Live Update.

It sleeted. For two bursts of fifteen seconds, but still: five minutes ago, at 9:54 a.m., it sleeted here in 27408. There is ice on my front porch.

PTI is reporting almost a half an inch of rain out of this storm, which leads me to this: I'm probably going to have to buy a rain gauge. I love the airport and all, but we do not live on Runway Three. It turns out that if I'm going to do this, I'm going to need to be able to report live from the flowerbed, live from the patio, live from the cracked adirondack chairs. You people deserve nothing less. You hunger for accuracy in all things. Exactness. I'm worried that only divorcees and ham radio operators and scoutmasters have rain gauges, but I'm willing, in the name of science, to take my chances.

It's 49 degrees on the screen porch. It's no longer sleeting. There's a light mist. This is as warm as it's supposed to get all day. Tasks for the day, then: Baby the truck into work (starter, alternator). Survive the afternoon. Survive my late-day meeting. Baby the truck back home. Engage in extraordinary and far-reaching rain gauge internet research. I will have the rain gauge to end all rain gauges. I will have the Official Rain Gauge of the 2008 Olympic Games. Or I could just go look in the bottom of the coffee mug I accidentally left outside six weeks ago.

Still vaguely sad. Still vaguely worried. Slept like hell. But it sleeted. Back to you in the studio, Jim.