I’m sorry, everyone. I simply can’t think of anything to write about tonight. I’ve done everything I can think of to jog loose some sort of blog. I read all my favorite blogs. I followed links on their blogs to other blogs. Whoo, you can easily slip into odd territory there. Anyhow. I watched a Strong Bad short (this one’s still my favorite). I reread everyone’s comments from yesterday. I looked at the ceiling.
The dishwasher finished its cycle. The house was silent.
See, it’s not my fault. I’m far too downtrodden to blog tonight. It’s snowing. Yes, snowing. People kept telling me all day that the forecasters are predicting up to 20 inches of snow. 20 inches! I don’t listen to the forecasters or meteorologists or hateful rumor mongerers or whatever they like to be called. There’s this sick relationship between them and Denverites. It starts with the meteorologists. They take a haphazard glance at their Super Duper Doppler 98,000, notice a faint smudge and decide the sky is falling. That or the next biggest blizzard EVER is bearing down on Colorado. They race for their TV studios.
Stupid and also mean meteorologist: “By morning you can expect to see anywhere from four to a hundred bazillionty nine inches of snow. Particularly in this area [sweeping motion of hand that takes in most of the state], concentrated over any recently sprouted lettuce or flowering apple trees. No really. It may have fallen already. Have you looked?”
So once this “information” is out there, the people of Denver take it and set about the official city pastime – trying to scare others with weather news.
“Didja hear Mike Nelson? He said to expect a new ice age by morning. There’s actually a glacier poised right on the edge of LoDo. Yup. We’re all gonna die.”
After much frantic passing around of rumors of snow, once the city has worn itself out by shopping for bread and milk (WHY mostly bread and milk, I dunno. But apparently if snow hits your house and you don’t have it you can go directly to jail. I’m pretty sure.), we all fall into bed. Overnight the “great storm” usually passes, leaving the merest traces of snow, and life goes on.
So when people kept telling me about the great snow headed our way, I satisfied myself with glaring at them. As if, my look said. I’m not afraid of you. Also, you have something between your teeth. Mean, I know. But I don’t take kindly to weather fear mongering. I’m an activist.
But apparently they were…in some sense of the word…a little…right.
*deep sullen sigh*
All the trees are leafed out. If it really snows that much, branches will break. By three days from now the tender green spring scenery outside will be a sodden mass of dead leaves, limp, dull flower remains, and broken branches.
Besides which, I’m so sick of snow I could scream.
So you see, I couldn’t possibly blog tonight.