So the Mid-Atlantic region was hit with another major snowstorm (after last December’s Christmas Interruptus), this one so epic that it has been dubbed “Snowpocalypse” and “Snowmageddon” — not exactly catchy monikers that roll off the tongue, but it shows more creativity than “the Blizzard of 2010.” The snow is reportedly heavy, it’s wet, and it just won’t stop falling from the goddamn sky.
And here in New England, we saw nary a flake of snow. We observed our southern neighbors’ flustered frenzy with amused jealousy, like an insecure jock watching the head cheerleader flirt with a nerd. When’s the last time she showed me that kind of attention? Oh sure, we’re had a few inches there, a snow squall there, but 30 inches wasted on that wimpy Washington? He’s not equiped to handle it, let alone appreciate it.
Here in New England, we’d know exactly what to do with 30 inches.
Today we went XC skiing in southern New Hampshire. Pitiful, really, that we’re reduced to skiing on 2-3 inches of icy granules — about as fun as taking a leisurely stroll on a highway shoulder — while, meanwhile, the state of Virgina has run out of shovels.
