The cruel fist of winter has all Yankeedom in its deadly grip. Here in Michigan, we’ve only had a light dusting of snow (gone now) and it hasn’t gotten especially cold. To date we’ve had a pleasantly, if also ominously, mild winter. We fall well short of recent Disney movie weather, though I still don’t advise trying out your new swimsuit. As a person who intensely dislikes this whole business of seasons, I would ordinarily not mind this so much.
However, for the next few days I’ve got a good friend visiting from Hawaii. Now and then he waxes wistful for all the snow and each time my resentment grows just a little bit more, as it must under the ministrations of such an accomplished architect of woe. If you have friends who live in a much nicer climate than your own, you know how it goes. If not, then you are probably that friend. Your duty requires you to smile as you imagine fists shook in impotent rage at nature’s callous whims. As unconditional unionists, we shall have to live with one another’s faults until such time as the brain implants or other remedies become available. Our present state of durance vile must take precedence over the nineteenth century for this short while. I may sneak out a post or two all the same, but expect regular service to resume around the first of the year.
I must lay upon you one duty of a most onerous character. Clothed in the full authority of the blogger, so staggering a raiment that I cannot bear it long lest I develop back trouble, I ordain that you ought to enjoy yourselves in whatever way you find most pleasing. Should you fail in this duty, I have reliable information from several mostly-sober sources that some distant authority will note your laxity and take appropriate measures. Only you can prevent coal-in-footwear disease. Unless you have a good reason, in which case it’s not your fault at all and don’t mind me.