Apocalypse in Real Time

I've come to the conclusion that the man in the "End Of The World" sandwich sign who used to shout out crap while thumping on his bible on Powell Street in San Francisco was totally correct.

Obviously, like every other sane person in the world, I believe that the fact that all of California has gone up in flames is proof that god doesn't love us anymore. Weep, my people, weep! Even though California goes up in flames every year, this year it's personal.

The snow on Mt. Shasta has melted. A volcano who has remained snow capped every year, all year, is now denuded of it's blanket. A stripped Shasta is clearly proof of something.*

Somehow it seems almost more alarming to see the incredible shrinking lake Shasta with it's banks exposed like Pamela Anderson's breasts right down to the edge of her nipples. This isn't something we're supposed to see.

In a world that sometimes feels abandoned by all graces and hope, a pub feels more spiritual than a church. Especially with its promise of comforts and Refuge...drink...food (incredible rarebit)...and light. It's all here at "The Black Sheep" in Ashland Oregon where we landed last night with nowhere to stay, tired, hungry, and with our unwelcome constipated dog.

Happily there was one room to spare in this full up town. One room. Edge of town on the precipice of nowhere. It wasn't even a pet friendly room but they made an exception for us tired travelers. And so, we head out again into the scorch to find more food and then head home where we are always welcome, where our dog can relax, and where frogs multiply.

**My kid just asked me if I like "being in cars at night, all protectified". Nice made up word. He also called my boobs "invincible" a few days ago. Kids are pretty funny.