupcakes, "prosciutto-brie-cilantro-garlic biscuits," "brie-stuffed meatballs topped with brie and rosemary sprigs," "roast chuck marinated in herbs," "a s— ton of Swedish potatoes au gratin," and "mini pumpkin pies."But you see, quoth the Internet, "According to the original distiller set MSRP, one shot (or 44.36 mL) of Bulleit Bourbon Frontier Whiskey costs approximately $2.66, which is 25% cheaper than the average whiskey." So you see how much she has to economize!
In one of her richer moments (pun intended), Jane brags about having Bulleit Kentucky Bourbon delivered to her office through a smartphone app. "I’ve been meaning to buy whiskey," she burbles, "but I always forget until after I’m phone and my pants are off" (presumably when she’s under all her blankets shivering from cold and deprivation). "(A)lcohol delivery services aren’t available where I live because I’m in the suburbs," so "I had alcohol delivery to my job. (O)ddly enough, no one asked about it."
* * *
I do like Trump. I'm in a pretty foul mood (see above, "snow") and right now I hate all politicians more than usual, but at least Trump is talking about the real problems faced by average americans.
And his solution to, for example, illegal immigration is not "Well, they're here; let's let them stay, and we promise we'll make it harder for others to come!" which has been the norm since the mid-1980s.
And the image accompanying that post is 100% win.
* * *
Somebody remind that asshole Bill Nye that a 747 uses a shitton more fuel than a car does so the price of gasoline is irrelevant to his carbon footprint.
One commentor notes that fuel usage is pretty inelastic compared to its price, which is certainly true in my case; I don't use more fuel now because it's cheaper, but because I must in order to get to and from work.
* * *
On the plus side, last night I hauled four bags of trash out of the basement and got rid of one of the deer heads.
The one I tossed is missing an antler; I have no idea where it went but it doesn't look like it could be reattached even if I had it...and nobody wants these things. My wife hates the things, and I'm indifferent to them. They're all hung in the back of the basement, by the water heater, but if I turn that into a video gaming they'll have to go elsewhere. I have no idea where to put them. Attic? Garage? We'll see.
Among other things tossed last night were more computer magazines, and a box of rocket junk--mostly scraps and bits which might be useful to an active builder, but which have otherwise sat in the basement unused for twenty years. I also tossed the remainder of the Mean Machine, the 6' rocket I reengineered to separate in the middle for recovery, rather than having just the nose cone pop off; it made it easier to transport and was a good mod, but its last flight ended in a pond and I never removed the spent engine, which subsequently welded itself into the engine mount. I tossed the bottom half a long time ago but was never able to get the top half out until last night.
Cobra 1500--a shorter version of the Mean Machine--also went. Built according to the Estes plans, it got kinked but flew fine, at least until it got an engine from a bad batch of C6-7s and the engine blew right out the top of the rocket, damaging the engine mount. I never fixed it.
Then, the Optima. *sigh* The Optima is one of those very large D rockets which is meant for demonstration flights; it hits maybe 600 or 800 feet with a D12 and is easily visible the entire time. I liked that rocket, and did a bang-up job building it--somewhere around here I have a picture of it and mine looked almost exactly like the catalog image, with extra-glossy paint and everything. It was beautiful.
I pranged it at the last Danville Dare I went to (in 1993 as I recall) because it was a little too windy for a low-performance model. It weathervaned and the ejection delay was too low for the decreased apogee. I replaced the bent fuselage tubing but never repainted it, and when I picked it up last night I found that the fin section had gotten crushed sometime in past ten years. I tossed it. I was going to keep it until I found the damage.
That'll be the rule, I think, for getting rid of rockets: damage means bye bye.
Anyway, four bags of trash--and it all came from the west wall of the basement, the pile I made while eradicating the original pile; as it turns out I had not, after all, gotten at all the boxes yet.
There's still more to do. I'm working on it, little by little, and if I can ever get another shelving unit I think we'll be in good shape. It's just going to take some time.