HYSTERICAL SNOWBLINDNESS

I'm sitting at my computer, at my corner home office (which is, literally, the corner of my small studio apartment,) and I'm watching the snow fall outside my window. Again. It's constant, it's heavy, it's not letting up. And I really don't mind. But I've noticed that weather makes other people absolutely mental and that's what tends to annoy me, not the wind or rain or sleet or snow or heat or cold in and of itself. It's the absolute knowledge that weather causes people to lose I.Q. points.

Growing up on Long Island, we had four seasons. Four actual seasons: Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall, just like James Taylor promised.

Winters were cold, with lots of snow. I remember sledding at the massive hill at Eisenhower Park (which today, when I drive along Merrick Avenue, seems so benign.) I remember snow days and building snowmen and playing in the streets. I remember our wacky neighbor across the street who, while we were bundled up in sweaters and boots and gloves and hats and scarves and parkas, would unfold a chaise-lounge, whip out a reflecting visor and sunbathe in a white bikini on her front lawn, ecstatic that the sun would bounce off the white snow and give her a good tan.

I remember the Ice Storm of '77. Thousands of people lost electrical power. Thousands lost heat. We had both so we took in my friends for impromptu slumber parties.

East Meadow School District was never quick to cancel school. I remember waking up, looking outside the window and seeing snow... then turning on the TV and radio waiting for the announcements of the school closings, rooting for the newscasters to say 'East Meadow' as if waiting to hear a winning Bingo number called. More often than not, we bundled up and trudged to the bus stop for a full day of school. I bemoaned the fact that if we lived on the North Shore (where the terrain was hillier, thus more slippery and dangerous for driving) we'd have had a school day. Or, more desperately, I wanted to go to parochial school -- didn't matter that we were Jewish, a Catholic Day School would have sufficed -- because parochial school always closed first. I understand now that their student body was from a much wider range of nearby towns making transportation a problem but back then I thought the Catholic kids were the lucky kids.

My mother loves the snow. In the winter, before she retired, if there was even a whiff of potential snowfall, she'd do her Sunday evening prayer. "Dear Lord, Let there be snow. A lot of it. Let it begin sometime around midnight after I've fallen asleep. May it come down, an inch an hour, for the next seven hours. May the much coveted, blessed phone call be received Monday morning advising me that the accumulation has caused my bosses to keep the insurance office closed. May the snow stop shortly thereafter. May the snowblower make easy work of the sidewalk, curb and driveway. May the roads be plowed. Amen. " Whether or not her prayer for a three-day weekend worked, she'd be the first one up: not just in our home, but in our neighborhood. That's still true today. My mother's indulgence is to be the first one to make footprints in the snow. Doesn't matter if all she does is walk around the corner to the deli to get a newspaper and coffee, (and these days, she has a Golden Retriever/Chow mix who doesn't need to be asked twice if she wants to romp in the snow) - she relishes having the first boot tracks in the white stuff.

I went to university up in Albany where one would expect a massive quantity of snowfall during my four years of study but the winters of 88/89 through 91/92, while being brutally frigid were relatively anemic when it came to snow. After college, I lived on Long Island at my parents home while commuting to work in Manhattan. I didn't mind the commute -- I enjoyed the time on the train. An hour each morning and each evening to nap or listen to my Walkman or read. It's my time as a Long Island RailRoad commuter that reignited my voracious reading habit. No, I didn't mind the commute at all. I just hated all the other commuters.

The years I commuted to Manhattan from Long Island included two of the worst winters on record. 1993 and 1994 were brutal. One storm had me trapped in Manhattan -- they'd closed Penn Station and an overhead announcement informed everyone that no more trains were running, Penn Station was closed and to LEAVE the building. Really? In a massive snowstorm, get out even though we know you have no place to go? My friend and I managed to catch a subway and crash on the floor in friends' apartment in Brooklyn until we could figure out a mass transit way home to Long Island the following day. It was months and months of arctic weather, ice and misery. I recall several delayed morning train trips and several four hour commutes home due to canceled trains, and frozen or cracked train tracks. Platforms were dangerously crowded. Common courtesy and politeness were barely detectable. Nerves were frayed. Extremities were numb. It was hellish.

I truly feel for those who have to make their way back and forth from suburbia into the metropolis of Manhattan to earn a living. It's a way of life but it's a beating. I salute you. (Except the old guys who commandeer the foursome of seats and refuse to let you sit there because you'll interrupt their 10-year, ongoing card game... or the obnoxious girl talking at the top of her lungs on her cell phone while everyone is trying to snooze... you guys get the middle finger salute.)


Once I moved into Manhattan, weather was really a non-issue. Face it, New Yorkers don't have much to complain about when it comes to bad weather. In the summer, there are a few dog days where it is so stiflingly, cripplingly, oppressively hot and humid that if feels like you're walking through chowder and breathing in and out of a hot, wet bathtowel. And I survived two summers with no air conditioning, a horrific experience I won't be having again. Ever. But even then, at some point, how many times can you hear newscasters refer to the city as the Baked Apple? Face it: it's summer, it's August, it's hot and it's humid. Don't like it? Move to Edmonton.

And that's how I feel about winter in Manhattan. We get cold. We get nor'easters. We get snow and slush. It's winter, people.

I have incredible memories of snow in New York City.

The massive blizzard in January 1996 dumped more than twenty inches of snow on Manhattan (and even more throughout the eastern seaboard.) I had managed to get a bus (by standing in the middle of York Avenue because the roads were not plowed and the busstands were snowed in) and go to work. I was one of four people who showed up that day and was sent home after the bossman treated us to MickeyD's. I walked home (because Mayor Guiliani decided, after everyone had traveled one way to work, that it was too dangerous to have buses running on unplowed avenues.) The snow had stopped falling. The city was so quiet. I witnessed people cross-country skiing up Fifth Avenue. I watched a tackle football game at the intersection of 72nd Street and First Avenue. New York after a massive snowstorm is idyllic to me.

The big snowstorm New York City was hit with just before Christmas was an all day 'weather event.' I stayed indoors the entire Saturday while the storm churned but Sunday morning, I was up and showered and dressed, with snowboots and wool hat. I hit the subway uptown (no delays) and got out at Columbus Circle. I entered Central Park and it was like walking into Disneyland. Everybody -- locals and tourists -- were wandering through Central Park. The sky was blue, the sun was shining and there was 15 inches of snow covering the landscape. I saw cross-country skiers and tackle football, snowmen being built, joggers jogging... and in my life I've never seen so many children on sleds. Hundreds and hundreds. (And in a paparazzi moment, clicked away with my camera when I spotted actor Chris Noth improvising; he didn't have a real sled so he was using a flattened cardboard box to sled with his son.) It was an invigorating day that reminded me why I love living in New York City.

I've been watching the snow fall all day here. It hasn't let up. It's gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful, looks-like-a-Hollywood-movie snow. I have no complaints. Sure, the French Bulldog I'm babysitting is none too pleased with the cold, wet, slushy sidewalk and makes sure to do his business in record time before pulling me back inside so he can nap... but I can't really complain. A foot of snow? So what.

I live in an apartment.
The super shovels the sidewalk. He's legally required to. And he throws down some salt.
The city plows my street. And throws down some salt and sand.
That's pretty much it.
If I need to go somewhere, I have hiking boots and snow boots.
If I want to take the subway, it's a block away and is rarely affected by the snow.
If I want to take a bus, it's on the corner and can manage its way through plowed NYC streets.
So, I really have zero right to complain even when a foot of snow falls.

I'll get pissed off, rightly so, if other buildings or storefronts don't have sidewalks shoveled and salted. Because I'm happy to walk but you will not make me slip because your sidewalk is covered in ice (also, because, as I"ve proven time and time again, I'm MORE than able to fall on my own, even when the sidewalk is dry on a sunny day while I'm wearing sneakers.)

But otherwise, what's to complain about. I'll tell you what -- WEATHERCASTERS & NEWSCASTERS.
It's SNOW, people. It's not raining frogs. It's not a meteor storm. It's just freakin' snow.

Yes, it sucks that you have to shovel your stoop / walk / driveway / sidewalk.
Yes, it sucks that you have to drive - anywhere - in this weather.
Yes, it's incredibly inconvenient that your children's school was closed due to bad weather.
Yes, it's incredibly annoying that you are a teacher and don't want to commute to your job.
But really -- enough. It's SNOW. It happened when you were little, it will happen when you're old.
Make no mistake -- some people get SUH-LAMMED and I understand the frustration.
27 inches of snow in Hampton Bays within 24 hours sucks.
Being plowed into your home with no way to get out sucks.
Being stuck in an airport, missing a flight to Florida and thus missing your Carribean cruise sucks.
But that's the exception -- most of the worry-warts and whiners are just complaining for the sake of complaining.

The worst factor in all this? The NEWS - TV news treats every storm like it's the impending end of the world.
SNOWMAGEDDON!!! BLIZZARD OF THE CENTURY!!!
Um, it's snow. And, eventually, it will melt.

You all know the routine... TV meteorologist predicts incoming weather and presents the "what if" maps on the green screen, setting off the official 'OK To Fake Panic' alarm.
Suddenly, the news editors on local television stations chuck out all substantive news and send their intrepid field reporters to the usual suspects of locations: hardware stores, supermarkets and the Department of Sanitation salt sheds.

Look, when we're suffering a massive heatwave in August, the fact that people are running out and buying air conditioners is NOT NEWS.
When a hurricane is barreling towards the regions, the fact that people are heading to Home Depot for wood to board up storefront windows or tie up their boats is NOT NEWS.
And when a massive snowstorm is forecast for the area, people stocking up on salt, buying shovels or hoarding milk, bread and orange juice (while odd) is NOT NEWS. (Honestly, if I was snowed in at home for 4 days, my shopping list would include vodka, nutella and bagels. Just sayin')
Also not news?
- This just in: Snowplow drivers like snow because it means more money.
- This just in: Department of Sanitation doesn't like snow because it means paying more overtime to workers.
- This just in: Driving in inclement weather should be avoided or done so with caution.
- This just in: Water is wet.

Honestly, SIX hours of a Health Care Reform Summit, hosted and moderated by President Obama, at Blair House -- I can almost guarantee the bulk of local TV coverage will be reporters standing in snow in suburban New Jersey with a ruler to measure accumulation, another remarking on how the shelves at the local A&P are empty. Or, on the flip side of that coin, the smug dumbasses at Fox News crowing about how all these snowstorms are getting Al Gore's panties in a bunch, proving his life's work has been a sham. Pssst... attention, MORONS. Study up on climate change and what it means for the entire planet, and how and why these snow storms actually reinforce Mr. Gore's work and that of scores of scientists. Fox News, as usual, ensuring its audience stays angry, stays scared, stays misinformed.

The meteorologists are doing what they're paid to do (and quite frankly, they get it wrong so more often than they get it right that it would be nice to learn they were only paid based on the percentage of accurate forecasting they actually do.) But the news editors are seriously turning viewers into an audience of worry-warts and cry-babies.

It's winter. It snows in winter. Just deal with it. And enjoy it.
It's beautiful. Is it inconvenient at times? Yes. Am I happy my friend's flight to Vegas managed to take off on time this morning? Yes. Am I in the privileged position of not having to drive or shovel or arrange daycare when it snows? Yes.
I admit it.
But honestly. Enjoy the snow. Have fun. Remember what it was like to be a child.
Also, grow a pair.