My most obnoxious personal geekery begins on Boxing Day, the countdown to that glorious date when wearing socks is an option.

At these coordinates we have 20 days until the average daily high begins rising -- from 21 to 22.  This is my personal favorite; my Six has just been told extraction Hueys are on the way.

In  59 days, on Feb. 22, the average daily high reaches the freezing point.

And in just 79 days the daily mean exceeds 32. Three days later, on St. Patrick's Day, we plant our potatoes. On average. :)

Christmas dispensation

--In Iraq, a  father kills his daughter for wanting to be a suicide bomber. (H/T Roberta)

--Iowa Area Education Agency bigwumps use your tax money to create a private subsidiary which is apparently making money for someone through bid-rigging and  other fiscal peccadilloes.

--A Pakistani father doesn't kill his daughter for wanting to be a suicide bomber, and she blows up 40-some folks.

--Congress won't pass cap and trade, so the EPA says it will do it, or something very like it, by decree.

--French officials are congratulating themselves for finding most of their jetliners in the Orly drifts and persuading America to ship them some de-icing fluid, which they forgot to re-order.

--Italian thugs (calling themselves anarchists) bomb some embassies.

--Et al. Just another Yuletide season.

But I revert to my childhood training. On Christmas, don't worry, be happy, love everybody.

Time enough to nail the poor, misunderstood, miscreants next week.

(Edit: Correcting an error in the second paragraph. The probabable thugs are not from the community colleges in this case. They're from the AEAS which were established to improve publek skuls by adding a layer of bureaucracy to vital process of tossing your money around.)

December 24, 2010

The smartest people I know carry  their cynicism  openly, like a Peacemaker in a fast-draw rig.  It is the best defense against  a world of questionable sanity and undeniable unkindness.

About this time of year, however, some of us set it aside if random events conspire to evoke the awe of a four-year-old watching Daddy pretending to clean the chimney lest Santa get too sooty.

About midnight the light snow began, windlessly and perfectly, a Bing Crosby dream of the Christmases we wish we had had.  A watery sun will  shortly rise to reveal a fresh two inches of whiteness, a virginal cloak hiding the smudge of earlier snowfalls.

Among other things it moves me to imagine the most romantic kind of Currier and Ives winter print, with a sleigh of toys for apple-cheeked children and the makings of a feast. I send it to you with a hand-written "Merry Christmas."

Best
Jim

Far be it from me to suggest Ben Bernanke and Tim Geithner and Barack Obama have their heads up their dark places, but copper is knocking on the $4.30 door, a record, and humble lead continues to command well over a buck.

Never mind the $3+ self-service unleaded of which I burned a bit this morning on a trip to town for the monthly bulk pack of Federal .22s and a 100-round carton of 12 gauges.

The suspects named above, aided and abetted by a bipartisan coalition of congressional zippety-doo-dahs, continue to soothe us with "Hush little baby don't say a word, 'bama's gonna buy you ...". 

 Inflation in America? Simply not possible.