Colors Insulting to Nature and weather report
dang, I got rained on again today! Now this is basically a good thing since it means that we are having weather, and weather is interesting -- pretty clouds, clean air, that stuff...
Apparently this is an unusually wet, unsettled weather year, and this is great by me. I know that eventually we will settle into unremittingly cloudless days and f---ing hot temperatures for months on end, but that hasn't happened yet, and I am grateful for it. The river is at it's highest since I've lived here according to the paper and my own eyes.
As in Marin, the weather comes from the west, over the mountains. In Marin it was the little ole coastal ridge, and the neatest weather feature was the way that the clouds would slither and flow over the ridge like dry ice vapor at Halloween. Here it is the mighty Sierras, with Truckee Pass being the local low spot. From the river or any wide east-west avenue, I can look west up the pass and see where our weather is coming from. It's still white with snow in that direction, and in fact, there's still snow on Peavine Mountain, the hill to the north with the big white "R" on it. I miss that excellent vapor effect of the Mill Valley clouds, but we get a steady diet of cumulo-nimbus dramatics, and delightful lenticular formations.
But on to today's topic, my book of the week, Colors Insulting to Nature. I certainly knew of Cintra Wilson from the Pink Pages and good ole Jimo on MV. It's a pretty funny book, extra-interesting because lots of it takes place in Marin - Fairfax, San Anselmo, Sausalito, and the spoiled, alienated Marin kids and for that matter Marin grown-ups are all too familiar. The book is all about the American lust for fame. Some of it is too painful to read as the heroine gets f---ed time and time again, but it's laugh out loud funny also.
I am going through an unhappy streak here in Reno. All the external features of my life are just excellently fine, but my interior life is pretty sucky the last few days. I really need a friend or two - get invited to someone's home, or get invited by anyone anywhere for that matter. People are real nice, and I seem to be well enough liked by a good selection of bartenders and barristas, but that's their job to be nice for gosh sakes. The sad fact that there is not a human with 100 miles that gives the remotest fuck about me in any way is depressing me this week. I think I need to join a club or take a course. I just filled out the on-line form to volunteer for the River Festival here next month, so we'll see 'bout that. There will be an endless amount of shizzle going on right outside my door all summer, so I should get involved in that!
Apparently this is an unusually wet, unsettled weather year, and this is great by me. I know that eventually we will settle into unremittingly cloudless days and f---ing hot temperatures for months on end, but that hasn't happened yet, and I am grateful for it. The river is at it's highest since I've lived here according to the paper and my own eyes.
As in Marin, the weather comes from the west, over the mountains. In Marin it was the little ole coastal ridge, and the neatest weather feature was the way that the clouds would slither and flow over the ridge like dry ice vapor at Halloween. Here it is the mighty Sierras, with Truckee Pass being the local low spot. From the river or any wide east-west avenue, I can look west up the pass and see where our weather is coming from. It's still white with snow in that direction, and in fact, there's still snow on Peavine Mountain, the hill to the north with the big white "R" on it. I miss that excellent vapor effect of the Mill Valley clouds, but we get a steady diet of cumulo-nimbus dramatics, and delightful lenticular formations.
But on to today's topic, my book of the week, Colors Insulting to Nature. I certainly knew of Cintra Wilson from the Pink Pages and good ole Jimo on MV. It's a pretty funny book, extra-interesting because lots of it takes place in Marin - Fairfax, San Anselmo, Sausalito, and the spoiled, alienated Marin kids and for that matter Marin grown-ups are all too familiar. The book is all about the American lust for fame. Some of it is too painful to read as the heroine gets f---ed time and time again, but it's laugh out loud funny also.
I am going through an unhappy streak here in Reno. All the external features of my life are just excellently fine, but my interior life is pretty sucky the last few days. I really need a friend or two - get invited to someone's home, or get invited by anyone anywhere for that matter. People are real nice, and I seem to be well enough liked by a good selection of bartenders and barristas, but that's their job to be nice for gosh sakes. The sad fact that there is not a human with 100 miles that gives the remotest fuck about me in any way is depressing me this week. I think I need to join a club or take a course. I just filled out the on-line form to volunteer for the River Festival here next month, so we'll see 'bout that. There will be an endless amount of shizzle going on right outside my door all summer, so I should get involved in that!