Snowpocalypse? Snow-pain-in-the-a$$!

Someone was really happy about the Saints:

I actually would not have known the context of that fleur-de-lis if it weren't for the fact that The Who played the half-time show. My feeling for football lies somewhere between couldn't care less and loathing (but that's another story).>

The Who, on the other hand, I like very much. What's more, in watching their show, I was struck by the wonderful absence of "dancers." That is, young people, scantily clad, thrusting their crotches and asses at the audience as if demanding dollar bills in their waistbands; or, as comedian Lewis Black describes it "tittytittytitty, assassass." They will all need chiropractors before age 21.

Yes, I am a grumpy old woman.

I was also struck by the awareness that The Who are my parents' age. My parents don't look anywhere near that good. In fact, my parents look like The Who's parents. While Daltry preserved his dignity by keeping his shirt on, I admit I miss the days when his chest was more spectacular than the fireworks. Finally, I was struck by how "Won't Get Fooled Again" is still a pissed-off relevant song.

Anyway, I don't have too many pictures of the Snowpocaplyse sequel because it all looked pretty much the same as the first one, including crappy snowplow jobs.

I did notice this anomaly:
See there by the pole? See how there are foot tracks up to the pole? See how there is one print on the fence opposite the pole? Hmmm.

Those other lines were not just made by humans. Dogs loved plowing through the drifts, too.

My car is down there*:

That picture was this morning. There is considerably less snow between the plowed lanes and the cars. Last night, I went down to survey the damage. A block of snow at least four feet tall stood between be and my car. This four foot block was six feet deep. I do not have a shovel.

Why don't I have a shovel? Because I live in an apartment building in Maryland. For three years, I haven't needed a shovel. Hell, for 8 years I've lived in snowy places and haven't needed a shovel. Now, the furthest south that I've lived during that time, I need a shovel. I would go over to Sears to buy one but they are closed, and are probably sold out anyway. I'd be hard pressed to find a shovel for sale within 100 miles, I'd guess.

I did have one of those scrubrush types of brooms. I used that to chip away and chip away and chip away at the snow. Where the snow was deepest, but not packed, I found that I could move more of it by digging with my hands like a dog. That was actually quite fun, as was falling into the soft drifts -- poof! -- and wallowing. Eventually, someone lent me his shovel, and I made good headway in clearing the snow from behind my car. Then, he needed it back, so I went back to doggie-digging and the broom. When I had dug a nice trench around my car, I thought that I could maybe drive over the snow behind me.

Yeah, rookie mistake.

I see-sawed back and forth, getting a little further back each time, and pushing the drift ahead of me a little further into the empty parking space in front of me. Back-and-forth, back-and-forth: I felt like a demolition derby driver, or some vindictive, angry criminal on a cop show. It was quite fun!

That is, it was quite fun until -- you guessed it -- I got stuck. The nose end of my car burrowed into the drift in front of me. Backwards or forwards, my wheels spun until I smelt the distinct scent of burning rubber. "That might be enough," I thought. Then, I had to wiggle out of the car since the drifts on either side almost had me trapped. The drifts also blocked me from dislodging the snow packed around the driver's side tire. I had lost one glove. The other had become an ice block. My shoes and pants were soaked through. My fingers had become numb.

At that point, the fire alarm went of in the building. Again. As it does regularly. Once a week on average. For no reason.**

While the fire engines roared up and the firemen made their usual run of the building and the residents clustered outside of the stalled elevators, I used the broom to clear away as much of the snow as I could. The problem with that, however, was that there really isn't anywhere to put or push the snow in the middle of a crowded parking lot. I had been flinging snow into the driving lane, hoping to spread it out. At least then it might be picked up, since the little bulldozer that could seemed to be the only vehicle removing snow in the entire complex, and he was trying to make wider lanes at the entrances.

That is, he was trying to make wider lanes until someone obnoxious demanded that he clear a parking space out for them while they left their car blocking the lane because they were more important than everyone else.

Finally, I gave up. My fingers hurt too much and my toes were headed the same way, and my audiobook had ended, and I was getting grumpier by the second. Plus, I couldn't see. I went inside. The elevators were still stalled. "Of course," I thought, and realized that getting one might take a while once they started up because the hall was packed.

"Twenty flights," I thought. "I just got an upper body workout, now I can get a leg workout." At the tenth floor, I gave up. Fortunately, the elevators had started running again. Back in my apartment, I took a hot shower, and poured a glass of wine.

This morning, I found that the complex has one solution for getting rid of the snow:

That's the little bulldozer that could dumping snow into the back of a truck. He seemed to be starting to help drivers minimize the drifts behind their cars. That was too much to hope for. They both took off right after I took this picture, and had only arrived just before.

The airports are all closed, as are the above ground trains. We expect more snow tomorrow and the next day. I'm going to have to get a shovel before then. I'm supposed to go see Gentleman Caller this weekend, too. He has snow on his end; but, being further north, people in his area tend to expect it every year. It's my end that may prevent this reunion. This makes me very grumpy. Very grumpy.

Of course, the airlines are so helpful and accommodating. They will not charge passengers for last minute changes in flight plans, so long as the new flight leaves within 7 days of the original departure. No refunds.

So, that's my bitching about the Snow-pain-in-the-ass. At least the roof didn't cave in, and my car still runs as far as I know, and we have power and....crap! we just lost water.

I think I'd better go dig up a shovel (hee! pun!) now, or at least my car out of the snowdrift. Once you are out in the snow, and don't have anywhere that you have to be, it can be kinda fun.

*Guess which one is mine? I'll give you a hint: it looks like it is rearending a big-ass SUV.

**For no reason except bored kids who don't care if their family gets evicted for pranks such as pulling the fire alarm. Although, I suspect that maybe this time the cause was a frozen pizza burning, since there seemed to be a run on frozen pizzas at the grocery store on Friday. A plague of locusts had descended on Giant and devoured all of the frozen pizza, water, juice, and ice cream snacks. Also, all of the meat.