And just like that, our 70-degree days are a hazy memory, like a Tennessee Williams nostalgic monologue about mint juleps and weeping willows. Your Sister's school had none of this blizzard when I left town, but it was a steady, icy downpour the rest of the way into work, and now I can't see across the street from my tony office window. When the wind throws the gunk against our building, it appears to be snowing up. Upward? I'll say "up."
Your Sis is back in the sick bed, but she ought to be OK for the weekend.
I watched the game last night on and off, and Ellington has a fantastic shooting form. He launches the ball at the absolute height of the jump.
There's an anthology convention article here.
Picture of the Day
It's almost in no way kinda like this at all.