Not Raining.

No rain here in 27408, though it surely rained over on Oak Street in 27403, where ANYLF had briefly stationed its senior reporter in order to run, with TLK, a couple of screen doors through a table saw and cut off zero fingers in the process — though we tried. The safety label people would have had our asses if they'd seen the way we operated that saw without having duly consulted the Owner's Manual, which comes in so many languages you'd think people had table saws the whole world over. I myself now pretty firmly believe you should have to have a license to operate such a thing as a table saw, but still I want one of my own. Je voudrais un saw du table. Is that how that goes? Je voudrais un license du saw du table.

I was desperately in love with my French TA at UGA. Please forgive my conjugation, among other things needing forgiveness. I couldn't hear her explain the language for all the angels singing.

In other news, friends and fans of weather, we may have earned ourselves a tropical storm. It's far too early in the game to be sure of anything, but Fay looks as of right now to give us a fair shot at some rain mid-week. She's forecast to run up the western coast of Florida and this-wayward, and if that holds, we could be pulling southern moisture into the forecast from about Monday on. Perhaps Tuesday. Wednesday would be the good day, the big rain day— and by then, surely, Fay will have fallen entirely apart, or will have headed into Mobile instead of Tallahassee, but, dammit, August is busted, and it's not deadly hot, but it is dry as all hell, so could we please have Fay, please? The thing is not even forecast ever to become a hurricane, so we could have all the beauty of tropical rainfall without all that pesky property damage and pestilence that arrives with your more calamitous storms.

Fay. Je voudrais Fay. I have to say that I'm not at all sure that voudrais means anything like 'would like to have.' Je m'appele Fay. She had dark brown hair, my French TA. I failed every oral exam I ever went to her cubicle to take because all I could do was stare at her and think about how, soon enough, we'd be in some dacha on the Mediterranean together drinking absinthe and plucking grapes out of each other's navels. No one should ever have to be twenty years old. No one.