Tuesday, January 06, 2004

snow emergency

the threat of snow, of weather above or below 70 degrees has become, in this age of obsessive newsgathering, an event. winter storm warning. extreme weather predicted in the northwest. storm art on the six o'clock news.... it is winter, for chrissake. winter in oregon. complete with snow. when i was up in portland over the holidays, images of snow plows burning up the pavement --yes, pavement, sparks flying -- gave me pause. there was less than an inch of snow in the metro area and the brigades were out, loaded for bear, double time and a half, making the news. all i could think was: somebody kill somebody so we don't embarrass ourselves, we oregonians: the few, the proud, the pussies. where are the lumberjacks, the pioneers, the cowboys? gone to bureaucrats, everyone? soft, chilled to the spineless bone? white collar has-beens with no tolerance for the whim of the seasons. all dressed in carhartts, sitting in their seat-heated suv's, afraid to chance a dash into the house after a long day shopping for camping gear they will use on the three days of the year that suit their frail constitutions. by the year 2020 they'll be dropping like flies in august from consumption, men on work crews with the vapors. oh, god. give me real men. men who feel no pain, who express no emotion but lust. it's cold down here in the south of the state, southern girl at her laptop, critiqueing the world from her own temperate zone.

i played games with three friends last night, german games, smart games, games much smarter than me. it seems the germans, europeans in general but germans most of all, have oscar awards for gaming. we played the game that started it all, settlers of catan (translation weak). i can still learn, i am happy to report.

i will have dinner with my son tonight, my puking drunk son, my son for whom i will hold up the tentpoles of AA and hope he floats in before the next dark night. i found the pefect birthday card. it says: you will always be my baby.

no snow yet down here in the southlands, but the plows stand ready.

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