It was an odd weekend. On Thursday/Friday we were hammered with what’s got to be one of the three most over-the-top snowstorms of my life, and the rest of the days were spent dealing with it, in one way or another.
When I was kid, in the 1970s, it seems like we were on the receiving end of several HUMONGOUS accumulations. But you know how memory can play tricks on ya, especially when it’s from the perspective of a little 10 year old booger factory. So, I’m not exactly sure where last week’s storm would fall in the all-time rankings, but it’s gotta be within the Top 3.
‘Cause the shit was ridiculous.
Toney and I went out to shovel the driveway late in the afternoon on Thursday, and it was quite a chore. It was already piled-up. And when we finally finished, we turned on the local news and they shouted, “The worst is yet to come!” They promised this was only, as the Brits would put it, the thin edge of the wedge.
And they were right. It snowed all evening, all night, and into the next afternoon. Just a continuous, heavy downpour. By the time we went outside for our second go-round, about 10 am on Friday, there was close to two feet on the ground. It was insane.
I had to cut a path from our porch to the driveway, and just that part kicked my ass. The snow was heavy, and there was tons of it. I had to dig a WWI trench through there, and hurl the diggin’s into the yard. It felt like my aorta was about to rupture.
Then we started on the driveway, and about ten minutes into it I said, “Screw this, the boys are helping this time.” I went looking for them, and they let loose with synchronized groaning when I told them the news.
And even with the four of us working ourselves into a lather, it took a long, long time. The whole thing sucked a thousand eggs.
The driveway is crazy, even a few days after the fact. It feels like we’re driving into a tunnel.
But on Friday we got cocky, and decided we needed to be rewarded for our hard work, and go to Moe’s for a late lunch. Yeah, and my car wouldn’t move an inch. The front wheels just spun on the snow, and my eyes were going all Marty Feldman on me.
After much extra-digging, the tires finally found something they could grip, the car jerked violently to the left, and we were on our way.
The parking lot of the restaurant was a mess, and there were no other vehicles. “It looks like they’re closed,” Toney said. But I was having none of that, and asked the oldest boy to go check the door.
They were indeed open, with one loyal employee holding down the fort. So we ordered our Nerf football burritos, the employee told us the story of digging out her car at 7:30 am, and how it sucked ten thousand eggs. And as we took our seats in a booth by the window, it started snowing again. Big time.
That evening we all watched Fletch, via Netflix streaming, and everybody enjoyed it, except Toney. She fell asleep. Later, I let Andy out to sling some urine, and he was alarmed by the fact that our front yard was now above his head. He had to climb straight-up to get off the sidewalk.
Eventually he fashioned himself a urination pit, which he’s still using (reluctantly). I don’t think he’s taken a dump since Thursday morning. Every time he goes out into the yard it looks like he’s swimming in the ocean, and he quickly says fukkit.
The next day I was starting to feel the onset of cabin fever, and told Toney I needed to get out of the house. Except for the quickie visit to Moe’s the previous afternoon, I’d been a homebody for more than two days. And I’m just not wired that way.
She said she had to do this and that, and the older Secret needed to be somewhere else, etc. So the younger boy and I went out, with no particular place to go.
We ended up at the mall, which was complete pandemonium. The parking lot was one big sloppy mess, and we had to park far from the building. Apparently I wasn’t the only one starting to develop The Fever?
I bought us two Oreo Blizzards at Dairy Queen, and we both eventually got haircuts, if you can believe it. That’s how bored we were, we were out buying haircuts on a whim.
My so-called stylist had a foul mouth, and used at least twenty curse words during the procedure. Not twenty different ones, but twenty individual instances. I’d never seen her before in my life, and she was cussing like a sailor. “My next-door neighbor is a real blue-ribbon bitch I tell ya…” and that sort of thing.
Needless to say, it was cool with me. No need to hold back on my account.
Then we went to Sam’s Club, which was also pandemonium. We tried to look at the TVs and computers, but there were so many walls of assy-denim in our way, I couldn’t take it. So, I purchased a pillowcase full of salted peanuts in the shell, and we fled that crazy scene.
Our next stop: Border’s. And there were literally no open parking spaces in the lot, not one. “How much you wanna bet all these people are in the coffee shop, eating and drinking and looking at magazines?” I asked the Secret.
And I was right. The coffee shop was PACKED, and the actual book part of the store wasn’t. I somehow knew folks didn’t just suddenly become literary, it was all about food and beverages and blurbs about Johnny Depp.
Oh, a few might’ve attempted to be sophisticated, because of the surroundings: “Yes, I just finished reading a blue book. I can’t remember the title, but the cover was blue. Much, much better than the green book I read last year. Far superior…”
Perhaps I’m being unfair?
Anyway, we didn’t buy anything there, but purchased two cheeseburgers and some fries at Five Guys, a little while later. And mine was good, but the onions were way too strong, and cut in big ol’ thick chunks. I like onions, but had to remove ’em from my burger, and it threw off the entire calibration.
On our way home I bought a twelve pack of Yuengling Black & Tan, and called it a day. And before I knew it, it was Sunday afternoon and time to return to work. It felt like I’d just left that place. It seemed like I didn’t have a weekend at all. Grrr….
How was yours? Did you do anything interesting? Tell us about it, won’t you? Also, if you have any personal stories to tell about over-the-top weather events, we’d like to hear (read) those as well.
And I’ll see you guys again tomorrow.
@MI2Tall: No luck on the Breckenridge. I looked at the Sierra Nevada today and was bitching that it’d gone off sale. My step daughter was with me and said, “I’m sorry for your loss.” I’m going to keep her around, she’s got a good sense about her.
As Tyrosine said, not much snow around here, I put 500 km on my ride over the weekend. When I was a kid in Ottawa in the early 70’s, we had one real extreme year, ’71 maybe, that recorded 14 feet of snow over the winter, that was ridiculous. We had built a sled run from the peak of the roof of the house, down the drifts, across the front lawn, and then along the inside edge of the snow bank at the street. You could walk up the “lawn” to the roof.
One morning, I remember we couldn’t open either door, my dad lifted me out the bathroom window, to go around and dig out the doorway from the outside, I was 10 or 11. Felt kinda heroic, for once as kid.
FWIW, beer will freeze if you leave it out in the cold
jeff_in_SW_Ontario“Felt kinda heroic, for once as kid.”
Matt in Florence says
mountie9wv I went with friends to Cleveland for the weekend also! Hit the Rock Hall of fame up on Sunday. And…… I thought it was lame. But had a great weekend in the city regardless.
No snow; we got ours a few weeks ago down here in NoVa. For the Big Snow, it was seven days before I was able to go anywhere. And that’s OK, because for the other 9 years I don’t have to put up with driving a truck.
Saturday I bought a case of Torpedo – huge hoppy awesomeness. Sunday I cooked. Made a dish that involves sliced potatoes. Decided to ignore safety precautions, and sliced off the tip of my index finger as a reward for said neglect. Genius. Yes, it hurts. I hope it stops bleeding soon.
Matt in Florence – I would agree. I have the utmost respect for a lot of the individuals in there, but if you are going to have a section solely for Jim Morrison (not that I don’t like the doors), then there damn well better be a section dedicated to Led Zeppelin in The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (among many others). Maybe there was and I missed it, but I looked pretty hard. I know they don’t give up much, but surely there is enough for a wall or something. I also had a blast in Cleveland though. I even got a warning to settle down in my hotel room for the first time in a while. I was proud.
Jeff & amigos,
0100 in the Great Pacific Northwest, 40 degrees (4.444444 in Canada) and not drizzling at the moment. Nice that none of the Reporters pulled a Glenn Beck on the snowstorms. That’s one reason I like hanging out here. Plenty of redneck joy, but little dumbassery about climate change and Katrina being the wrath of God on a city with too many black people. The Reporters are a pretty smart, likable group which is what got me here in the first place.
I do come armed with a special request…Jeff, since you turned me on to Butch Walker, perhaps you can download his latest, “I Liked It Better When You Had No Heart”, and do a two sentence review in one of your posts. “Sycamore Meadows” was a little atypical for Butch, and his other albums, while entertaining and professional, don’t quite achieve the pop transcendence of “Sycamore…”. Since you seem satisfied with the ’53 Chevy AM radio quality of MP3, and since I still buy CD’s, it’s a slightly smaller investment for you. Butch’s latest comes in vinyl, and I’ve been tempted to return to Witch Mountain…but there be dragons in the vagaries of the needle and the stoned friends. Hell, I must have purchased three copies of “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida”. (Just to be clear, I don’t own a copy of the CD…growing old has to have some benefit, and jettisoning Iron Butterfly is one). So if the notion takes you, a recommendation would be cool.
I’ve not commented much for a while, but I’ve lurked some, and I don’t recall any discussion of The Who at the Superbowl. I thought they were quite good. I read that Pete received a text right after the performance from his best friend (I guess Roger isn’t his best friend even though they’ve made some level of amends) containing four words…”nice set – nice hat”. That would summarize my feelings as well. I would add that it’s nice to see Zak Starkey on the drums. He’s been there for The Who for 14 years or so, but I don’t get out much so hadn’t actually seen him. Keith Moon was Zak’s godfather and gave him his first drumming lessons. Nobody can really replace Moon and Entwistle, but the group that fathered Punk lives on in spirit anyway.
There are occasional comments that would imply that Ian could someday be the Scot that makes that Lifehouse Hajj to London; on other days it seems less likely.
In the scheme of things, maybe the most important rock works are the unfinished ones: Lifehouse and Smile for two. We have Baba O’Riley and Good Vibrations to taunt us and provide a hint of what might have been. Sometimes a hint is as good as it gets. (Yes, I know Van Dyke Parks came back 30 years later and helped Brian finish Smile [or, correctly, SMiLE] but that has little to do with what would have emerged in 1967. I guess you had to be there.)
It occurs to me as I think about Good Vibrations that it’s possible that what’s missing in the world today is some good theremin-rock. I’ll alert Butch Walker immediately.
my best wishes as always,
JTB: One word: Blog. I’m using it as a verb, which makes it a suggestion. I, for one, would read it.
I went and bought a new car this weekend. It’s white, fast, has the satellite radio and a place to plug in my iPod. So I’m pretty happy about that.
Someone came over and watched our herd of kids so me and the wife could go out. We went to the BoneFish Grill. Not bad, not bad at all.
T. Farty McAppleass says
I drank vodka all weekend and had to go to the hospital because I had an erection that lasted longer than 4 hours. That’s about it.
Chuck in Belpre says
Well, I’m back on the low-carb train as of yesterday. No more bread, cakes, pies, potatoes, rice or candy of any kind. Need to drop about 35 pounds. Tired of when I bend over my pants go halfway down my ass. No one wants that.
In other news I have a twin in town it seems. Everyone seems to be confusing me with a guy named Phat Phuck. Odd name for sure. It will be really strange if I ever get to meet Mr. Phuck.
jtb, I can review the new Butch Walker in one sentence:
The last one was great, and the new one is merely very good.
That’s my opinion, of course. I thought Sycamore was a straight-up masterpiece. I still listen to it several times per month.
Chuck in Belpre,
I don’t know if it’s the same Mr. Phuck or not, but the Phat Phuck I know is famous for making the reverse caramel apple. He carefully hollows out apples and fills them with caramel. It looks like a normal apple, but when you take a bite the caramel comes gushing out all over your neck and chest. I always eat mine while laying in the bath tub.
Weekend fun. I don’t read blogs when I travel so I’m a bit out of the loop.
flew to Cleveland on saturday to see the girl. Almost landed on another plane in cleveland and had to do a go around. A first for me I think.
Went to some shitty club but had some good beer. sunday we drove to Marietta to see my folks and brother and his 3 little hicklets. His 2.5 yr old weighs 45 lbs, holy hell.
Monday lunch in marietta, dinner in cleveland. Some joint called the B Spot which had good burgers.
Tuesday flight at 8:10 AM which got delayed till 2 or so. Got delayed so long they gave us free booze. Awsome.
flying to cincy this weekend for Bockfest. Can’t wait.