I don't know how much more of this I can take. On December 26th, we got 20" of snow. That was the one where our esteemed mayor had his head up his patoot until like the third day and nary a snow plow was to be found. We've had five, count 'em, five storms since then. So last night Chayie and I go to a vort* and when we set out (Chayie was driving; she doesn't trust anyone else behind the wheel) there was a light snowfall, but nothing major. When we left the place, the precipitation was coming down with a vengance. I say "precipitation" because I'm not exactly sure what it was. There was snow and sleet
(I guess; I'm not sure what that is, but it sounds good) and freezing rain.
It was, in short, a mess. 
I woke up this morning not expecting more than a small, mushy accumulation. Riiight. Ah nechtiger tug**! We got another foot of the white stuff. And this being New York, it soon becomes the black stuff. There is actually a condition known as "Seasonal Affective Disorder", or S.A.D., which is a very convenient acronym. Basically, it's just a fancy name for the winter blues. Folks miss the sun's warmth and brightness. This time of year, the earth's orbit around the sun is in its apogee. Impressed? You should be. If you don't know what it means, look it up. If you're reading this blog, you obviously have a lot of time on your hands. Anyway, I think I'm getting S.A.D., too. it's just very disheartening when you start the day bright-eyed and bushy tailed, with a list of things you want to accomplish, and then you go outside and your car looks like Mt. Washington. That's bad enough if you're a regular 60 year old. It's worse if you're a pulmonarily challenged 60 year old (it was either "pulmonarily" or "respiratorily", which I think sounds worse, and considering that I made them both up, I figured I should go with the one that sounds better). I got short of breath just kicking down the snow that was blocking my outside door. So I'm starting to get depressed. My apartment is small and therefore precludes me from entertaining myself with many of my favorite pastimes, like bowling. So I'm limited to writing this gibberish, going to Amazon and wasting money, watching Judge Judy or, my old standby of course, going through Shas ba'al peh***. So in order to maintain some semblance of sanity, at around 4:00 I put on my Timberlands and ventured out. First I went to the bodega around the corner and bought the Post and the News, then I walked to Sunflower Cafe on Kings Highway. That's one short block and two long ones. If I walk slowly, I can actually breathe. I guess I shouldn't complain; remember when I thought I'd never be able to do everyday, mundane things like walk to the corner? Seeing as how I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, I had a French Onion soup and a lox-and-cheese panini sandwich and a Diet Coke. They call it a mozarella-and-salmon panini sandwich, which I guess sounds classier. Whatever you call it, it was delicious. The place was pretty much empty, so I just relaxed and read the paper while I ate, almost losing my appetite every time I passed a picture of the rectal orifice who currently occupies the White House. On my way home, I got a call telling me that a 30-something year old female cousin just got engaged. That's like 80 in gentile years. So tell me: they waited 30-some-odd years...couldn't they have waited till New York no longer looked like Anchorage? So guess what? The vort is tonight. Chayie's picking me up yet again and we're gonna go. I suppose I'll have to wait till tomorrow to stick my head in the oven.
I woke up this morning not expecting more than a small, mushy accumulation. Riiight. Ah nechtiger tug**! We got another foot of the white stuff. And this being New York, it soon becomes the black stuff. There is actually a condition known as "Seasonal Affective Disorder", or S.A.D., which is a very convenient acronym. Basically, it's just a fancy name for the winter blues. Folks miss the sun's warmth and brightness. This time of year, the earth's orbit around the sun is in its apogee. Impressed? You should be. If you don't know what it means, look it up. If you're reading this blog, you obviously have a lot of time on your hands. Anyway, I think I'm getting S.A.D., too. it's just very disheartening when you start the day bright-eyed and bushy tailed, with a list of things you want to accomplish, and then you go outside and your car looks like Mt. Washington. That's bad enough if you're a regular 60 year old. It's worse if you're a pulmonarily challenged 60 year old (it was either "pulmonarily" or "respiratorily", which I think sounds worse, and considering that I made them both up, I figured I should go with the one that sounds better). I got short of breath just kicking down the snow that was blocking my outside door. So I'm starting to get depressed. My apartment is small and therefore precludes me from entertaining myself with many of my favorite pastimes, like bowling. So I'm limited to writing this gibberish, going to Amazon and wasting money, watching Judge Judy or, my old standby of course, going through Shas ba'al peh***. So in order to maintain some semblance of sanity, at around 4:00 I put on my Timberlands and ventured out. First I went to the bodega around the corner and bought the Post and the News, then I walked to Sunflower Cafe on Kings Highway. That's one short block and two long ones. If I walk slowly, I can actually breathe. I guess I shouldn't complain; remember when I thought I'd never be able to do everyday, mundane things like walk to the corner? Seeing as how I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, I had a French Onion soup and a lox-and-cheese panini sandwich and a Diet Coke. They call it a mozarella-and-salmon panini sandwich, which I guess sounds classier. Whatever you call it, it was delicious. The place was pretty much empty, so I just relaxed and read the paper while I ate, almost losing my appetite every time I passed a picture of the rectal orifice who currently occupies the White House. On my way home, I got a call telling me that a 30-something year old female cousin just got engaged. That's like 80 in gentile years. So tell me: they waited 30-some-odd years...couldn't they have waited till New York no longer looked like Anchorage? So guess what? The vort is tonight. Chayie's picking me up yet again and we're gonna go. I suppose I'll have to wait till tomorrow to stick my head in the oven.* Vort = sort of like an engagement party.
** Ah nechtiger tug = There's really no translation for this yiddish idiomatic expression. It most closely resembles the Beatles' "Hard day's night", but it really means, "in your dreams"!
*** Shas ba'al peh = The entire Talmud by heart.
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