I like snow when it’s decorative. When it’s inconvenient, not so much. As I wrote this, the blizzard named Nemo was 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 voracity of biblical locusts. Ditto the fuel at gas stations. How did we get like this? I blame TV.
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