I like snow when it’s decorative. When it’s inconvenient, not so much. As I write this, the blizzard named Nemo is bearing down on New England, promising forecasts of some two feet or more of snow. Of course, the storm-panicked zombies have descended upon the supermarkets, clearing shelves with the biblical voracity of locusts. Ditto the fuel at gas stations. How did we get like this? I blame TV.