SEA BREEZE, LAND BREEZE

Two days home.  We’re all still exhausted and not quite past the fear.   Each summer of my marriage I’ve had the sea breeze vs. land breeze conversation in Avalon, always occasioned by the biting flies.  Except for last summer, our first beach miss ever.   

Today an old friend contacted me, saying that recent life changes made him want to move from L.A. to the East Coast where he could join the people he felt closest to, but our Polar Vortex was dampening the inclination, killing the impetus.  Tomorrow another L.A. friend is meeting me at the Liberty Bell, which should be gay and special.  She’s a New Yorker originally, but moved west with our former company a long time ago.  The weather doesn’t retard or frighten her.  At this point it terrifies me.  I would like to move to Turks and Caicos yesterday.  It’s a terrific place.

Roxy Music: Sea Breezes (Live Link)

MOON ON THE RAIN

“The first of a thousand and one confusing things about weather is: why wind from a storm doesn’t come from the direction of that storm.  The second is: why high pressure doesn’t blow outward and directly into low pressure (like air from a balloon does), into the surrounding atmosphere.  The explanation is that we are used to measuring things with earthly “yardsticks,” whereas the laws of space make things look illogical.  To us, the horizon is flat, but from the moon, I guess that horizon looks pretty round.”

 

Note: Eric Sloane's inquiries, explanations and, most of all, his remarkable artwork (not shown here, but in other recent posts) concerning weather science and our place in the ordered/disordered universe, enlighten and ennoble us. The excerpt above is taken from the Cyclonic Storms chapter of his superb Book of Storms (Hurricanes, Twisters & Squalls).


But tonight, sitting here in the teardown ruins of USA today in virtual company of three pencil-neck millionaire tv pundits -- a liberal plus two flanking conservatives -- jawboning pseudo-provocatively about Obamacare (the liberal's punchline/coda, which went down smoothly among the group, I'm sorry to report, was essentially "but this doesn't affect any of us, so who fucking cares?") forced me bed contemplating that hoary Chicago lyric:


"Does anybody really know what time it is?  Does anybody really care?"
 

The horizon appears flat, illogical, hopeless (period).  I long for the long view, the magical moon view, and sometime once again, possibly, a good night’s sleep.
 

Fairground Attraction: Moon On The Rain (Link)