And then I remembered where I lived. So I got out of bed and walked to my window and opened the blinds and stood there staring at the end of the world.
The northeast now finds itself buried by the most overrated weather feature ever to bury God's green earth. The thunder I heard in the morning was actual thunder -- it is a feature of thundersnow, which is what I would call cocaine if I was marketing it to the NASCAR crowd.
Faithful readers know full well my feelings about snow, which have been chronicled in this blog in excruciating detail.
These feelings have not changed, and will likely stay the same forever. Snow is a menace whose existence only serves to destroy convenience at every possible juncture. Sure, it's pretty now, but we're looking at a week of rescheduling travel plans, slipping on ice, searching for safe routes on the sidewalk, and praying that the next step will be onto something solid and not into muddy slush deep enough to eat your foot and ruin your socks and shoes.
So if you do choose to take advantage of your snow day by wrapping yourself in gore-tex so you can hurl yourself headlong into freezing water, be my guest. I myself will pour three fingers of Scotch into a glass, pull a good book from my shelf, and remain warm, dry, and feeling all sorts of toasty inside.
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