It would seem as if winter is about to break as, though I did no follow-up, I heard strangers on the street mention that Punxsutawney Phil (PP for short, and yes, I have to verify the spelling of Punxsutawney every time I type it), did not see his shadow and winter should be receding. This would be cool or, rather, warm, but while I'll complain about winter, I kind of like it all the same, and I was settling in for a little of it. I think it's simply that, when it's over, it is another indication to me that a lot of time has passed and I stop to assess where the old life is headed.
In the name of alliteration I alluded to whiskey as well, and boy do I ever love me some of that. Winter has a way of improving the taste. And, thanks to a tip from a chum of mine (I resist the urge to draw in real names sometimes in here due to the internet and anonymity and stuff and things), I read about the following earlier this week or late last. It's a quick link, or concise summary rather of a man who survived near-nakedness in sub-zero temperatures due to an excessive blood-alcohol content (BAC, which might stand for bad-ass constant except that to drink that much is actually just stupid). Cool story though. I'm excited for the roaring 20s to be a historical epoch and not the weather forecast which isn't even accurate because it's been teens and single digits. It's not even that bad, since I kind of like the feeling of my beard and nose-hairs freezing.
I'm already a little bit excited for it to be 11:11 on 11/11/11. And it'll happen twice. But I'm also in no hurry for it to get here.
Anyway, my feet smell. Time for new insoles, new shoes, or perhaps new feet. Come on science, redeem this stinky-footed bastard...
