Snow days are cool like that

Ladies and gentlemen, it's a snow day. It's not one of those cute li'l snow days, either, where the street looks like a powdered doughnut. It's a hardcore snow day, and as I look out the window, the branches are morbidly obese and it's actually snowing sideways in three different ways.

It's a hardcore snow day, one at which our Viking ancestors would gaze from their pelt-draped mead halls, laying in bed with a hardy wench in one arm and a battle-ax named Fasfiefingirnizenhaust in the other. They would--so the legends go--take one look outside, shake their great, meaty, bearded heads, and quietly, sleepily proclaim: "GUUUUUURAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHNIRFARGIN!" which is old Norse for "That looks pretty bad...what did KYW say?"

It is indeed a hardcore snowday, which is saying something: most people are off. I'm off, which I believe happened once before. It was an historical occurence; our superintendant is a Cossack warrior named Rolf who usually doesn't see the ground beneath the permafrost of the Motherland and is amazed at the concept of green leaves, so you'll understand the scarcity of snow days.

Now the fact that my brother has off is bordering on hillarity, seeing as he's home on spring break. He also works about 300 yards to the left of me, although it is a damn steep hill. My mom's closing of the restaurant for the day is more understandable, though both lend creedence to the raw power that the snow day wields. My dad, of course, is at work. I think they got a half-day during the Cuban Missile Crisis, but anything DEFCON 3 or higher is simply laughable.

To digress, and lead into my shameless plug of every second post, I'm passing the snow day like anybody should: by catching up on the first and only season of Firefly. For yorn purplebellied folk what ain't got a clue about this show, look it up on Hulu. Take the world's-end feel of The Good, the Bad, and The Ugly, then mix it in with the space-grit of the Star Wars trilogy (for the love of God, episodes IV, V, and VI).

Then take a 2x4, write "Die Hard" on it, and smack the mixture on the head from around a corner. As it's reeling from this blow, take a generous pinch of that powerful and insightful spice that is the directorial touch of Joss Wheadon and sprinkle it on. Then give it a kick in the ribs for the sake of posterity, and set it loose on the bad side of the (space) tracks. Long-winded as that may have been, you'll see what I mean. Now it's a not-so-nice day out, so get out there, get knocked over by our gale-force winds, nod once, and head back inside for a nice elk-skin and a mug of frothy ale!