Houston, as you may have heard, has recently had some Weather.

Heathen Central escaped fairly unscathed from an existential point of view, but with some fairly basic spiritual failures: namely, the unimpeded flow of electrons into the household has been, well, impeded. Further, attempts at the usage of electrons to communicate with the outside world, in any media whatsoever, fails utterly. Additionally, the lack of incoming electrons has prevented the communication with the satellite entertainment overlords, which completes a sort of trifecta of failure, and there we are.

In the face of these problems, we’ve decamped to Camp Ike, in the bizarre Heights area of Houston. Wild and untamed, the Heights are chockablock with Cottage Folk, Neovictorians, and snooty yuppies, but also turns out to be the home of longtime Heathen associates Joie Brun and Karl Ludwig, whose union is in some small way the fault of Heathen Central. (It’s a long story we will no doubt someday relate to their charming pair of tykes.) Somehow, these fine folk have managed to find themselves among the tiny, tiny minority of Houstonians (sub 5%) for whom the free flow of electrons remains unimpeded. They, too, are unable to communicate with the satellite overlords, but the presence of incoming electrons means the conversion of heat to cold continues unabated, and the Intarwub remains accessible.

Consequently, not only have Mrs Heathen and I packed our bags for bizarre Heights environs, but also the Ear o’Corn clan, Rhymes-with-Schloachim, and the dynamic duo of Ultilopp and Mama Nia. Joined in our adventures by Papa Brun — on loan from his usual clan in Florida — we will empty freezers, make cocktails, play Rockband, and fight crime from this ersatz Hall of Justice until further notice.

It might be fun to build a table of length-of-acquaintance for this little party, but it’s complex and wacky and I’m not gonna do it right now. I will note that multiple of these relationships date back to 1989 at least, and Ear O’Corn and I have been co-conspirators since 1986. Ultilopp and Mama Nia are relative newcomers, but they fit in like custom parts. Camp Ike may not be ideal, but goddamn I’m sure it’s gonna be fun, and it’s hard to conceive of a group of folks I’d rather be inconvenienced with (or that we’d rather inconvenience).

And all hail Joie and Karl for their generosity. Photo documentation is, we suspect, inevitable.

Inshallah.