From CNN.com this evening:

According to an internal BP document released Sunday by Rep. Edward Markey, D-Massachusetts, BP believed that the worst-case scenario could be as high as 100,000 barrels, or 4.2 million gallons of oil per day.

The figure is the highest yet to surface regarding the leaking oil well.

Hmm. “Highest yet to surface” and “higher worst-case scenario than previously reported” in the paragraph above that. Yet— I could swear I’ve seen that number somewhere before

I’ve never been too worried about being a Cassandra— but getting Laocoön-ed sticks in my head as a threat. When I was in middle and high school, I had a recurring elaborate dream about surviving a nuclear apocalypse by convincing a cadre of followers to retreat into underground Seattle. In thanks for having convinced them to hunker down before the war, the CHUDs elect me mayor of Sewertown— a position I reluctantly accept on the condition they promise to stay deep enough in our new subterranean home to avoid the surface radiation.

Flash forward several years. Two young postbellum sewer tots wander into the hot zone and die horrible prolonged deaths. Enraged, Sewertown blames, turns on and ultimately lynches their previously Honorable Mayor, yours truly.

It was, uh, not a pleasant dream.

When we went camping last weekend, we headed up the Chewuch River valley north of Winthrop to pick from a series of three campgrounds. We picked the one in the middle, Chewuch, in between Falls Creek and Camp 4. I think it’s about here:

It was pretty nice.

To give you a sense of scale on this giant tent we keep talking up to our friends, that tree on the right is approximately 700 feet tall.

The best part? I had assumed we wouldn’t want to stay at Chewuch as it was the biggest— 16 whole sites— but we found it nearly deserted. It was empty enough we went through a vague period of worry that we’d missed signs back in Winthrop regarding axe murderers or rampaging grizzlies.  Our site (#9?) was easily big enough for a ten person group and the only other people (two campground hosts) were on the far side of the grounds— that picture above is from our site aiming towards theirs.

Being a National Forest, we could have just packed up and headed into the hills if there was competition for the campground. (Looking back at that Google Map, I can see a pretty attractive hill site just off a Development Road above the campground, for example.) But— flat ground, no people, river access, scenic surrounding hills, water spigot ten yards from camp; we had it made. The only possible improvement would have been if someone had downed and chainsawed an entire tree at the adjacent campsite…

If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. Sorry about the echo chamber, blog; we’ll start shoveling in the coals again soon.

I’m not one of those Generalized Liberal Anxiety Disorder types and have, frankly, little fear about Dino Rossi beating Patty Murray.

Rossi’s desperate refrain that he’s “not running on those issues” to minimize discussing his views on abortion, the environment and evolution won’t fly now that he’s running for the Senate. (Fun fact— Rossi worked on the campaign against I-210, the 1991 initiative to make Roe v. Wade state law!)

I heard on KUOW’s The Conversation today that one of the Rossi campaign’s strategies is to make a stink out of Murray’s earmarks. This post owes its entire existence to the fact that the Conversation didn’t use the one-liner I emailed them:

If Dino Rossi thinks complaining about money coming into Washington state is an effective campaign strategy, I wish him the best of luck in his personal campaign to prove that the third time may, in fact, not be the charm.

When Lewis and Clark were setting off on their expedition, amateur paleontologist and Enemy of Freedom Thomas Jefferson asked them to keep their eyes peeled for any extant Megalonyx, the giant ground sloth that once called North America home. They obviously didn’t find any; the Clovis or a comet got there first. But, God, is it fun to imagine if they had…

If I ever tricked a Dino De Laurentiis type into spotting me the cash for a big budget Hollywood film, I’m pitching a period piece where the Lewis and Clark expedition traverses a heartland crawling with megafauna. Toussaint Charbonneau is introduced taking down a mammoth; Charles Floyd is stalked and killed by a Smilodon. This stuff writes itself!

I seriously lol’d.

And another one bites the dust.