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but nobody does anything about it

Your Humble Blogger feels certain there was something to write about that wasn’t the snow.

The snow! Oh, my lordy lord, the snow.

We only had an inch or two this morning, you know. On top of the forty-three inches since January started, and the fourteen-and-a-fifth inches in December. And when I say we had an inch or two on top of the forty-three inches, what I actually mean is that the new snow fell on top of the places where we piled the old snow, which hasn’t melted. There are at least two places where our snow mound is over 60 inches; the ridge along the driveway and sidewalk is all well over three feet.

But enough about the snow. There was something else I was thinking about, wasn’t there?

We didn’t have much snow here last year. I know Gentle Readers in Greater Philly, particularly, got socked, and the DC area, got a lot more than usual. All those storms got to the eastern seaboard area and then just stopped, dumping snow and snow and snow down by the city of brotherly proverbial, and either never appeared in the Nutmeg state or wheezed a geriatric dusting over us before dying. Ah, the winter of 2009-2010; when it wasn’t worth fixing the zipper on my boots.

But enough about the snow. Were y’all aware that it’s only three weeks until pitchers and catchers report? It’s hard to believe that, I know, when we’re wading through the snow, and supposed to get another eight to twelve inches tomorrow mixed with fucking sleet just for kicks. At least our roof has held up so far; at work it’s nothing but horror stories about roofs and pipes. And complaining about our children not getting any schooling. Not that any of us are really worried about losing the educational content of the school day, we’re all just sick of our kids. And they are sick of us, too; sure, they want a snow day, as long as the weather is nice enough to take advantage of it.

Sorry. I know, I know, enough about the snow. Y’all don’t want to hear about it any more than I do. Let’s see… there’s the State of the Union Address tonight, that should start at nine; it’s not supposed to start snowing until much later, although wunderground says there could be snow showers up until midnight, and then a break until the new storm coming in around 10. And then it goes: Chance of snow, chance of snow, snow, ice pellets, snow, snow, snow, chance of snow. Ice pellets? Are they fucking kidding me? Ice pellets? The National Weather Service doesn’t say anything about ice pellets. Heavy snow, yes, it says heavy snow. Would I rather have ice pellets at this point than more snow? No. No, I would not rather have ice pellets. I would rather have a fucking heat wave.

But enough about the snow. Did you know that it’s Burns Day? Probably over by now, in Edinburgh, with everybody legless on good auld lang syne, and singing the immortal words

The wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw;
Or the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snaw:
Wild-tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars frae bank to brae:
While bird and beast in covert rest,
And pass the heartless day.

Ah, fuck it.

Tolerabimus quod tolerare debemus,


The problem with you writing entertainingly when you're upset is that it makes me wish for more snow so that I'll have something good to read. Which will be a delightful few minutes, sure, but before that and after that there will be all this snow to deal with, or to avoid dealing with. And I'm not actually sure what the snow load capacity is for our street what with the gradual subsidence that it appears to be going through, but I'd prefer that its subsidence continue to be gradual at worst, or cease at best, and not become more suddenly interesting. So I'll offer you a deal: I'll settle for Connie Willis, and not wish for more snow, and you'll renew your old rant offer to your Gentle Readers.

Well, and that is actually Robert Burns writing entertainingly, but I'll take it. And what the heck, I'll re-open the Rant offer: the first five Gentle Readers that apply can have one Impassioned Plea on the subject of your choice. I ask in return that applicants offer (in whatever manner they like) to provide some creative work of their choice to five (or so) applicants of their own.


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