Yesterday I went with Kevin and Candice to see the Queen Mary, upon which the Long Beach Scottish festival is held. On our way up, it rained mightily and we crept up the freeway. The emergency broadcast beeps started sounding and Kevin and I glance at the radio, both wondering where the "this is a test" preface had gone.

Apparently, it was not a test. The weather was fierce and mighty thunderstorms marched eastward to perhaps drop tornadoes on the heads of unwary Temeculites. Head for the indoors! said the announcer. It was quite exciting; I do not recall ever actually hearing the emergency broadcast tone without expecting it (as in when I lived in Oklahoma, where tornadoes dropped all over the place and one always had the radio on just in case).

The festival was festive. We shopped some, I met Candice's mom, Kevin and I were accosted by a real imported Scotsperson (we could tell by his teeth) who commented on our utilikilts. The nice thing is it didn't rain much while we were at the festival, for the thunderstorms were heading eastward. On the way home, we listened to the radio to see if a tornado had picked up a house or a cow or something, but no. Although, mind you, I wouldn't want anything bad to have happened, but it was disappointing that nothing had happened at all. All that build up for nothing.