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It's hilarious, really. Every local weatherman is doing his best Orson Wells, pumping up the anxiety as the outer tendrils of an ice storm approaches. War Of The Forecasters. Talking heads posted around the region for Exclusive, In-Depth, On-The-Scene Hurricane-style coverage of a storm that hasn't even appeared, yet. Pity the poor merchants counting on the crowds for the holiday income boost. "Will this be the worst Christmas... EVER?!" Gawd. The Decline of Western Civilization. We must be some bored sons-of-bitches... all of the lofty pursuits in which we COULD be engaged, distilled to marathon ass-sitting in front of the tube for hours, strung out on the endless repetition of the painfully obvious. We do, after all, have windows. Opiate of the Masses, indeed. Praying for disaster... ...or an excuse to skip work. That, I can hang with. On the pretense of holiday shopping, I rolled onto the familiar streets of Ground Zero (NoVA, not NYC) before work. Tuesday, and the parking lot psych-outs are in full swing... walk around with your keys in your hand, and see how many cars will follow you to see if you're leaving or not. One of the reasons that I cannot live here, daily. Still, the skyline and pace are intoxicating, at least temporarily. So many people. So many cars. So many products. The excess is bewildering. If things do turn unpleasant from the skies, tomorrow, I'll be roughing it. No idea where I'll wind up... but alive will be acceptable. |
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