Stranded in Paradise

Why don't you like snow, they ask. Why do you hate snow, they say. It's so pretty and quiet and peaceful and it means that the angels up in heaven are just having a hell of a yuletide ball.

Except it's a snowpocalypse out there, the likes of which have seldom been seen. It's been snowing non-stop since Friday morning, without pause. And, while this didn't stop the end-of-LOCKDOWN celebration, it did stop the planes.

Logan airport has been essentially shut down for three days, and only a lucky few have gotten out. The rest of us? Trapped. Marooned. Isolated. Mired. Stuck. Stranded. Eating each other for sustenance. PANIC.

So, yes, things have escalated quickly. There are no seats on any planes leaving either Boston or New York for the next few days. As things currently stand, I won't be able to get out until Thursday. Which is, according to Mr. Calendar over there, Christmas day. So yes. Christmas is Cancelled.

So, for me, that makes it Cornell, the Sun, Law School, and Chinese Food for Christmas. I might as well stop pretending, perform my own circumcision and go full Jew.

I'm going to keep tying to get on a plane. At this point, I'll take anything that flies South. Unfortunately, I'm not that optimistic. We have stuff going on that I've never even heard of before. From the NYT:

Thundersnow — a spectacular event in which thunder and lightening accompany heavy snowfall — was predicted to occur over parts of Maine’s Atlantic coast, bringing with it between 12 and 18 inches of snow by late Sunday night.

Thundersnow sounds like either a virulent strain of dandruff, a particular strain of cocaine, or an albino wrestler. It doesn't sound like something you want to fly through.

Nevertheless, tomorrow I will brave Logan Airport and attempt to get on any plane traveling South. If I can get to Texas, I'll be set. After all, I ran across the border to get into America, why shouldn't I have to run back across to get out?