Jerked out of my idyllic solitude by a sudden, blinding vision of Bryan Norcross clinging precariously to the Biltmore’s tower, I stood at the bedroom window watching my nearest neighbor [of blue house fame] mow his grass in the driving rain. Watching the species Storm Idiot is an exercise in elemental anthropology, as this specimen chose as his plumage simple shorts and flip flops.

But I still can’t get worked up about the possibility of a lacerated -or lopped off- appendage. Or Katrina, though my interest was peaked with the arrival of Jim Cantore. I’ve been watching that fool try to keep his footing for too many years. He rarely stands on the arrival beaches now, but early in his career you could always tell where the eye would come ashore, because that’s where Jim would be; ripples of the news of his arrival would flow over the raw emotions of waiting residents, eliciting a response similar to a lifeboat scenario.
While over-reaction by local governments to a tropical storm might be slightly better than no reaction at all, my response to the threat of rain is to… take cover. Just like every other day it rains. If it’s not a Cat 3, don’t bother me. Everything after Andrew is anti-climatic, like driving anything after your dream car. It’s over.

Though… it did prod some sort of response out of me… I didn’t blog the 4 year FPL rate freeze, 75 year old Pat Robertson’s unfortunate fatwa or the unholy hell of Sharon giving land away to the terrorists who still work toward the total destruction of Israel.

After 4 years of blogging nothing seems important enough anymore. Who needs me to tell people about current events when thousands of other blogs do it, and better? My intial reason for posting news items I felt were important was highly selfish; I fed myself far more than others… Prompted by a need to understand the ‘why’ of it all; now I don’t want to understand anymore. Life is so short. Give me the basics and I’ll deal. Perhaps that’s why I’ve gravitated toward reading the personal blogs instead of the newsy ones.

Who needs another rant about ANYthing from me? Even I’m sick to death of it, and slightly embarrassed that so many can find out so much about me with a few clicks of a mouse button. Contrary to popular opinion I’m not a very nice person. Oh, the new and improved version is worked toward continually, but perfection is not even close, not even with binoculars.

I still enjoy reading other blogs, but even after an absence of a couple of weeks it’s easy to feel out of the loop.

Maybe later. In the meantime, ya’ll have fun.

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Not exactly a demure southern debutante, Katrina was better suited to a shoulder-pad wearing Dynasty bitch-fest.
[Pardon me if I'm not up to date on modern bad girls. I'm old, k?]

When the western part of the eyewall first came ashore it stretched from southern Palm Beach county to north Dade… and I was looking forward to the eye itself, as we here in Pompano were taking a beating of 60+ sustained winds. The boat, usually hitched to a car during hurricanes, took off for the street. No, I hadn’t thought to chuck it’s wheels or drive the skeg into the pavement. Silly me.

What a wonky storm. Almost as soon as the eyewall hit, she made hurricane strength, seemed to collapse upon herself, and headed south. Those cells that made such a mess of south Dade were unusually vicious for the south side of a cane… Katrina was rotating in one direction but those cells seemed to have a life all their own.

So, I’ll not poo-poo a Cat 1 again; you never know what’s going to happen, do you?

Wonder who’ll be holding FEMA’s hand for this? Hmmm….