Sometimes in the morning I walk around outside waiting for my dog to poop and I come up with ideas for blog writings. Then I go to work. After a frustrating hour or two of people constantly coming over and asking me questions, and arguing tiny grammatical points that I shouldn't care about but do, my ideas have faded like footprints in a snowstorm. In fact, I was going to write about snow today, because it was snowing. all. day. again. It stopped a little while ago, thank god.

What the hell, here's a little essay entitled "What I Think About Snow."

It's day 10 or so of the Snow Seige. New England has been blanketed by multiple storms, and the Snow is kicking our yankee ass. It will never stop snowing; we know this now. Snow is our master. Everything is encased in white; indeed, white contains all colors and therefore all things. Bow down before the snowy world; it contains us and keeps us small. Puny humans! We push the snow around, and feel satisfied when it is piled to our satisfaction. Yet in one night Snow can make all our work for naught! Want to drive your trusty little car somewhere? Oh, it's so fancy, with its grippy rubber tires and heated windows! But snow need merely sneeze, and your car is encased with an icy crust. A half hour of hard labor is needed just to enter it. And let's not even start on the snow-driving part. Best to stay inside forever.