Saturday Coffee with Biff

Welcome to my Saturday morning!   It isn’t much, but it’s homey.

Or did I mean homely?

Just a second … I need to make a note to myself.

           Note:  buy more hominy at the grocery store later.

Okay … where was I?

It has been a crazy week here in Biffville (Population: Ornery).

Monday, as you know, was Labor Day, and I honored the day by laboring.  True, it was laboring under a false impression, but it still counts.  (Just for the record, the impression was of Groucho Marx.  It may not have been duck soup, but believe me, it was no night at the opera, either.)

Anyway, you can read about my Labor Day exploits here.

Tuesday it was back to work. 

The commute was horrendous.  As I commuted from the kitchen up to my home office, there was a pile-up on the stairs when the cat darted in front of me and nearly made me drop my Pop-Tart®.

Ah, Pop-Tarts!  Has there ever been a more toaster pastry?   Or a more pasty toaster? Or a more tasty patsy?  Or a more testy poster? 

I will leave that for the philosophers.  And the on-line reviewers.

On Wednesday afternoon, after weeks of absolutely broiling temperatures, a weak cold front rolled through Dallas.

During the summer here in Dallas (and early September is still summer here), when the weather chappies say that “a weak cold front will be moving through the area”, what they really mean is that the temperature will plummet from 102 F all the way down to 100 F (39 C to 37 C), with the wind ticking up to about 2 MPH and the humidity dropping from 78% to 75%.

But what happened THIS time is that it started raining.  And it kept on raining.  And it did not stop raining.  All through the afternoon and evening, into the night, and on into the wee hours of the morning.  When it was all said and done, my rain gauge said we’d gotten nearly 3.5 inches of rain in a mere 12 hours. 

And it would not lie about something like that.  I had a stern talk with it after the last incident.

Anyway, three and a half inches in 12 hours is not a record, by any stretch of the imagination. 

But my imagination does not stretch all that well.  It is kind of brittle and does not react well to being in shear.  It prefers torsion.  And who doesn’t?

But the best part about the weak cold front that moved through is that it dropped the temperature from about 97 to 55 F (36 to 13 C). 

Weak cold front, indeed! 

In my opinion, it qualified as the Charles Atlas of cold fronts.  Or was it the Chuck Norris of Y-fronts?

The rest of the week was rather bland in comparison.  And since it was bland to begin with, you can well imagine the new heights in blandness it achieved.

Or maybe you can’t.

The human brain can fathom only so much blandness.  They don’t call it gray matter for nothing, because all that matters is grainy grayness matter matters matter in the matter of matter of a madder manner matter.

And you can take that to the bank.

Anyway, enjoy your Saturday, though I suspect it is already too late for that.

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