At Mr. Lileks blog he points to a recent comment made by Brent Musburger during televised coverage of a college football game, a comment that evidently caused a brief kerfuffle. To wit:

“Wow, I’m telling you quarterbacks: You get all the good-looking women,” Musburger said as the camera focused on Webb, sitting with McCarron’s mother. “What a beautiful woman. Wow!”

Some found the remarks from Musburger, 73, out of line. On Tuesday, ESPN released this statement: “We always try to capture interesting storylines and the relationship between an Auburn grad who is Miss Alabama and the current Alabama quarterback certainly met that test. However, we apologize that the commentary in this instance went too far and Brent understands that.”

Mr Lileks opined: “It’s permitted to praise in beauty your own group and above, but not below; then it’s creepy.”

My thought: If Ruth Buzzi had been nearby to whack Musburger over the head with a purse said kerfuffle might never have occurred. Or, if instead of Ms. Alabama, he’d said Betty White is hot, who would have cared?

Good grief this is Brent Musburger we’re talking about. What he said is about as creepy as a grandpa sneakin’ a smooch with his grandson’s wife on Thanksgiving.

Over three years ago I moved to Alaska for the third time to live and work, from Cleveland where I earned my PhD, where I had traveled to from Alaska, where I had moved to from California to live and work for sixteen years, sans one, during which time I lived and worked in Santa Fe, NM before returning to Alaska. Straightforward, right? Over these twenty three years I owned (or co-owned) and lived in seven different residences: two condos and five houses, including the present house. Make that eight if you include our recently purchased beach house. Throw in the temporary places where I’ve lived, at least four, and you’ll understand why even the mere thought of moving again causes my face to transmogrify into a Munchian Scream.

Before this third (and final) move back to Alaska I told Happy Wife that I intend to take my final breath in this house. This pleased her greatly — the staying put part, not the final breath.

Except for far northern Alaska, the rest of the state has been on a cooling trend the first decade of this century.

Paper here.

Based on mean values obtained from temperature stations located around Alaska (n=20), there was a 1.3° centigrade decrease in temperature from 2000 to 2010, which the authors pointed out is a pretty large value for a single decade. While they also concede that 11 points is a small number of observations with which to compute a trend, and I would agree, evidently the trend held even when monthly values at the individual stations were considered. Personally, I’m not too impressed with the fit of that line to the data. But then again I don’t think one could fit a least-squares line to these data (with equal or greater r-value) having a slope of the opposite sign, which would indicate a warming trend over the decade.

Curiously, the mean temperature in Alaska had been increasing (from background mean) since about 1976 (see Figure 2), so this past decade is a reversal of that trend, something the authors postulate may be due to a change in polarity of the Pacific Decadal Oscillation (PDO).

Okay then.

All I know for sure is it’s unmistakeably winter outside, has been since November, and Maui in February can’t come soon enough!

Reaction to a Viqueen fumble recovered by the Packers…

… while enjoying a bowl of homemade roasted tomato soup dolloped with sour cream and avocado, and cheese bread smeared with spicy red stuff.

Wine was also in evidence.

Tony dumb-gee, the “analyst” on the pregame show, said he expected the Viqueens would win the game because their starting QB was out, and the Packers would be flustered by a Joe Webb offense. They were flustered alright. It was late in Q3 when the Packers were up 24-3 that the flusteredness must’ve really sunk in.

On to San Francisco.

Viqueens starting QB, Mr. Ponder, has been inactivated in today’s playoff game against the Packers. Evidently he has boo-boo elbow. Tsk tsk.

Well then.

Welcome to Lambeau field, Mr. Webb.

[deeply sinister laugh]

Went to the mall today. Happy Wife wanted to have a pair of jeans I’d bought her for Christmas hemmed.

You must be aghast: You bought your wife jeans?

Yup, two pair in fact. I knew it was risky. Told the the saleswoman at Nordstrom as much. But she reassured me and away we went together, amid the countless racks of jeans. Good grief, The Selection. What now? Settle down I told myself, you can do this. First, I ruled out Mom Jeans. No frumpy comfort fit pleated pants for my girl. Uh-uh. And skinny jeans, which accounted for most of the selection, I also knew were out, as I once recall Happy Wife refer to them as “sausage casings.” After considerable browsing I settled for two pair of “slimming, boot cut” jeans designed to be worn low on the waist, one in denim blue and one in black. Cool, I thought, hip without being ho-hum.

Christmas arrived and I crossed my fingers.

She liked them! Except the black pair, she said, may be a bit too long.

Yet after she came out of the dressing today at Nordstrom I was pleased to hear the length, with heels on, was in fact just right.

Score two for the Happy Husband!

Now she needs a new robe (aka “fluffage’), as her old standard permanently resides at the beach house. Until her birthday in March this one will do in a pinch:

Suggest a caption!

NYE @ Jens restaurant:

When giraffes neck it isn’t necessarily because they’re feeling romantic.

Hat tip: Fred Lapides

A bald eagle spotted this morning during our beach walk.

I don’t know what that pole is there for. It towers over the houses on the beach and it’s been there as long as I can recall. We could barely see the mountains through the low hanging clouds and fog — it was over forty degrees on the beach this morning. By the time the dogs and I got back to Anchorage later today it was forty six here, twenty degrees above normal said the teller of weather on TV. I don’t think she’s a real meteorologist. Then again I don’t suppose you need to be, if all you do is read a national weather feed and repeat the prediction for the next five days on the evening news, something she’s been doing for at least twenty years, without any evidence of improvement. She still seems as awkward and uncomfortable on TV as ever.

Like Linda Blair in the Exorcist I swear that eagle turned its head 360 degrees tracking Buddy’s every movement as we passed by. At 15-20 pounds Buddy is probably a bit too large for an eagle’s talons, but it’s not unknown that eagles have swopped down and snatched smaller dogs.

I left Happy Wife at our beach house to prepare mole and tamales for a party she’s hosting for her girl friends, who drove down from Anchorage as I was driving back. By now I expect the six of them are in the hot tub, likely nude, well fed, imbibing, and carrying on.

Our friend Meldyne and Happy Wife chill at the bar after a trying day caring for patients.

I chilled with them, although hardly due to work related fatigue. In fact, this afternoon I sneaked in a nap, having observed the apparent contentment it produced in the dogs who were at the time also both dead to the world. That, and my eyes grew heavy reading Where the West Ends on the Kindle Fire (aka “Kitty”, because we name everything around our house), which should not be interpreted as a slur against the vivid storytelling therein. To the contrary.

The first tale begins with the author and his good friend, both Americans, who we learn love their impromptu road trips, meeting in Turkey. There, the author suggests to his friend they drive to northern Iraq (and back) in two days. Just for a visit mind you. The author had previously visited northern Iraq as a journalist and wanted to re-experience it with his friend. They drive for hundreds of miles along the western and southern borders of Turkey, both of them suffering the symptoms of a nasty intestinal virus of uncertain origin. Eventually, they arrive at the northern border of Iraq, abandon the car there (because evidently only trucks are permitted to cross the border, not civilian vehicles), and then walk and/or taxi over the border under the escort of a suspicious man who we later learn is a Kurd. In other words, one of the good guys. This is 2006, a time when Kurdistan was very pro-American. The author had prearranged for someone to meet them in Iraq to be their escort for the day, but evidently neglected to establish a place where they would meet. After fumbling around for awhile, failing to find an Internet cafe to send an email to coordinate with their would-be escort, they instead settle for the services of another taxi driver who, once he learns these two are Americans, enthusiastically agrees to drive them to the University in the city of Duhok. A place that at first glance could pass for the Simi Valley north of Los Angeles. (Photograph is linked to other photos of Duhok).

That’s about the time a nap sounded good to me.

It wasn’t all pleasure reading and nap time though! No sir. Prior to said reading and nap I worked — yes, worked — to complete a feature in the software our company has been working on for about two years now, which I must say is coming along nicely. Having compiled said feature I immediately put it to use on a project we’re doing for a client, who is interested in our approach for identifying molecular markers of a certain disease they are studying. Sorry to be obtuse, but I think that’s all I’m at liberty to say about it right now.

Ending a diverse day of activity (and non-) in the company of two pretty ladies at a festive bar — what could be better!

Looks like Mr. Gregory may become a victim of his own advocacy.

Donchya hate it when that happens? And to think he thought there were not enough laws banning the possession of such things.

Hat tip: Tam