Hot, Hot Anger Abounds

Jesus . . . look at the utter contempt on her face. She looks genuinely pissed about this Native American summer we're experiencing. She looks like Elin Woods probably did the night she discovered the extent of Tiger's impressive whoring. I think standing in the 9News Back Yard(TM?) in a black blazer during the record heat simply pushed her over the edge. It's really awesome to see. She's taking a stand against mother nature for all us sinners. This aggressive heat will not stand . . . man!


ZOMG! 92 Degrees? How will we ever make it through the day? It was 113 Degrees Fahrenheit in Los Angeles on Monday. Think about that. That's Middle East hot. That's ball-soakingly hot. That's Egger in the sauna hot. Wait . . . where am I going with this? I must be feeling the heat stroke. Wait . . . no . . . that sounds terrible. Here, look at this:



He apparently knew the Barrel Man well and goes by the moniker "Limo Driver." This was during the record heat and after the Broncos unfortunate 27-13 loss to the Colts. I appreciate this gentleman. And he's wearing a denim-like jacket/long sleeve shirt in the boiling afternoon sun. Is he sad? Fuck no. He's happy and hustlin' . . . like we all should be . . . regardless of the temperature.

Speaking of anger, I would be remiss if I didn't tip my cap to the anti-meteorologist rant unleashed by Drew Magary, one of my all time, top five favorite internet personalities. To wit:

Weathermen(women) are the reason your children will become complete pussies when they grow up. No joke. They cancel schools these days if there's a goddamn inch of snow on the ground, and weathermen(women) overhyping storms is part of the reason why. If a weatherman(woman) was shot tomorrow, I would not be sad. I would send the killer a hot post-op tranny to have sex with.

If you're not familiar with Mr. Magary, I hope you become so in the near future.

And a very special thanks to reader and friend of the site Frosty "Jay" Rehmersma for the photos associated with this "story." You're a good man . . . and thorough.

Crystal Balls Out

It's a dark day, my friends. If you haven't heard the news, brace yourselves (and this is going to hit Billy Axelrod particularly hard), FKS favorite Crystal Egger has gone corporate. According to our good friends at the Denver Post, Crystal has begun employment with the Weather Channel. This is what she had to say about leaving the Mile High City:

"It was an honor to live there for four years. But I won't need a snow shovel when I report on your first blizzard." She may have possibly continued, "I will miss Flip Washington most of all. His intense love for weather and for me made my time in Denver the most passionate period of my life. I owe everything I have to him."

It's flattering, no doubt, but also disturbing. I know it won't be long before my idol Jim Cantore woos her with his superior understanding of the pressure gradient and it absolutely sears my soul. But what the hell, it was a good ride while it lasted. I salute Crystal for her service here. Her forecasting, for the most part, was conservative. But her attitude and expert use of makeup were always positive. I'm going to miss her. Farewell, my sweet snow angel.

Speaking of Weather Channel talent, I encountered what appears to be a forecasting mirage during my travels this summer. Let me set the scene . . . I was driving recklessly from Seattle to Denver one brilliant day in July with the intention of stopping in Bozeman, Montana for drinks, regrettable romance and maybe a few winks. Due to a glut in Yellowstone tourists, every hotel from Bozeman eastward was full. At 2:00AM, I finally found a place in Billings . . . a Howard Johnson's with sticky carpets and an air conditioner that rattled the entire room.

It was also filled with bikers who preferred to stay not in their rooms, but in the parking lot outside. Said parking lot was adjacent to my room. This meant I had the honor of listening to them scream like animals and break bottles for two hours. It reminded of college . . . but with a sinister edge.

Circumstances as they were, I knew I wasn't going to get much sleep so I flipped on the Weather Channel. This is what appeared:

Needless to say, things got lusty in a hurry. What she was forecasting is all a blur. How she forecasted it will forever be burned into my psyche. Ninety one degrees never felt so good. But I never caught her name. And a review of the Weather Channel's personalities page provides no clues to this weather vixen's identity. So I turn to you, dear readers, and ask you to use your disturbing internet stalking skills and reveal the name behind the face. Inquiring weather minds want to know.

Lastly, please enjoy the scene I witnessed as I left the HoJo at 9:30AM:

There's a Lot of Weed Going to Waste

Norhwest view from westbound I-70 - Sept. 5, 2010

The canyons west of Boulder are aflame and that can only mean one thing . . . thousands of pounds of pot are being incinerated, but not being properly consumed. Actually, I don't know that for sure . . . I'm merely assuming that the hills northwest of Boulder are full of growers and connoisseurs. This is what I was led to believe after living in the area for five football seasons.

So it's a serious situation. And I probably shouldn't make light of it considering four people are missing, dozens have lost their homes, a popular ranch has burned and they still don't have it anywhere near under control. It's certainly not funny.

But I am continually amazed at people who choose to live in the mountains and then are devastated when a forest fire eventually destroys their property. Fires have been burning in forests since the dawn of time and that's never going to stop. It's nature's way of cleaning and unless you take some pretty radical precautions, you'll be swept under the rug right along with everything else.

I think you assume a pretty high risk when you decide to settle down in a dry, wooded area and I'm not sure you should be surprised when disaster strikes. I would think, if I owned land in such an area, I would be mentally prepared for the day when my house would be reduced to ash and foundation. But every time a fire roars through an affluent mountain town, the majority of folks you see on the news are pained and weeping. And maybe that's the media being dramatic, but, dammit, no matter who you are, you should realize where you live and suck it up. Take your insurance, rebuild, and rest easy knowing that you won't have to deal with another fire for probably the rest of your life. The forest will be back eventually. If not for you, for your kids or grandkids.

That said, I am rather surprised, given where this fire is burning, that they didn't employ the Evergreen Boeing 747 Supertanker. They used several aircraft today to drop 35,000 gallons of retardant. The Supertanker can drop roughly 20,000 gallons in one trip. And I know, for an absolute fact, that the thing is just sitting at an airport in San Bernardino, CA. Seems like a waste of resources.

Dressed in Yellow, Saying "Hello"

God damn I've missed you guys. Just want to let you all know that I'm alive and well and getting geared up for the season. I know there's probably a lot of analysis and chiding and browbeating I could do around here during the summer but, like any professional, I need my time off. Summer fucking sucks anyway. The heat makes me shudder and sweat. It also confuses me. This is no state to be in to properly mock the palm readers who like to paint themselves as predictors of weather.

But fear not, good things are afoot. As you can see, I worked hard on creating a new banner for the site. I'm also on Twitter now . . . my handle or call sign or whatever you call it is @flip_washington. I have one tweet so far. It's about Hurricane Earl.

Anyway, things will start cranking up around here soon so tell your friends. I love you all and look forward to a glorious six months of blown forecasts and awful fashion statements from the matron saint. Join me, won't you? And have yourself a fine Labor Day weekend.

Yours until the Mayan Calendar Runs Out,
Flip