Micro-Review & Brownson Reading Update

From the ridiculous to the sublime:

1. Read, as in listened to, the audiobook of, The Adventures of  Tom Stranger: Interdimensional Insurance Agent, a Larry Correia joint, read by an enthusiastic and amused Adam Baldwin – yes, that Adam Baldwin. (Audio of this was offered free about a year ago, so I took it. Not really an audio guy myself. Mr. Baldwin’s fine work made it all special.)

Image result for The Adventures of Tom Stranger, Interdimensional Insurance AgentHilarious. Correia’s pacing is so fast and humor so thick that you never get bored even when, as I suspect is case for me, a lot of cultural/gamer/pop references are flying right over my head.

The conceit: an insurance agent, possibly the dullest, least inspiring white-collar job in this iteration of the multiverse, might be, through dogged dedication to superior customer service, a mech-driving, attack-nanobot-wielding, cyborg-kung-fu-master superhero. In a Men’s Wearhouse suit. Tom Stranger, of Stranger and Stranger Interdimensional Insurance, lives for positive customer satisfaction survey responses, and is willing to brave any horror and almost certain death to get them. He gets stuck with possibly the lamest intern in history, a slacker with a gender studies degree, by what appears to be an administrative oversight. Tom tries, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, to keep Jimmy the Intern alive while providing superior customer service to his clients in various dimensions as they suffer attacks by the likes of zombie hordes and flying purple people eaters, all while Tom’s arch-nemesis, Jeff Conundrum, tries to ruin the party.

How epic is this? Chuck Norris shows up and kicks an evil alien’s head so hard he turns him inside out. Yikes.

If you need a quick, fun diversion from this vale of tears, highly recommended.

2. My regular readers, who by now may number well into the double digits, like maybe 12 or even  13, may recall my partial reviews of Orestes Brownson’s The American Republic, some of which can be found here and here. What happened is that the book got weird, I had to think about it, shiny objects intruded into my field of visions, and, well, here we are.

Over the last 20-25% of the book, Brownson lays out his vision of America’s future. In retrospect, Brownson’s views seem either wildly optimistic to the verge of delusional, or, from another political perspective, dangerously theistic.

Brownson was an adult convert to Catholicism. He was raised among kindly Calvinists, but found their beliefs too dark and dreadful, even if the rural Presbyterians held them were personally kind. Before he was 20, he’d parted ways with the church of his childhood, and proceeded to ping-pong around between various flavors of Unitarianism and even quasi-atheistic theism (if that makes sense – and it sort of does). After a couple decades of this wandering in the desert, he comes to the conclusion that only a church that ‘teaches with authority, and not like the scribes’ could be the true Church.

His almost pugnacious enthusiasm for theological disputes, honed as an editor and writer for various Unitarian-leaning publications, never left him – his brand of apologetics is often bracing, especially in these be-nice-so-you-don’t-offend times. I can’t imagine it was much less so even in the mid-1800’s.

Brownson believes that the Civil War has settled some issues about what, exactly, the United States are. Writing immediately upon the conclusion of the Civil War and prior to passage of the 14th Amendment, Brownson never fails to refer to the United States as a plural, as was always done by earlier writers, a practice that soon passed out of useage after the Civil War. That War, and the 14th and subsequent Amendments,  impressed upon the minds of all the primacy of the Nation as a whole over the States as ever more subservient parts.

Brownson’s arguments in the American Republic support this view to a large extent. He argues that nations are formed naturally when a people in a territory recognize their common destiny and begin to act together. This commonality is usually but not always seen in language, religion and culture, but always includes a territory. Thus, the Swiss could be a single natural nation, while English-speaking Anglicans in South Africa, England and the US could not.

Therefore, Brownson argues that the United States were already a single nation when the Constitution was ratified – they must have been, since there must already be a nation to create a constitution for it. The people already recognized their common fate, and acted to best preserve and promote their common interests and protect the Republic which that common wealth brought into being. He writes at some length disputing the notion that a document could bring a nation into being, and cites the futility of such efforts throughout history. If a natural nation does not already exist, efforts to create one by fiat through a written constitution will always fail. (An Empire is another beast altogether.)

Brownson, writing in that thin slice of time right after the war and before the full intent and misery of the revenge of the North upon the South became obvious, could still believe that the States were being preserved more or less intact, that the war had been, as Lincoln always said, about preserving the Union. The states were still, in his view, sovereign, each within its proper realm, only surrendering to the United States those specific powers which by nature devolved to it. He thoroughly believed that there was and could not be a conflict between the federal and state powers, now that the War Between the States had so dearly and emphatically made them clear.

The state of affairs, whereby the greatest common wealth held by the Commonwealth that is the Nation that wrote the Constitution, are the recognition of the divine origins of Man’s rights and duties, and of the state’s existence to foster the growth and fruition of that divine order and as the expression of the divine fruitfulness. After the manner of the Catholic understanding of the Eucharist, in the secular realm, political life flows from the state and is ordered to it. Here he stands Fichte on his head: the sovereignty flows from the People to the State, which is informed and acts by virtue of the virtue of the People, thereby reinforcing their sovereignty and virtue.

Since the Nation is a natural thing, an outpouring and maturation of human nature, then, as human nature is a divine creation, so, too, is the Nation, at least potentially.  Here is where Brownson’s optimism is given full reign. Since the Catholic Church is the guardian and source of truth – of natural law, in this case – then a properly constituted natural nation must needs reflect and manifest the teaching of the Church. Brownson believes that, now that the war had forced America out of its long adolescence into mature statehood, we as a nation would more and more adopt the teachings of the Church on human nature, rights and duties both individual and societal, and, in short, convert. Any other route would take the nation further from reality, creating friction and issues that would soon be corrected – the great forward momentum of the now-mature American Republic would see to it.

He answers the Church and State issues in the same way he answers the Federal and State questions: there will be no conflict because the role of each is clear. In this, he echoes Dante, who yearned for a world in which the church and the state had separate, clear roles and stayed out of each other’s way. All the problems of the past were due to less perfect realizations of the idea of a Nation, leading to corruption of both church and state. America was poised to become Catholic and avoid all church and state problems as it realized the small ‘c’ catholic roots of all its founding principles, and moved toward the large ‘C’ Catholic Church as a result.

Finally, for now, in the midst of all this optimism and enthusiasm, Brownson despairs of Europe and the rest of Christendom. He notes that all contemporary Catholic states have got the Church on a short leash, and hate it even when they cannot -yet- do without it. Only in America, as a properly constituted Republic, would the Church be free to be itself. By being itself, it would convert the nation.

Brownson died in 1876, 11 years after writing the American Republic. I wonder if he recognized how far by then the nation had departed from the path he laid out for it, and where its true path would lead.

Just wow. I’m planning to retire in about 7.5 years – maybe then I can do the proper chapter by chapter review of this fascinating book.

 

 

The Uffizi and What Makes Western Civilization Special.

This weekend, with any luck, younger daughter will get to visit the Uffizi Gallery. She is on a semester in Rome trip from Thomas More College, and this weekend is going to Florence, her one shot to visit, since all other weekends are booked through the end of the semester. (The poor dear will have to make do with visits to Assisi, Prague,  and other magnificent yet lesser beauties before heading off to Paris, Lourdes, Ireland and England before wending homeward. Kids these days.)

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Taken most likely from atop Giotto’s bell tower, looking west over the Baptistry.

She only has a day or two, which is roughly 6 months, 5 years or a lifetime too little to have spent in Florence, depending on how you want to figure it. I’ve gotten to spend roughly 6 weeks of my life in Italy, 2 weeks in Florence – which is pretty crazy for a sheet metal guy’s son from Whittier. I’m not complaining. Those 6 weeks blew my mind and impressed upon me that 6 weeks is hardly enough, laughably so.

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Facing the Uffizi from the Piazza della Signoria, a five-minute walk from the Baptistry in the picture above.

The Italians, when they weren’t too tied up scheming or actively killing each other, took time out to produce about 1/2 of the truly great art mankind has ever produced, a vastly disproportionate share of which lives in Florence. The last Medici Grand Duke, a complete degenerate but semi-decent Grand Duke named Gian Gastone de’ Medici, managed to separate out the artwork from the rest of the wealth of Florence before he died, and leave it to his sister, Anna Maria Luisa. For the previous 300 years, the Medici family made no distinction between the wealth of Florence and their personal family fortune – there was little practical difference. But once it became clear to Gianni that he was the end of the Medici line as far as Grand Dukes went (the Great Powers of the time weren’t interested in letting his sister Anna Maria rule as Grand Duchess, and there were no male potential heirs)  he very wisely decided that the art the family had collected over the centuries should be considered the family’s, left to his sister – and left in Florence. I don’t how likely it was that Francis of Lorraine – Gianni’s successor as Grand Duke – would have hauled off the good stuff to his palaces as Holy Roman Emperor, but I’d guess that over the years stuff would get reallocated by Frank or his successors after the manner of people’s stuff always and everywhere. Anna Maria left the collection to the city of Florence, with the restriction that it stay there.

Thus, thanks to Gianni and his sister Anna Maria, the greatest collection of great art in the world – The Uffizi, the Pitti Palace, and other bits and pieces elsewhere in Florence – stayed put in Florence, where we can see and enjoy it to this day. (Although it would have been small loss if Frank had grabbed a bunch of Sustermans on his way out of Dodge. Just saying.)

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Botticelli, La primavera, 1482. This photo makes the painting look perhaps saccharine and stiff; in person, it is jaw-dropping beautiful. No reproduction I’ve ever seen remotely does it justice.

It was years ago that that I heard it stated as a truism that 1/2 of all the great art that exists exists in Italy. I have no reason to doubt it. Here is a thought experiment: Take any great work of art from anywhere outside of Italy. Then set aside a comparable masterpiece from Italy. Repeat this process until you’ve exhausted one supply or the other. Well? Do you think you’d run out of Italian masterpieces well before the ‘all other’ masterpieces? Seems unlikely to me.

To the title of this little brain dump: How does this thought experiment work if you run it Western Art versus All Other? I can admire the vigor of a polynesian mask or the intricacies of a Persian rug as much as anyone, but neither compares to the beauty and sophistication of even fairly minor works of Western Art. (Western Art for our purposes here excludes the vast bulk of post-Bouguereau works. Once the conscious decision to be both stupid and proud of it took over the art world, Western Art effectively ended except for the occasional throwback. There are signs of life, however. Let us hope.)

Why is this so? Certainly, the Italians and Christendom in general were no more wealthy and peaceful nor technically accomplished nor blessed with resources nor victorious in war than, say, the Chinese or Turks, for all but at most a couple of centuries over the last 2,000 years. During much of that time, from 634 to 1492, Christendom was for the most part shrinking, getting conquered and displaced by Islam across all of north Africa, all the Levant and Turkey, and most of the former Yugoslavia and some of adjoining Slavic lands. If you are looking to military might, it was a one-way street from East to West – until the Battle of Lepanto in 1571! Then it was a draw for a few centuries. Then, finally, in the 19th century, Western military might was generally better than that of Turkey. The Ottoman Empire didn’t fall until 1917.

A huge portion of the greatest Italian art comes from periods of great internal and external unrest, the 13th to 16th centuries (and, frankly, unrest in the form of wars and invasions was the order of the day during almost all of its post-Roman Empire history from 410 – the Visigoth sacking of Rome – until the last 70 years). Contra what Jared Diamond may think, the comparative glory of Italian and Western art is not the result of Guns, Germs and Steel. For comparatively little of its history has the West had the best military, the healthiest people or the best technology. On the tech side, and subsequently on the military and health side, things began to change in the early Middle Ages, but didn’t become decisive for many centuries. Only in the last 150 to 200 years would it have not been foolish to bet on the West in a war with anyone else based on technology alone.

I suggest that there is one area where the West did far outstrip the rest of the world over the last 2 millennia (except, in an ironic reversal, the last 2-3 centuries): Philosophy. We thought about things better, deeper and with more understanding than anywhere else in the world. Science, it may be said, is the ghost of medieval philosophy animating a shell of math and gadgets. But it’s the persistent conviction that the world is understandable and that we are capable of understanding it that has driven technological and scientific advances.

But much more than that, the Christian-infused Aristotelianism that is the Perennial Philosophy of the west provides both motivation and inspiration for Great Art. The explosion of Great Art in the west – and its subsequent recent decline – is the result of how well we understand, accept and act on that philosophy.

Mini-micro Review: Mike Flynn “Nexus” & More Weather

A: Review: Michael Flynn’s Novella Nexsus in this month’s Analog

A reconstruction(1) of a conversation taking place around 12:30 a.m. last night, as my wife is entering the bedroom where I am just putting down the latest issues of Analog:

“Reading Mike Flynn?”

“Just finished. It has about every ridiculous pulp science fiction idea you’ve ever heard of in one place: time travel, appalling space aliens, space aliens that can pass for human, telepathy,  faster than light travel, transporter beams, androids…”

“What’s it about?”

“Aristotelian causality.”

There is a woman who can’t die, a weather balloon cover story, ninja space cops, weird alien necrophilia (PG-13), alien invaders, aliens working under cover to protect earth from alien invaders. There’s Theadora the hooker-Empress, conflicting time-lines, the need to keep the cops and the military out of it, and super-ninja space cops.

Trying to remember if Area 51 gets a shout out.

And, yes, it all hangs on what Aristotle would call in Greek a ‘walking together’ – a series of coincidences – the component events of which are most definitely caused (they literally could not not be) but the walking together itself is just Fate, which takes the blame but is not, strictly speaking, a cause.

To sum up: Totally awesome. Mr. Flynn has made no direct comments on the whole Pulp Revolution stuff of which I am aware (wise man) – but, based on this, he’s down with it, at least conceptually .

B: Cows home yet? No? Let’s talk about the weather!

Here’s a sloppy picture of Mt. Diablo, elevation 3,849 feet, as seen looking east from the road on my drive home:

Mt Diablo
Mt. Diablo. North Peak to the left, main peak to the right. 

That white stuff is snow! It’s really not unusual for there to be snow on Mt. Diablo, happens probably every other winter on average. What is remarkable is that, with all the epic-level precipitation we’ve been getting this year, this is the first batch.

For the first time this rainy season, we got a classic Gulf of Alaska storm. All the other storms have been either pure Pineapple Express ‘atmospheric rivers’ pulling tropical moisture from the ocean around Hawaii and therefore too warm to leave snow at as low an elevation as Mt. Diablo, or some blended Alaska/Hawaii storm, which tend to be in the middle, temperature-wise, and still not cold enough.

We end up with a very pretty situation: all the grass is green, the cherry blossoms are out, the first tips of green are on the trees – and there’s snow on the mountains. Lovely.

3. But how about those CCC Water District rain gauges? 

I thought you’d never ask. Last we checked, all but 5 of these gauges had already received more than an average rainy season’s worth of rain. Three have since reached their annual totals (overall, the gauges average over 150% of their annual average total), leaving only 2 that are registering less than their average annual amounts of rain. (2):

2017 03 06 Rain Gagues
A piece of my little OCD rain gauge spreadsheet.

Unlike the earlier storms, this last storm hit the Concord Pavilion and Kregor Peak gauges as hard or harder than any of the others. Why would that be?

The winds accompanying Pineapple Express storms tend to blow from south to north. Gulf of Alaska storms, on the other hand, tend to strike our stretch of coast pretty much west to east.My theory is that the generally south to north direction of the previous storms put these 2 gauges in the rain shadow of Mt. Diablo. This last storm hit them as squarely as any of the other gauges. Thus, they started to catch up.

Concord Pavilion will probably reach its annual total, given anything like normal March rain. Kregor Peak is more iffy – an inch and a half is a lot of rain for these parts. Possible.

I promise to lay off the weather stuff – unless something really interesting happens.

  1. The conversation went something like this, but perhaps not so tidy.
  2. Don’t know how I missed this before, but: except for a few of the very oldest gauges, the annual averages are suspiciously round numbers, suggesting they are just guesses, not actual averages. Makes sense – I’d want a century of data before giving any weight to averages. As guesses, they carry much less weight than even the little weight they’d carry as 40 year averages.

We Are Not Amused

Yesterday, for his 13 birthday, the spousal unit and I took the Caboose and 6 of his friends to an amusement park styling itself Six Flags Discovery Kingdom. The day was blustery and chilly (1), with a never-pulled-the-trigger threat of rain (2):

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Sunlight on some ride or other against that blustery sky.

This park is known, as are all of its kind these days, for bone-jarring, stomach-emptying and, perhaps, soul-searching level roller coasters which, by cosmic law, cannot be called roller coasters but must have epic, or at least pop-character tie-in, names: Medusa. Dare Devil. The Joker. Superman.

I did not ride any of those. Back in the day – you know, then – I grew up about as far from Disneyland as we now live from 6 Flags – about a 30 minute drive – back when E-ticket rides were E-ticket rides. (3) Back then, we’d climb off our domesticated mammoths, cinch up our saber-toothed tiger pelt togas and ride the Matterhorn with our 10 year old buddies till our eyeballs frozen in a fully open position. We’d take breaks to ride the Pirates of the Caribbean and the Haunted Mansion once or twice – but that was about it. All other rides and attractions were stupid, in the cultivated consensus of informed 10 year old males. (Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride was incomprehensibly weird, LSD having not yet made it to the mean playgrounds of St. Mary’s of the Assumption in Whittier at that time. We never even talked about it.)

So, by age 13, I had already gotten in my minimum lifetime requirement of roller coaster rides. I feel no need to pad my total. (4)

img_3721The boys had a good time. Nobody threw up, but at least one kid owned up to having nearly had. Since he then turned down pizza for lunch, which risks violating the Geneva Convention for 13 year old boys, I believe him.

6 Flags is my beloved’s home park – she grew up about 30 minutes from it in the opposite direction, in Petaluma. Evidently, she did not get her lifetime recommended dosage at that time, so she rode a bunch. Out of a spirit of humoring the boys, and keeping a maternal eye on them, no doubt.

This particular park has a round about history. Per Wikipedia, it has been known as “Six Flags Marine World, Marine World, The New Marine World Theme Park, and Marine World Africa USA.” It was a zoo, of sorts, but one where you could ride the elephants and watch killer whales and tigers perform (not together – it wasn’t *that* good). They had a butterfly house (still do), a trick water-skiing show (long gone) and no rides. It was still in that state when we first took our kids there maybe 25 years ago. It has since evolved, I suppose.

I had mixed feeling about it. There were parts I really liked – the butterflies, the shark exhibit, the stingray tank where you could touch the stingrays – and parts I hated – the many animals that looked at best bored out of their minds if not terminally sad. Also, as I have speculated elsewhere, how do prey animals react to being kept for years mere feet away from their predators? Every little antelope is getting a snootful of lion scent every moment of every day for years on end. That can’t be good for peace of little animal minds.

Now the park is just a bunch of rides and arcades with a few animals attached – the boys watched the tiger show, I think because they needed a break after several hours of roller coasters. They took a minute to look at the dolphins as they walked past to get from one roller coaster to the next. I walked through the shark exhibit – a glass tunnel through a huge fish tank of sharks. Also watched a man in a kayak catch a bass the size of his forearm – in the little pond that used to be used for the trick water skiing show (who he was and how he got in there is a mystery – but that was one nice bass!). But otherwise animals got precious little attention.

We had fun. Crowds were very low on a blustery March day that looked like it was going to rain at any moment, making for short or no lines to even the best rides. We ‘only’ lost one ballcap and one car key (5) on the roller coasters – not too bad. And got out of there before the rain hit – 5 minutes before closing.

  1. For values of ‘chilly’ that include 58F. Hey, the wind was blowing and it California, where we pay extra in both money and soul-units (get a load of the tolerance thugs in  action yesterday in the People’s Republic of Berkeley?) to not have to put up with this chilly/rainy stuff. A sternly worded letter to somebody is called for! If I could figure out who.
  2. In an epic plot reversal, it drizzled a little till we got to the park, stopped cold, held off for 6 hours of ‘amusement’ – then let loose on the drive home. Got to be set-up, made-for-TV style: now comes the epic earthquake/fire/tsunami combo. Right?
  3. The trick, back c. 1968, was to have a buddy with a cop or fireman in the family, because then, in the off-season, Disneyland would run the occasional ‘Fireman’s Night’ or something promotion, and you’d get in at, say, 7:00 p.m. and have the park to yourself – no husbanding E tickets, just ride – until super late at night, like 10:00 or 11:00 even. Riding the Matterhorn 5-6 times in a row was completely doable, unlike in the summer, when you’d be looking at min. 20-30 minutes in line between rides.
  4. There was one timid boy in the bunch, who, as a courtesy, I did accompany on the Cobra, a coaster advertised as ‘Family Friendly’ – it was OK. It had none of that modern whippersnapper stuff like spiral loops that today’s desensitized youth demand. The Matterhorn – tall, dark and twisty – was all we, a sterner breed of boys, needed back in those more innocent times. The right hand side, of course.
  5. Of course, it had to be my son’s irreplaceable championship hat, which he got when his football team won the championship last year. And the ‘key’ was a Dodge keyless remote fob, which will only cost $250 (if we’re lucky) to replace, due to certain dealer monopoly practices that will strongly influence our future car buying decisions.

Road & Reading Update

1. At 6:00 A.M. in February, Houston is merely warm and insanely humid.

2. Houston is home to the beautiful Annunciation Parish, a mere 10 minute muggy walk from the hotel:

Three interesting things:

  • Most of the people there were a) men and b) younger than me. Some were obviously people with jobs downtown catching Mass before work – something a lot of people used to do, but now few parishes in my experience offer Mass early enough for that to work.
  • They used the altar rail – kneeling for communion under both species.
  • Second sighting of the Ignatius Pew Missal in the wild (after Our Lady of Peace in Santa Clara)

My Southern California heart was deeply offended:

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😉

3. Travel means:

  • Sitting on a plane
  • Time stuck in hotel room.

Which means: Reading! A few pages from the end of Captive Dreams by Mike Flynn, which deserves praise and a thoughtful review, which, given there’s nothing on the schedule for this afternoon (but you know how that goes) I might get to sooner rather than later. And a read! Get your copy now, and wallow in philosophy, math, and genetics while you enjoy excellent ScFi.

4. Now, two slots east of my native time zone – I need coffee!!

Well, Well, Well – Record Perciptation

Outside, up here in beautiful South Lake Tahoe, a glance out the window shows snow, coming down with a firm level of commitment. Visibility is at least a couple hundred yards, so not white out or anything. Yet.

But the ALL IN CAPS weather advisory is saying things like:

HEAVY SNOW WILL CREATE DANGEROUS CONDITIONS, WITH TRAVEL BEING SEVERELY IMPACTED OVER THE SIERRA PASSES. SNOWFALL RATES WILL EXCEED 2 INCHES PER HOUR AT TIMES, PRODUCING WHITEOUT CONDITIONS OVER THE PASSES AND IN THE BACKCOUNTRY. PRECAUTIONARY/PREPAREDNESS ACTIONS… AVOID TRAVEL TODAY THROUGH TUESDAY, YOU COULD BE STUCK IN YOUR VEHICLE FOR MANY HOURS. IF YOU MUST TRAVEL, PREPARE FOR LONG DELAYS AND CARRY AN EMERGENCY KIT WITH EXTRA FOOD, WATER AND CLOTHING. IF YOU STAY HOME, HAVE A BACKUP PLAN IN CASE OF POWER OUTAGES. &&

We were planning on going home tomorrow, but the only way to get there from here is over one of those Sierra passes they mention above. If we were in some sort of Polanski movie, deep, horrible psychological problems would force us to go north to the Donner pass on I-80, get stuck – and eat each other in a grim recapitulation of the inescapable past.

But let’s not go there. The pass on US 50, Echo Summit, is expecting up to 5′ of snow – right now, with chains, you can get the 20 miles or so from here to past there in a mere hour and a half.

**Mid-update Update**: Nope, they’ve stopped traffic while they take avalanche mitigation steps – doesn’t that sound charming? – up that stretch I mentioned yesterday that hugs the terrifying cliff. Good idea! The notion one could be swept over that cliff by tons of snow does not pleasant napping make.

I forgot I was with a bunch of people who are, at best, no more inured to these conditions than I am. Thus, the overall low level of concern lulled me – left to my own instincts, I’d have left yesterday given the information at hand. Now, the adults here are making contingency plans, as the landlady does expect us to leave tomorrow a.m. – which will be still in the major part of the storm, which means CalTrans may not be letting people through. The storm is scheduled to end – and we know how reliable these natural disasters tend to be – around 4 p.m. Tuesday, not at 4 a.m. as it was when we left to come up here. How was one to know forecasts could be so temperamental?

Anyway: Weather.com and other news sources have finally begun to use terms like ‘record setting’ and ‘all-time’ in regards to this winter’s precipitation. Certainly, the rain and snow in the Feather River drainage, which includes a huge chunk of the northern Sierra, is way ahead of the highest level for this point in the season, and pushing the all-time high for the season – which ends in September! Saw an ad today where one of the ski areas here was touting how they had ‘officially’ 500 inches – 41+ feet! -of snow,  and it’s snowing there now.

If things were to continue according to an ‘average’ year from here on out, the Sierra would have 200%+ of its average season snowpack, Contra Costa County would (according to the Flood Control District’s gauges as discussed here) nearly 200% of its average rainfall. Southern California got epic rainfall in the last set of storms, and is getting more from this, and is way wetter than average. Even Death Valley got .65 inches this last round. Lake Manly, here we come!

Some shots from yesterday:

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Weekend Update: Milestones, Tahoe, Woodworking Abomination, etc.

1. So: sometime today, given normal traffic, this blog will get its 100,000th view. About 35,000 visitors. Don’t know what makes up views and visitors, except there are enough caveats, provisos, quid pro quos to make the common sense understanding (whatever that might be) unlikely to align with these numbers. Whatever. W00, and, I might add, Hoo.

“There are a few provisos, a couple of quid-pro-quos. Rule number one: I can’t kill anybody. Bleurk! So don’t ask. Rule number two: I can’t make anybody fall in love with anybody else. You little punim there! Rule number three: I can’t bring people back from the dead. It’s not a pretty picture, I DON’T LIKE DOING IT! Other than that, you got it.”

2. Up in Tahoe for the long weekend, with a couple of families from school – one mom very graciously gets her sister to rent us a cabin (in the Tahoe sense of a two-story building on snow-plowed roads that sleeps 16 or so in suburban comfort) so that the cost is very low per person. Unlike previous years, we gocher snow Right Here:

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View from the kitchen table. More snow on the way through Tuesday. Lots more snow as you head further up the mountains. 

Over the Echo Summit (7,382′), snow was piled a dozen or more feet high on either side of the road. Right after the summit, the road bears left and descend along a cliff over the course of a couple miles to about lake level (6,225′). Usually, this section is a bit bracing, what with very scenic and life-threatening drops a suddenly flimsy-looking guardrail away. This time, there was a view-obstructing yet somehow comforting pile of cleared snow along most of the route. Good thing, too, since there was a light snow that was *just* starting to stick.

I lived in New Mexico (Santa Fe, Albuquerque) long enough to learn that snow sucks. Those people with their ice fishing and tobogganing and what not are in denial. Go ahead and kid yourselves however you need to to survive until spring, where you’ll have a couple weeks of nice weather before it turns hot, nasty and mosquito-infested. No, snow is not fun, at least, past the age of 12 and after about 5 minutes. It’s just cold, wet and occasionally dangerous.

3. The truly dedicated and obsessive reader might recall that, last year, when we also went to Tahoe, we attended Mass with very nice people in a lovely (after the manner of its kind) church that had certain carpentry features that triggered my OCD I found really distracting.

We attended yet another lovely Mass with the kind people of South Lake Tahoe today. We sat in another section, so I got a different view of what Frankenstein’s Monster would have looked like if Dr. Frankenstein had been a church carpenter:

Ah! My Eyes!

4. Lots of drafts.  A couple of which might even be interesting, that I hope to get out while I should be out playing in the snow. Right.