Slack Tide: 40 random thoughts on yet another rainy summer morning

The deep thoughts flow like raindrops down the window pane.

More rain. “Quelle surprise.”

This depth of apathy can only be conveyed in French.

Alaska summer daylight wreaks havoc on my sleep cycle no matter the weather.

Honestly, those late-night jalapeno poppers aren’t exactly helping, either.

Why did the kids have to give me a FryDaddy® Plus for Father’s Day?

A prime component of the water cycle, rain is responsible for depositing most of the fresh water on the planet. In Juneau, it’s also responsible for washing most of the cars.

I really shouldn’t check Apple News. Damn, no going back to sleep now.

Is 6:07 a.m. too early for Jameson’s in my coffee? I mean, I’m not driving anywhere… for days, realistically.

I am hereby removing all clothing from my wardrobe made of material that doesn’t end in “-ex”, “-ene” or “-ece.” Maybe I’ll hang on to some Carhartts, you know, in case I need to dress up for socially distant outdoor cocktails.

No matter the time, no matter the day, conditions have remained exactly the same every time I’ve looked out the window for the past month. And I think I like it.

Wait, does that make me depressed?

Wait, does worrying about being depressed make me paranoid?

It’s early August. The outdoor thermometer reads 47 degrees. My kids are begging me to take them swimming at a lake that’s probably about the same temperature.

Each year on Earth, 121,000 cubic miles of liquid precipitation falls. That eases my guilt about peeing off the deck.

I need more coffee.


Better brew up another pot.


Rain is caused by moisture traveling along zones of differing temperatures and pressures, known as weather fronts. It is also caused by deciding — what the hay? — not to put up your tent fly.

In a pinch, can’t you re-use the same coffee grounds? People steep tea bags more than once. I don’t see why it shouldn’t work.

Oh, that’s why.

Looks like it’s Irish coffee, minus the coffee, for me…

Raindrops, themselves, form when water vapor in the air condenses. Contrary to popular belief, they aren’t shaped like teardrops—they actually look more like hamburger buns, which makes sense, considering how strongly I crave French fries on rainy days.

How many times do I have to say we’re not going to Auke Lake? Because I’d rather just take care of it all at once.

How does wet cement ever dry around here?

Scientists strongly suspect other planets experience rain, though it may be composed of methane, sulfuric acid or molten iron.

Although, on the other hand, a few scattered molten iron showers might prove a welcome change. And at least it wouldn’t be a cold rain.

Artists who have recorded songs with the title “Rain.” The Beatles, Madonna, Creed, Jose Feliciano, Debbie Harry, Terence Trent D’Arby. Remember him?

Is it just me, or is starting to clear up?

Nope, just me.

Why did I even bother with a vegetable garden this summer? I should’ve planted rice.

If all of the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops, we’d be going into hyperglycemic shock right about now.

The Köppen climate classification system defines a rainforest as receiving at least 69 inches of rainfall a year. Juneau averages 58, which technically makes its climate “humid continental.” Turns out we don’t live in a rainforest after all.

When people moan about soggy stretches like this, I’m still going to say, “Well, we do live in a rainforest.” Sounds a lot better than “Well, we do live in a humid continental.”

You know that awesome smell of fresh rain? That comes from petrichor, a plant oil absorbed by rock and soil, released by rainfall. Or Axe Body Spray.

Cherrapunji, in the Indian Himalayas, is the wettest place on earth, with an average rainfall of 450 inches. Anyone else feeling rain envy?

I hate wearing sunblock so much more. Let’s not forget about that.

We’re rapidly approaching Wild Alaska Salmon Day on Aug. 10, when we officially recognize the state’s most abundant resource (next to drive-thru espresso).

All this rain is destroying my Wild Alaska Salmon Day nativity scene — the roe look great, but the white paint I used for the, um, “fertilizer” started to run. Oh, well. You know what they say: no use crying over spilled milt.

Man, all this Irish coffee, minus the coffee, is making me sleepy. I’m going back to bed. Wake me when it’s snowing again.

• Geoff Kirsch is an award-winning Juneau-based writer and humorist. “Slack Tide” appears twice monthly in Neighbors.

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