The "big" blizzard of 2022 turned out to be less of a whammy than predicted. But it sure was pretty. A fine misting of sparkly snowflakes that accumulated to less than a foot (I actually went out and measured with my foot) in Lopstick:
With the winter freeze in full force, I am hibernating and going down the rabbit hole of artificial intelligence. Specifically, artificial intelligence as funneled through avatars for public consumption. Besides the obvious shocking revelation in the video, I am also shocked that I am better at math than an AI!:
What to do when you're hibernating in your burrow? Go further down the rabbit hole... The Colden Common is a parish in (Old) Hampshire. New Hampshire (including Lopstick) is now having a colden spell. Surprisingly, Google returns 0 results for "spell for coldness." (0 is not, however, the baseline for cold in all temperature scales.) And here is boiling water turning into snow in the Mount Washington Observatory, New Hampshire wind:
The miasmic mist is back... flowing from the abandoned tannery... The sulfur smell is so strong that it permeates my trailer, even with the doors and windows shut tight for days, and the air purifier on full blast. One day last week I stepped outside with some compost, but didn't make it to the compost pile. The stench was thick as the mist that perpetually envelopes the Lopstick valley. So I left the bucket of slop to freeze on my snow-covered grill. My new next-door neighbo
Yesterday I spent a quiet evening at home (as usual) and celebrated the coming new year with a bottle of hard iced tea. A little before midnight, I went to bed. A few minutes later, gunshots. That lasted for about fifteen minutes. And they were absolutely gunshots instead of fireworks. Maybe the Lopstickers finally got the message that the sound of fireworks is disruptive to the woodland creatures (also to cats and dogs). But why my neighbors would substitute loud bangs with.