Other Weird Weather Patterns

When we returned from spending the holidays in the States, we were slightly dismayed to find that our apartment was freezing and we had neglected to get a gas bottle for our portable heater (or a #25 wrench so that we could swap out one from the grill). After spending a few blanket-covered, teeth-chattering days, we finally got our act together. Although we can only heat one room at a time and don’t feel comfortable using it while we sleep (the pilot went out once and the thought of waking up to a roomful of natural gas is unpleasant, to say the least), it works pretty well. Amy hasn’t yet mastered its nuances and has thus dubbed me the “Heat Boss.” The title is perhaps evocative of a villain you might fight at the end of a particularly difficult level in a 30s-style, gangster-themed video game.

Aside from chilliness, another unwelcome winter addition to our domicile is the mosquito. During the warmer months, we had a few of these insect visitors, but they were infrequent, small, and slow moving. The colder months have inexplicably brought a different variety. At first, we didn’t see them but rather would hear them at night in bed (and awaken with their handiwork on our hands and arms). I imagined them to be hulking, white-furred “snow mosquitoes.” However, the light of day eventually revealed them to be more garden-variety in nature.

Not to be cliched and talk about the weather, but the weather has been strange the last few days. Last night we went to Torino and at one point I said, “What’s that sound?” I looked outsided to see that it was hailing buckets. Later when we walked to the corner to catch a cab, there where patches of these ice-pellets on the sidewalk large enough to make snowballs with.

Earlier today, whilst attempting to get motivated to work, the sun was shining in through the sliding glass doors amidst a total downpour. I don’t know if it’s apparent in the photo below.

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Today is also the Muslim self-flagellation holiday of Ashurah. It’s a largely Shi’a celebration in which the faithful gather in the streets to beat themselves in commemoration of the death of Mohammed’s grandson Hussein at the Kerbala massacre. Amy’s in the next room watching some of the celebrations on TV. Apparently here in Lebanon, Hezbollah has appropriated the occassion as a platform for denouncing, among other things, some cartoons or something.