Busy Bee Cafe

 

Art Imitates Cats (or vice versa)

 

On the Phrase, Cold Snap

   I was sitting here, thinking, if you can call it that before the third cup of coffee, as the morning sun streamed through the living room windows and exploded inside with blinding splendor, would it be appropriate, after all these weeks, to call the latest weather event involving the catastrophic displacement of the Polar Vortex a cold snap?  

It hardly seems appropriate. I've seen cold snaps, and I've worked outside in them, and sat in my truck with the heater running in them, and shivered and cussed atop telephone poles in them, and this was no cold snap. A cold snap, more often than not, comes quickly, with clear, cloudless, sunny skies. They only last a day or two.  They are almost invigorating. 

This slog of dismal, dreary, bone chilling cold was more like, I don't know, an Arctic plunge. We sank into it with almost deceptive slowness, and we endured it until it was over. We lived through it, might be the best thing you could say about it. And I haven't even seen my gas bill yet. 

Letter to my Senators

My letter to each of Missouri's Senators: 

 I urge you to deliberate carefully and honestly, of course, but my vote, if I had one, would be to convict. You represent me. If you vote to acquit Donald J. Trump, that will, in my opinion, be a failure on your part of one sort or another, as the information before us, combined with the obvious past behavior of the ex-president that we could all see and read with our own eyes, that tells us to convict, is overwhelming. 

Please consider how dangerous it will be to allow Trump to continue his political career when he has demonstrated the violent and negative effects of his chosen constituency--the mob that he has under his control--and to what lengths he will go to achieve his personal and political agenda. 

 Thanks for your time. 

 Roy DeGregory

One President at a Time: Now Biden

It's been a crazy winter so far, really. Unseasonable, with plenty of warm breaks--at least here in Kansas City. But it's a good morning--another warm couple of days on tap. And to make it nicer, it's been weeks where we have not had to hear about tweets and announcements from the washed-up, ex president, or his ex-press secretary, who kind of looked like a deranged Barbie Doll, and who was finally replaced by someone who looked . . . normal, like a regular professional. 

Kind of refreshing. 

Trump is still trying. His announcement of the new legal team he has lined up for his pretend defense of impeachment charges was shot through and through with the phrase "45th President," (five fucking times) and the announcement itself came from what Trump pathetically calls "45 Office," as if to remind us all that, much to our dismay, we can't take that away from him. Not that we'd want to.  He can keep it. 

I can't help but wonder if the ex-presidents club, of which Tr*mp is now the least senior member, is a little dismayed, though, like the ex-SNL Hosts club must feel about Steven Seagal.

Ooh.  Partly cloudy, high of 44!