By the time you read this, I will already be dead

... okay, no, not really. But I've always wanted to write a sentence like that, and given the "We don't quite know where the fuck she's going" status of Hurricane Fay, it seemed like as good a time as any.

No, seriously, Fay is wacky. I have never, ever, heard of a Hurricane/ Tropical Storm that actually gained speed over land, and current predictions have her going out into the Atlantic, gaining speed, and making nearly a 90-degree turn to have yet another go at Florida.


As it stands right now, though, things are copacetic at Chez Palette. All we've gotten is some rain, which is nothing compared to the reports of flash-flooding in counties further south. Which is ironic, because around this time last year we were contending with wildfires from the dry season.

Welcome to Florida: If you aren't burnt to a crisp, you're drowned.

At any rate, I spent all of Monday afternoon putting up storm shutters which, for those of you who live in less meteorologically exciting states, are overlapping sheets of corrugated metal (sometimes steel, usually aluminum) that protect the windows of a house. This also gives a home that zesty quonset hut look.

By the time the last of the shutters was up, it had started to rain. Excellent timing on our part. Of course, now that the shutters are up, we've sandbagged the porch, bought a crapload of supplies and distilled several gallons of water, the storm is sure to miss us entirely.

It's rather like getting all dressed up for a party, only to stay at home and watch bad reality television while eating leftovers.

Ah well. I comfort myself with the knowledge that this house is now conveniently zombie-proof as well. I figure we're rated for anything up to the Boyle threat level; making this house rated for Romero-scale operations would require barricades, a deep well, and lots more guns.

Erin Palette: 70% chance of surviving a zombie apocalypse, and rising fast.