Monday, January 7, 2008

Apocalypse Pretty Soon


Last week it was so cold in Boston that I was actually thinking about taking a trip to Canada to warm up. I’m getting to the point where I would love to move to a place that doesn’t use “layer” as a verb. But that’s exactly what I was doing a few days ago: By the time I was done dressing I looked like Kenny from South Park. It was bad enough that the hood I was wearing left me with no peripheral vision, but it was also pushing down my knit hat over my eyes. In Boston, it’s not safe crossing the street when you have full vision, let alone none. I not only looked like Kenny, but was in jeopardy of being killed like Kenny as well.

Nevertheless, this blog ain’t payin’ the bills, so I boldly pushed open the door to the outside world, ready to face the sub-zero temperatures. What I was not ready for was the hurricane-force wind that pushed me back inside. This was not good. In Boston, one should really be allowed to call in cold. Since that is not yet an option, I had to suck it up and pray that I would not get blown over the bridge I had to cross to get to work lest I be forced to doggie paddle the rest of the way there. On my trek, I passed a girl wearing a skirt and heels and whose legs seemed an odd shade of blue. I couldn’t believe it. There I was looking like Sir Ernest Shackleton leading an Arctic expedition while some chick walking in the same negative-ten-degree weather I was looked like she was trying out to be the next Pussycat Doll. She probably would’ve made it too if it hadn’t been for those blue legs of hers.

I quickly forgot about the poor, poorly-dressed girl with the Smurf legs as I faced the inevitable crossing-of-the-busy-road. I could barely see in front of me, and could see to the left or right only by turning my entire body from side to side. This doesn’t seem so bad until one considers how much movement gets slowed down by huge, puffy, Michelin Man coats. It took a good five seconds for me to swivel to my left and then to my right, in an odd, penguin-like movement, leaving more than enough time for me to meet my demise by Mack truck, or worse, bike messenger (those suckers pedal fast). I was, however, at a crosswalk, which to a Bostonian driver means nothing except the possibility of taking out an ill-informed tourist or two who thinks that one can actually cross at a crosswalk. I was hoping those same tourists would be behind the wheel that day, being the types who actually stop at crosswalks as well. Who needs to gamble in Vegas when you’ve got walking in Boston to get your adrenaline flowing?

No sooner did I stick a trembling foot onto the road, when a car sped up and whizzed by me, horn blaring. I instinctively jumped back and flipped my would-be murderer the bird, which wasn’t very effective in my woolen mitten.

Of course, this week the forecasters predict it’s going to be in the upper 50s, possibly even reaching the 60 degree mark tomorrow afternoon, reminding me of a Lewis Black bit:

“I was in Boston, Massachusetts, and in four days I experienced five seasons. It was 30, it was 60, it was 90, then it was 12, on the last day there was thunder, there was lightning, and there was snow… TOGETHER! And I hadn't done drugs, cause when you're lyin' in bed and you hear thunder outside, and you get up to look, you have an expectation. And it's not snow with lightning behind it. That's fucked up. They don't even write about that weather in the Bible. I imagine if a prophet had seen that kind of crap, after he wiped the poop out of his pants, he'd a told us about it!"

I have seen the type of weather Black has ranted about, and while I haven’t yet soiled my pants because of it, I am convinced that this can only be the coming of the apocalypse. Either that or it’s a sign (just for me) that I really need to move to warmer climes.