Winter, More Like Looster

It won’t stop, guys. It just keeps coming. And coming. And falling. And chilling the bones. My blood is warm, but barely. When the day begins, I kiss my wife goodbye as she leaves for work, and I kiss her hard knowing either one of us may be later found frozen in a parking-lot ice-block.

My friend asked me, the one who Skypes from the West, how the weather has been. My answer lasted for ten minutes, and it sounded like this:

“Every week there’s this new storm. It sounds great because storms only last for two or so days. So you think, hey, alright! We just have to make it through this storm. And then, there’s another storm. Another freak wind tunnel. Another polar vortex. And you start thinking, why the Hell are we doing this to ourselves?”

My friend’s eyes wide, I decided to cool off: “How have you been?”

Weather or Not

There’s just something different about East Coast winters. I survived a few north Idaho winters; yes, it gets cold there and the snow falls. But it’s beautiful. The mountains whisper warning, and you’re thankful for them.

Rochester? There’s no mountains. No warnings. There’s no thankfulness.

The other day—as I exited a building—an icicle fell from three floors up and nearly killed me. Sure, I exaggerate from time to time, but the icicle, you see, (a hearty size) literally crashed a yardstick away from where my frigid feet stood. You can’t even be happy when the temperature rises because, WATCH OUT!, the ice is melting and it wants to kill you.

So here I type. I look out the window and every two or three minutes the type of snow changes: Fluffy snow, hard snow, flaky snow, wet snow, windy snow, jerk snow, i-hate-you snow.

What I’m getting at is that I need a break. I need to go to Florida. I need to see an ocean.

Hey you! Yeah, you! The one with the two Disneyworld tickets (oh! how they weigh you down…), I will gladly take them off your hands. Forward them to me. You know you want to. Oh lord, you have to!

A Decent Proposal

Here’s what I promise to do after you send me 2 DisneyWorld Tickets (airfare optional, but highly recommended):

1. Change the name of my blog to “TheNumber(YourName)” until winter is over.

2. Buy a churro for a kid who looks like he needs it

SIDE NOTE: Ask for kid’s parent’s permission first.

3. Have a great time with the wife.

No rush. Just promise me you’ll think about it. Until then, have a good rest of your weekend. Remember to warm your car up. Lord, warm that car up. I’ll just be here. In Rochester. Thinking about that churro. Do it for the churro. Do it for the kids. Do it for World Peace.

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8 comments

  1. Just remember — what doesn’t kill you only makes you a better writer. All the best writers come from cold climates. Consider the Russian novelists. Wicked winters add bone density to our bodies that give our writing substance. If you want to produce fluff, move to LA. If you aim for greatness, put on another layer and brace yourself for the next storm.

  2. Now I see how you really feel! I’ve been waiting for this post for a long time! I can only imagine what you’re going through; we were happy here in NC to get our eight inches…some of us. And ‘I-hate-you’ snow–Haha! Stay warm. Stay sane.

  3. Man. I’m a few hours south and less snow prone, but seriously! This winter has made me want to expedite my plans to move the fam to Costa Rica. Current forecast there: Low of 60, high of 80…and sunny…for the next week

  4. I cracked up at the churro side comment.

    I also thought of this little newspaper snippet I read about snow, where a guy in Fargo was arrested for using a flamethrower to clear the snow because he was “fed up with battle the elements” and that he did not possess the willpower necessary to move “four billion tons of white bullshit.”

    I had to laugh at that.

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