Good morning, friends. Once again, the Mercury's august leadership elected to hold our holiday party on a Thursday, meaning—triumphant karaoke rendition of Bob Seger's "Fire Lake" notwithstanding—that I am not coming to you as my best self.


Which is just as well, since half of Portland's holding off on productivity to gawk at the icy oppression blanketing much of the city. They say it's supposed to thaw eventually, meaning maybe all those records requests I've lodged with the city might get attention? We can only hope.

Anyway, news! This is supposed to be about news. It seems Terri Moulton, the last person known to see Kyron Horman alive, has now threatened her boyfriend with a knife? And made vague promises of violence to his family should he speak to authorities? He's freaked, he tells KGW.

EDIT: I posted this, then I checked the Mercury's web site, and found that we'd just published the most important piece of news and culture you will read this week.

Original post:

Remember how everyone was so happy to listen to businesses who were screaming about Measure 97 being terrible, and assuring us that the state's huge pension obligations—key contributors to an oncoming budget deficit of more than $1 billion—could be handled in other ways? Well, they don't have any new ideas, the O says. Just the same old things no one agrees on, like " raising the retirement age" and "discontinuing public employee pensions altogether."

TriMet is spackling my inbox with service updates this morning. The latest: The MAX's red, blue, and green lines were all messed up, but now they're back! The transit agency really hopes you'll wait until 10 am to use them, though. I don't have a link for you, just that update.

Oregonian columnist Steve Duin pays a visit to SE Foster Road where, yup, people are still losing their damn minds that the road will become more walkable/bikeable/approachable by any conveyance other than an automobile. "I want Portland to be beautiful, but I hate to see this made into a 'pretty' street."

Alabama put a man to death last night. It didn't go great.

And now the portion of the news digest where I update you on ways the direction of the country—mystifyingly, improbably—has turned somehow worse: Donald Trump's pick for labor secretary peddles gross hamburgers, and says things like" "I like beautiful women eating burgers in bikinis. I think it’s very American.” He's also a critic of minimum wage increases.

Meanwhile the NYT is saying that the fossil fuels fetishizing, climate change doubting politician Trump's put atop the EPA might not be able to reverse all the progress that's been made toward cleaner energy. Just, you know, most of it.

And if you really want to slather yourself in the muck of our current predicament, Politico has a looong piece going over "10 crucial decisions" that paved the way for a Trump presidency.

My weather widget says it's still freezing. I'm going back to bed.

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First, though, a shout out to Mercury Senior Editor Ned Lannamann, whose karaoke rendition last night of "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother"—a tribute to the life of John Glenn—made all who bore witness to it better, more reflective individuals.