Weekly Rewind - 01/25/2026 - Winter Weather and Failed Robots

Emmylou ponders a crunchy, white yard

Winter Storm 2026, #1

The big news, really, is that we're having a winter storm.

We've known it was coming since the start of the work week, and were able to plan ahead.  On Wednesday, we had some dry-goods delivered that we could eat if the power went out.  Peanut butter, bread, soup in cans, etc...  because if the power goes out, we really can't open the fridge.

And then you mostly walk around your house hoping the power holds.  

Folks from out of state want to point to the grid failure in Texas, and that is certainly a thing we all worry about.  But if you know *how* that happened, it seems ERCOT has that better managed.  The far greater problem is that power lines are hanging on poles, and those poles are near branches.  And if a branch is covered in ice, it might hit the power line, and... there you go.  No one in a few blocks has power.

I was just outside at 11:15, and there isn't really much ice on the actual trees.  Go figure.  We're very lucky.

But there is ice on the ground.  It started coming down yesterday in the afternoon/ evening and stopped before I woke up this morning.

Here's some pictorial and video evidence of the morning.

If you are from a climate where the snow comes down on the regular and like to point fingers at folks in Texas and think we can't handle snow and ice because we're stupid, well...  wow.  Not cool.  

The reason we lock ourselves up is that no one here has snow tires and the roads aren't designed for snow and ice.  Should we do this?  Maybe.  We do now get a storm like this every two years or more.  But as it stands, if people are on the road, people will die, skidding across intersections into oncoming traffic, etc...  And, frankly, I've always lived here and don't know how to drive on ice and snow. 

It's not great that we have to get locked inside every time a bit of frozen precip comes down.  When I was a kid, we didn't really get these types of storms this often, maybe every 3-4 years.  And I do not like the "survival mode" instinct that kicks in thanks to my post 2021-storm PTSD, which a *whole* lot of us have.  You try sitting, trapped in a dark house, watching someone you're sitting with get slowly sicker and sicker because they can't get dialysis.

Plus, the absolute silence and then sound of branches cracking and falling.  Luckily, no "exploding trees"  or whatever happens in Wisconsin.

But because this is not a dire situation, all I'm really doing is hanging out.  Getting some extra work done for work, watching some B-noirs on YouTube and killing time.  

We won't thaw out til Tuesday, and even then, I think next weekend could be a repeat of this weekend.  Winter in Texas, y'all.

When the Robots Fail You

Shortly after Christmas, I decided to get myself something, and I ordered Emmylou Harris's record Cimarron from Amazon.com.  

I was in no rush, so it took a week to show up, and when it did, it was in a curiously shaped box for a record.  Because they had not sent a record, they'd sent a book - Stories I Might Regret Telling You, a memoir of second-generation musical artist Martha Wainwright.

A long time ago now, Amazon started putting robots between you and humans.  And when you *did* speak to a human, it was a very nice person in India working from a script.  And very clearly, for front-line people, deviating from that script would cost them their job.

On the first return, I tried to find options in their flowchart for the correct return.  After all, I wanted that record, and so I went through the options that said "I did not get my item", and Amazon said "righty-o.  We'll just send you a new copy".  

A week later I got a box of alarmingly familiar dimensions and a second copy of Stories I Might Regret Telling You, a memoir of second-generation musical artist Martha Wainwright.   

At this point I realized something was wrong in their inventory system.  Something had been entered incorrectly, and whatever code Amazon uses to pick items from the warehouse was telling the human or robot workers to go grab me a copy of Stories I Might Regret Telling You, a memoir of second-generation musical artist Martha Wainwright.  

Undeterred, and wanting a copy of Cimarron, I got on Amazon.com and this time reached a person and explained my situation, and they admitted I needed to speak to a manager.  This manager told me "no worries, we'll get this sorted".  They even noted that a return wouldn't work as now the record cost more than what I paid for it, which was a discounted price in early January.

Satisfied, I sat back and awaited my record.  

Yesterday, before the ice arrived, I got a package containing Stories I Might Regret Telling You, a memoir of second-generation musical artist Martha Wainwright.  

I have no just told Amazon "forget it, refund me".  And we'll see what happens.  I think they have the record at Walmart.com, so we'll see what happens when I get my refund.

But there are times when I so very much miss a human to interact with.  Like, Amazon's supply chain and fulfillment are amazing, whether from warehouses and drop-shipping.  Much better than most folks.  But when something fails - you are not recovering.  And it's built right into their model.  

At New Years, I'd ordered a calendar, and received a "you received your calendar" message, but... no calendar was found.  Someone out there wound up with a calendar full of photos of owls, but it never showed up here, and my neighbors didn't get it - or kept it!  (they did not get it)

And Amazon was just like "shit, dawg, we don't know where that went.  Here's a refund."  Which makes me wonder how much does this happen?  What sort of profit margins is Amazon running if they can do this?

By the way, I didn't wind up with that calendar because they offered a restock option, but said it wouldn't be here until March.  For a calendar.

So, anyway - different owls now adorn the inside of my cabinet door.

Also - if you need a copy of Stories I Might Regret Telling You, a memoir of second-generation musical artist Martha Wainwright, I am your hook-up.