A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal. -Oscar Wilde

Sunday, December 20, 2009


I'm catching up on a semester's worth of missed sleep through the snowpocalypse. Bread, milk, and toilet paper levels remain high in the apartment, and the brats have taken it upon themselves to be as underfoot and over-lap as possible. Which is fine, as I've been mostly napping when not reading or watching movies or otherwise giving my brain the day off.

The first (and possibly only, going by the past few winters) major snow arrived overnight Friday into yesterday. I was driving home late Friday, and all was okay until I got off the parkway and wasn't able to see the lane lines anymore thanks to untouched blowing snow. I parked in front of my building, anticipating the snowfall to be somewhat lesser than the hysterical predictions and that I'd be on my way bright and early in the morning. Alas, assurances from public works types were lies. Main roads such as my own were pronounced clear, while they were clearly over ankle deep in slush and snow that had perhaps received a token salting before traffic packed the surface right down. Great job there, Boy Mayor. It made going to the Nutcracker last night a little hairy. The Nutcracker was mostly fabulous, and the bits that could be critiqued mostly serve as evidence of the extraordinarily high calibre talent (or the boorish types in the audience that clearly have no idea how to behave). I've read in several places that we have one of the top five ballet companies in the states here in little old Pittsburgh. It's important to not take such treasures for granted.

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