info gadgets

I am fully aware of the futility of saying things like "Sorry I've been an absent blogger lately" and "I swear I'll be better". Most of the time when I read things that that on other blogs, I'm not even aware that they've been posting any less than usual. As much as it pains me to say, a lack of posting generally means I'm happy and busy with, you know, things not involving a computer. My interest and commitment to internet has been waning. Real life can be so.... enticing? Distracting? Exhausting?

Also, a few weeks back I found of that there is a certain subset of grown men who are obsessed with amputee girls (no matter how small the um.. loss?). The swarming hive found me and it's sort of turned me off blogging for a bit. All's rectified, the point of entry had been taken down, but it still makes me feel a little uncomfortable. Talking about it makes it more bemusing/bizarre and less terrifying. Sorry Dad. Just needed to get that off my chest.

We're on to blizzard number 2 in Brooklyn and I've been making soup like it's my job. I finally bought a shovel to dig out my car and I'd probably still be spinning my tires if I hadn't gotten a 20 minute coaching session from a older Russian man who, through my rolled down window, gave me his philosophy on driving in the snow. When a man with a beard and a Russian accent tells you about snow, you listen.

My neighborhood is charming. Full of characters- hipsters and grandparents and tony soprano types. We all share one thing in common and one thing only. Vinyl siding. Sometime in the 1960s, everyone got together and decided to cover every house on every block with it. My house is 100 years old and it has it. So does everyone else's.

But the snow makes even vinyl siding look delicious. It turns a neighborhood with a face only a mother could love into a John Hughes movie set, but with more cultural diversity and higher rents. Girls with snowflakes and pinks cheeks are helped out by boys wielding shovels. Snow gets pushed into mountains and I get an excuse to sit in bed on a Saturday night. Cynics will be cynics, but I refuse to stop loving the snow.