baby, it's fucking freezing outside (update)

So, I can't stay to chat because the local news will be on soon and I must watch my nemeses spread their alarmist interpretations of nature -- yes, I'm talking about meteorologists (one in particular). Just got back from a blissfully lingery diner breakfast with our fabulous passing through person, talking about writing and politics and generally offending those around us and drinking strong coffee -- little did we know that impending winter storm doom was bearing down upon us. Quite by accident at the end of our third cups of coffee we discovered this, and I hustled him into the car, pointed the way to Liquor Barn and the interstate with promises that he'd be ahead of the weather.

Posting may be light today, despite my earlier vow, because I'm a bit hungover and there's going to be weather. But I also am not going out in Actual Weather to brave the final consumerism, so maybe there will be something. Anyway, Ms. Tingle Alley is pepperminty and posty. So go visit her. Weigh in on the great debate (natch): is Tom Wolfe's sex ironic or just bad?

UPDATE:

So, the weather people are in a thwarted sort of frenzy, showing and reshowing footage from further north and west of auto accidents and frustrated, bemused travelers at rest stops ("Yes, it's pretty miserable out there. How much did your parents pay for this groundbreaking TV news career you've got going?" Or my favorite, the monosyllabic answers -- "Uh-yah." -- to questions like, "The driving's pretty bad, huh?"). There's impending weather, but it's still pending weather. Right now it's raining and there's talk of freezing rain/ice/snow. I just hope we don't lose power and that the TV can still get here from space (another story for another day).

Christopher picked me up for lunch and we went to the comic book store (you really should be reading Joss Whedon's Astonishing X-Men -- fantastic stuff) and then to the little mediterranean deli we love so. Unfortunately, I was still full from the diner breakfast and not only over-ordered (everything is so good), but the nice cook/proprietor (whose mother's speciality was cooking a whole lamb) kept giving me extra stuff to try -- fancied up with olive oil spices and mint hummus, lentil soup, etc -- while my chicken kabob was cooking. He's one of those guys who really wants to see you enjoy the food and doesn't believe you did if you don't eat it all. I will never eat again. Now I am going to take a nap, during which I will gain a bajillion pounds just from dreams of the food placed before me today.

A few hangovers in the meantime:

-- Make sure to read Talking Points Memo on the whole Kerik thing, it's getting juicy.

-- Ms. Tingle reveals Ayelet Waldman's blog, a tart treat so far.

-- Liz Hand on the darker side of Christmas from last weekend's Wash-Po.

-- The King Kong production diary, complete with questions answered by Peter Jackson. (I can't remember where I first saw this, so apologies for the link absconsion.)

-- Stephen Hunter bemoans the Fockers.