In the fictional universe of Star Wars, Hoth is the sixth planet of a remote system of the same name. It is a world blanketed by snow and ice.
Hoth Schmoth. That place has nothing on New Jersey. We were hammered with a major blizzard last night. A state of emergency has been declared. The word is that New York City is also buried but I haven’t been able to get there to confirm. I couldn’t get to work and since I’m only a consultant—not a full time employee—I won’t be paid for today. They’d better get this mess cleaned up. I don’t want to miss another day of work. Also, I have tickets to an off-Broadway dark comedy/drama about a dysfunctional family starring Ethan Hawke and I don’t want to eat the tickets.
Here are the drifts that were right outside our door. It’s as though I moved to Colorado overnight, for cryin’ out loud!
I had to dig us out. This photo has a soft blur to it because Mrs. Wife took it from the warm side of our windowed storm door. It’s the most snow I’ve ever cleared in a single session. I popped my earbuds in, cued up Sandinista! by the Clash and got the job done. It was easy! It only took a four hours.
This is the halfway point. Hour two. It was an astonishing amount of work. My neighbor in that house across the street owns a snow plow but in the nine years we’ve lived here he has never once offered to help clear my driveway or lend it to me. One time when I was stuck in the city, Mrs. Wife had to shovel the driveway. She had our then year-old daughter wrapped up in her stroller in the garage. After he finished his driveway, did he offer to help her? Nay. He did not.
I texted this photo to a friend of mine who lives in a tony apartment in Tribeca. I wanted him to see what moving to the suburbs could lead to. He texted me back from the warmth of the Dominican Republic, having escaped the city just before JFK was shut down. He was en rout to a small island in the Mediterranean with his heartbreakingly beautiful/smart Dominican girlfriend.
I will conclude this post without further comment.