So back to March. March. Yeah. Hmmm.
In March I went to Vegas.
It's not my kinda town, but it gave me an opportunity to take a helicopter tour of Lake Mead, the Hoover Dam, and the Grand Canyon. I much prefer the majesty of the naked earth to the glitter and glam of Vegas, its air diffuse with schmaltz, smoke, and despair.
I don't know my Canyon geog, but I'm pretty sure we toured what is known as the west rim.
The desert landscape was awash in what looked like green mold. We oohed and aahed over the fact that Vegas recently received a whopping five inches of rain. Little did we know, our basement was filling up with 18 and one half inches of water. Maybe even at the exact moment I took the above picture.
18 and a half inches.
Oh March, first you murder Randy Rhoads when I was just a young bubelah, then you go and, well, you know what you've done over many, many years. Now this? March, you are so dead to me.
Or not. Oy.