The Gods Are Angry

You may have heard that it never rains in California. In fact, we live in a desert as far as the propeller-heads are concerned. Because it never rains, we don’t know how to handle it when it does actually rain (never is an awfully long time Uncle Bob. didn’t you mean “seldom?” – ed Semantics! – bob).

I knew that the roof leaked at the 1912 House, now I find that the roof leaks at the cabin as well. I can’t get away from this stuff. I’ve also discovered that I don’t own any rain gear after I was walking around outside this weekend and got soaking wet. Who knew!

I also found out this weekend that the Chargers stink (what a revelation! – ed). I’m anxious to see them move to another town—just not my new town, but they wouldn’t have the Chargers in Idyllwild anyway—and I firmly believe that the heartbreaking loss last night has cost them a new stadium. Ha! Get out icky Republican Spanos people! Yeah!

My little nephew is unwell again and I’m concerned. He was getting much better from the last bout of feeling crappy, now this. It kinda looks like the flu, but who can say for sure. You can tell that he’s feeling poorly right now. He expended a lot of energy playing Hot Wheels demolition derby with me in the kitchen this afternoon because he knew I wanted to. That’s a giving little kid, don’t you think?

BTW, can you point me to a good (and cheap) transmission guy here in San Diego? The little Dakota needs a clutch and I’m hoping that you can point me to somebody you trust.

Much more later,

bob

P.S. You’re going to love the next bit.