Jay, the Oregonian, was laughing yesterday at how worked up we Californians were getting about this big storm. “It’s just rain.”
Well, yeah, it’s just rain; and, no, I’m not the kind of witch who melts in water. But the problem goes something like this:
Recipe for Disaster
-Take one very large state at the edge of the continent and bake for six months. Temperatures may range from Fog to Wildfire, as long as you ensure that no drop of moisture enters the soil.
-Gather several metric fucktons of water into one Pacific Storm, and dump on the state all at once, taking special care to saturate the areas you seasoned with Wildfire.
-Stir and enjoy; repeat annually.
As I drove home from yoga this morning, about one intersection in three was completely flooded out, filled with ankle- to knee-deep water as storm drains clogged with leaves and junk and just being overwhelmed by the sudden influx. Sheets of water poured down every street; visibility was awful; the radio was full of accident reports. Fortunately, I saw no examples of driver idiocy, though that’s quite typical–everyone has forgotten how to drive in the rain. And the roads are all unusually slick, as all the oil and gunk of the summer hasn’t gotten washed away. Till now.
And of course, this would be the day I would have near-parking-fail at the studio, and had to walk several blocks in this mess. At least I got Super Rockstar Parking when I got home. Small mercies!