“The Cone of Uncertainty Will Narrow …

… and the probability will increase,” Dr. Neil declared at mid-afternoon, meaning, we think, that the closer Wobblin’ Wita gets to land the better idea we’ll have of exactly where it will come ashore.

Meteorology is complicated, no?

Our own cone of certainty has closed to zero and the probability stands at 100 percent that we’ll be staying home in southwest Houston. The gridlock made up our mind for us (it’s been pretty much as we imagined).

We’re on our own now: the Wal-Mart Neighborhood Market called it a day about noon, Foodarama and Belden’s shuttered later. No Starbuck’s. No Blockbuster (and it’s the end of late fees!). No gas, although at late afternoon motorists had parked their vehicles in front of the bagged pumps, apparently believing that the tankers were on the way (later we noticed cops and constables shooing them away). No nothing, except for Rio Liquors (not interested at the moment) and Los Variedades El Salvador (ditto).

It looks as if about three-quarters of the residents on our block are staying, although we suspect a few may try to steal away in the night. We’re boarded up and iced down. Bring it on, as our president would say.

On somewhere else.