rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


Though I was half expecting a truncated autumn this year, and a cold winter, I'm surprised that we're already into witch-tit territory here (though if the witches I've known are any indication, the old legend has no truth to it.) Let's just say that if I had a brass monkey, I'd have to watch my step so as to avoid slipping on his detached balls. Merely heating up a pot of soup fogged my kitchen windows, and the cat refuses to budge from her spot atop the heating vent. Snow is already piling up on the mountains, and it feels cold enough to snow here. Fortunately, the clouds are mostly gone, for now. The afternoon was actually sunny, though the air remained chilled. The fog season has begun in the valley, and there will probably soon be nights when it creeps up the ridge to engulf us as well. I look forward to it.

I found an entire page at the U.C. Berkeley web site about the Sanborn Fire Insurance Maps. These remarkably detailed works are among my favorite maps ever, and I wish the collection was available online. I used to go look at the few books of them that were available at the downtown library in Los Angeles, and found them endlessly fascinating. Now, at those libraries which have them, they can usually only be seen on microfilm, in black and white. The books of big, color maps are rare, and now considered too valuable to be brought out to be touched by the vulgar public.

Also: Brad being Pwned by a Segway.

  • Reset Twenty, Day Thirty-Two

    Friday evening I finally got around to baking that frozen lasagna, and even made some (underdone) garlic toast to go with it. It was quite tasty, and…

  • Reset Twenty, Day Thirty-One

    The last of the not-extremely-hot days, Thursday passed uneventfully, as most days do now. There was no nap, and though I didn't feel especially bad…

  • Reset Twenty, Day Thirty

    Wednesday was delightfully mild, and toward evening the fluffy white clouds that had been scattered about the sky all afternoon began to gather…

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.