PUBLIC SERVICE MESSAGE

Tonight is neither the night nor the weather for ass-riding.  Wait.  No, that’s not what I mean. 

It’s snowing.  Actually, it has been lightly snowing most of the day.  A quick check of the forecast reveals that today’s mild temperatures and quiet flurries are about to take a turn for the Arctic chill and another measurable snowfall.  Couple the impending Sunday snowstorm with the Super Bowl, and I make a snap decision:  Grocery store.  Now.

I call my friend, and she makes the equally snap decision to tag along and pick up some stuff she needs, too.  The flurries seem to have stopped, so I race over to her house, fighting the snowbanks at each corner for a few inches of visibility.  Every intersection is a multitude of blind corners, and I start to wonder what in the hell we are thinking when we make the decision to go out at all. 

Our trip to the store is surprisingly uneventful except for a quick game of Marco Polo when we get separated in the produce section.  As we exit to the parking lot, we can see that the flurries have gotten serious.  The snow falls steadily, and the wind howls mercilessly.  The mild afternoon rolls into the pissed off evening, dropping large puffs of white onto our coats while we methodically pack grocery bags into the back of my car.

We are less than a quarter mile out of the lot when we see blue flashing lights.  An accident has just occurred, and the police are about to close down the road for the tow truck that barrels at us from the opposite direction.  We crawl past the wreck to freedom beyond.  I am silently thankful that we became separated in the produce aisle and again at the check-out.  A few minutes faster, and we may have been the recipients of the nasty little crash; a few seconds later, and we’d be stuck in an accident reconstruction zone.

This is when I pick up Tail #1. 

Suddenly a vehicle is right on top of us, racing past the injured car like a bat out of Hell, attaching itself to my rear bumper.  Good god, it’s snowing, the streets still aren’t completely clear, and I have Speed Racer trying to give my car the equivalent of a rectal exam.

“That guy’s riding right up my ass,” I observe, half matter-of-fact and half rip-shit.

“Well,” my friend responds, completely dead-pan, “this is neither the night nor the weather for an ass-riding!”

When she realizes what she is saying, we both crack up.  “Text that to me,” I tell her.  We both know where this is going – straight into the blog.

By the time we get back to her house to unload her groceries, it’s snowing at a decent clip, and I know I won’t be staying to help her unpack the bags nor to beg her for a cup of tea.  It’s a hit-and-run stop, not the same kind we just passed in Lowell, but equally dire.  I know I have to get out of there before the roads get too bad in case this squall decides to sit stationary for a while.

I am not even a half mile from her house when I pick up Tail #2.  Tail #2 follows me for a few miles, a big honking SUV attached to my bumper like an overgrown metallic hemorrhoid.  Even though I drive 30 mph in the 30 mph zone and 40 mph in the 40 mph zone and 20 mph in the 20 mph zone, Asshole is up my proverbial asshole.

My friend’s words come wafting back into my head.  It’s snowy, icy, windy, slippery, and downright miserable.  In fact, it's neither the night nor the weather for an ass-riding, folks, and that is my simple public service message for the day.

ONLY AN ILLUSION

I feel stupid leaving work with a coat on today when we are dismissed at noontime.  Oh, sure, we have to go back tonight for conferences, but when we leave in the middle of the day, it is gloriously warm.

Yup.  It's 28 degrees and feels like late spring.  This is an illusion, of course.  It's still damn chilly out, but compared to the -4 degrees it is when I arrive at work, this change of 32 degrees in mere hours is like the coming of a whole new season.

Since we have a few hours in between, a couple of us head out to lunch, shedding our coats, hats, and gloves.  If it weren't for three feet of snow blanketing the ground, we might be up for a picnic.  Instead we opt for nachos with pulled pork --a stingy amount of meat, but we can't be choosers as this is the second stop because the first stop lost power just as we pulled into the lot.

We are not the only teachers in attendance.  Several surrounding districts are still out of work because the blizzard snow removal hasn't been completed yet, but people are stir-crazy.  An hour so and many laughs later, we are ready to go.  There are still a few hours to go before conferences, so I have time to run home and pretend to get work done (I don't), but this small break in the day has done much to restore our moods.

The sun is shining, the company is good, and the air is warm-ish. I'm almost ready to go back to work tonight, but, like today's temperatures, I'm feeling this also may be an illusion.

DON'T RUSH IT

Yesterday I posted pictures of the beach, lamenting how I am dreaming of summer.

Well, the reality is that it's winter, and not even the middle of winter.  We are barely five weeks in.  I know people have been posting stuff all over the social networks about Florida and being sick of winter and all, but, people, get a grip.  Seriously.  You have to quit your bitching or you're going to lose your minds.

Do I enjoy shoveling?  In a way, yes I do.  I'm outside, I'm in my own world, and the snow is downright beautiful (if just slightly annoying).  Besides, if this keeps up, I'm going to have some kick-ass biceps by spring.  The snow is still fresh enough that everything looks clean.  Everything.  Yup, even Lawrence.

Since I posted about the beach yesterday and I'm eating my own words today, I've decided to post a picture that combines both of these topics.  It's from the Presidential 5k I did over Thanksgiving weekend up in Kennbunk ... just after a snowstorm ... when the temperature was a crisp 13 degrees at the starting point.  I could then (and still now can) only run a bit.  Apparently tendonitis is a months-long recovery.  Maybe I'll never be a distance runner of any kind -- I've always been a sprinter -- but the 3.1 mile walk gave me a chance to take in the surroundings and the absolute glorious scenery that I would've missed had I just run on by with only the end in mind.

Summer is my favorite season, but that doesn't mean I hate the rest of them.  So -- here's to the beach and to winter and the incredible thrill of them both together. 

Take a deep breath and regain your sanity, kids; it's going to be a long stretch until spring, and if you rush it, you'll miss the scenery along the way.

DREAMING OF SUMMER

I’m dreaming of summer.

I’m really hoping that the coastal whacking that the Blizzard of 2015 gave the coast hasn’t altered my favorite beach too terribly.  A couple of years ago, a series of unusual winter storms brought more rocks to the beach and made it a crappy year for swimming there.  The following year, a series of harsh storms took the rocks away again, and my favorite beach was right back to its beautiful, sandy old self.

I could go to the beach during the winter.  My friend and I have done this, watched the brave but insane souls surfing in the icy north Atlantic.  Sure, wet suits are helpful except when their feet and hands get wet or they go face-down into the frigid water; it’s still damn cold.  Ask the Titanic victims who ended up in that ice-laden water … oh, wait…

So today, after two days of snow and hours of clean up, I am dreaming of the beach.  I am dreaming of summer, my toes in the sand, the two-plus mile walk down the beach and back at low tide; sitting amongst the protection of the break-wall rocks when it’s high tide. 

Summer – you cannot arrive soon enough for me.  My cracked and dry winter skin misses you; my stone-cold bones miss you; my sun-deprived brain misses you.  I miss the smell of the salty air and the sound of the constant surf. 

Summer, you may still be months away, but I am and forever dreaming of you.

TWELVE STEPS TO SURVIVING A NEW ENGLAND BLIZZARD

How to prepare for a blizzard:

1.  Make sure you have enough liquids.  Yes, this should probably include water.

2.  Have some crackers or popcorn or something to absorb and balance the liquids.

3.  Make ice.  You might need it to ... keep food cold.  Yeah, that's why.

4.  Put extra ice into bags in the freezer.  Of course, a few cups of ice won't fit into the bags, so place those into the blender.

5.  In order to melt the blender ice slightly, pour tequila and margarita mix (or pre-mixed margarita) over the extra cubes.

6.  Test the electricity to make sure you still have power.  (Press HIGH on the blender.)

7.  Turn up the heat inside the house in case the power does go out later.

8.  In order to counteract the warmth inside the house, empty the blender contents into a very large cup.

9.  Drink the blended margarita to keep body temperature at a decent equilibrium and to prevent dehydration.

10.  Eat some of the crackers or popcorn.  This will help keep your strength up for the intensifying snowstorm (and to keep up the blender patrol).

11.  Remember that water you put aside earlier?  Use it to rinse out the blender and the now-empty cup.

12.  Repeat as necessary until spring arrives.

SHOPPING FOR SANITY

I love when big storms are coming because people lose their frigging minds.  Take today, for example.  The stores are mobbed.  I don’t even have to venture far to know this; I know how people are.

Being a veteran of the Blizzard of ’78, and also living through an ice storm that left us without electricity and heat for a week, I know the importance of having food in the house.  But, people, if you lose electricity, that food suddenly becomes a huge liability.  In short, it will suck to be you.  (Unless you have locking-top garbage cans, in which case you can load food into those outside and pack them with snow.  I know this because we survived a week this way.)

Today after digging out from the last three or so inches of snow that fell after I had shoveled six inches of white crap and braved the rain on top of it all yesterday, I decide to run to the store.  I don’t really need anything, but my daughter will probably be staying with me for one night, maybe two weather depending, and I want to make sure she has something to eat other than crackers.

This is where I am smart.  Number 1, I start out relatively early while others are still shoveling or attending church.  Number 2, I stay the hell away from the large grocery stores.  There is a teeny tiny little Stop and Shop down the street from my house.  I decide to shop for anything I might need up through Friday because the weather people are talking more snow for the end of the week, and I don’t want to go through this all again on Thursday.  This means I will spend about $8-$12 more than I would at the big grocery store.

Is my time and sanity worth $8-$12?  According to the frantic Facebook posts of my pals who are fighting angry mobs at Market Basket and Wegmans, I’d say I make the correct decision.  I am in and out of the store in no time – zero line at the deli, zero line at the check-outs.  Score.  For once, the sign on my back should say, “Yes, stand behind me!  I AM in the right line!”  I am home and unpacked by 11:00 a.m.

Unfortunately, it is about an hour later that I realize I am out of white wine.  I have plenty of red wine, but I am anxious for some whites.  I can’t think about the possibility of being without white wine during the long storm in case I decide I want some.  I can head back down the street to the liquor store next to Stop and Shop, or I can swing up town to the small packy.  This is when I get in touch with my friend across town.  She is making squash bisque and needs white wine.

That’s it.  Road trip! 

We decide to go to the small packy near her house.  I pick her up, and we’re off for an adventure.  The only problem is that we are on autopilot and miss the packy completely.  We are heading right straight for Market Basket and the packed mall in Tewskbury.

Oh. My. God. What the hell have we done?

We decide that the worst thing that happens is we pass the place and turn around.  We can see from the street that people are parked in snow banks because there are no spaces left for anyone trying to grocery shop.  A quick peripheral reconnaissance mission reveals that half the mall lot is empty (over by Dress Barn), and the other half is loaded with people trying to kill each other for a space. 

I park my car by Dress Barn (I do like Dress Barn), and we walk the few yards into the liquor store, totally avoiding the frenzied maniacs next door who are fist-fighting for the last carton of milk.  There are very few people inside the packy, which I find surprising.  If I were fighting all those crazy idiots in the grocery store, I would definitely need a liquor store run right away.  We peruse the near-empty aisles and each pick out some wine.  I decide on a sauvignon blanc and a pinot grigio.  My eye is also caught by a white zinfandel-moscato blend.  It’s cheap money, so I grab that, too.  Adding this to the four bottles of red I already have at home, I should think I am in decent shape.

After our painless shopping experience, and because we know the entire world is grocery shopping, we hit the nearby Orange Leaf and have some frozen yogurt.  Just to let everyone know, pineapple and strawberry frozen yogurt together = very tasty; the white chocolate frozen yogurt didn’t impress me; as always, wedding cake and brownie batter hit the mark.

I am now officially prepared for the storm.  My car and my son’s car, which is parked in my driveway while he finishes his senior year of college, are both full of gas.  The laundry is caught up except for what I am currently wearing.  I have food to cook in the oven, food for on top of the gas burners if the power fails, and an extra canister of gas for the grill if needed.  I have blankets and warm gear ready.  I have shovels and ice melt and jackets and boots and heavy socks and I can even rustle up some goggles.  All those games and decks of cards that I rescued from the basement are at the ready, as well.  Flashlights are restocked with batteries, and candles are handy.

And I have wine.  Man oh man, do I have wine.  If anyone gets lost in the blizzard, have your St. Bernard drag you to my house.  We’ll party it up until spring comes along.

HATERS GONNA HATE - WELCOME TO NEW ENGLAND FOOTBALL

I’ve tried to keep my mouth shut, but as anyone who knows me also knows -- this is an exercise in futility.

I understand the haters.  No, really, I do.  I hated the Dallas Cowboys the minute they became “America’s Team.”  Don’t tell me who or what represents America!  I don’t like the Cowboys to this day because of it.  Haters gonna hate.

Now, though – Now you’ve gone too far, media. 

Not only have you managed to piss off Drew Bledsoe, you’ve forced Bill Belichick to string together more words in one press conference than he has in total in every season he has coached the New England Patriots.

You can kick us when we’re up.  We can take it.  Remember us?  We used to be the Boston Patriots.  We used to fight with the Baltimore Colts (before they moved to Indy) as the worst fucking team in the NFL … year after year after year after year.  People kicked us when we were down, too. 

We are used to failure; we just don’t like it anymore.

That is why we are good. 

It’s not because we cheat (we don’t) or bend the rules (we don’t) or beat up our spouses in elevators (we don’t).  We don’t make dogs fight, we don’t put bounties on the heads of other players, and we don’t beat our children.  I suppose that’s what America wants, though.  Stories like that sell.

Okay, maybe one of our former players is a murderer.  But we fired his ass as soon as we figured it out.

Look, hate us all you want, but this whole situation about the fucking footballs and the deflation of footballs and the PSI and the weather and the laces and the skin and the color of the ball and the height of the sky above the open-air stadium and God and stars and aliens – Kids, it has to stop. 

You’re just making yourselves look retarded, media.  Re-tar-ded.

Will we win the Superbowl?  Hell, I don’t know.  I hope so.  I like Seattle.  But what you want to do by riling up the Patriots before a game like that?  Really, media – Do you want us to take it out on the field?  That’s not right.  What kind of bloodlust do you people have?

I’ll tell you what, media.  How about you attack politicians and presidents and terrorists and radical religious fanatics and the usurping of American values  – how about you attack these things with the same fervor and baseless accusations as you do a professional football team?  If only you would have some integrity and some (inflated) balls, this world might be a better place.

But, no matter.  Haters gonna hate.  Keep publishing and spreading your ridiculous accusations.  Keep making yourselves look like brainless sheep.  I am now officially embarrassed to have ever been involved with journalism in any way, shape, or form, and I thank the day I encountered a journalism professor/program advisor so incredibly stupid that I changed out of the program lest I become exactly what you all are:  Lemmings of the lowest common denominator.

There.  I’m done.  Unlike the reporters who lie, unlike the spineless liars at Sports Illustrated and the banshees at ESPN and countless other idiots (including many of our own local sports people), I refuse to buy into this bullshit.

Accusing a team of this caliber with absolutely zero evidence?  That, my retarded journalistic lemming friends, is the true exercise in futility.