February 13, 2010
For some reason Pittsburgh has been left out of the national news lately even after a State of Emergency was declared in our city. Washington D.C. is getting all the press coverage. Snowpacalypse, Snowmaggedon, Snowapallosa or whatever you want to call it has hit Pittsburgh just as hard as it has hit the nation’s capital, yet we get no press coverage. I guess Pittsburgh residents just don’t have that flashy, attention-whore personality like people in Washington D.C.
And we backcheck on defense.
There were big patches of Spring green peeking out through the melted snow just a few days ago. Now, ever since that little jagoff Punxatawny Phil saw his shadow and decreed through some pagan ritual that Spring must be delayed, we’ve been back in the ice age. 22 inches on Saturday and another 6 on Tuesday. It has sucked immensely. People are stocking up on food like it’s Y2K all over again. Loved ones are separated from one another by only a few miles of treacherous roadways. There have been up to three documented Wampa attacks.
But my complaining has verified a fear that I’ve had for quite some time: I believe that I might be growing up.
I’ve always had two stipulations to help me determine when I am officially a man and no longer a boy. 1) When I start to look at snow storms as an inconvenience rather than a joyous school-canceling event. 2) When Brett Farve retires from the NFL.
I’m afraid that the first stipulation has officially been met this year. The snow makes me late for work, it ruins dry-clean only pants, and shoveling hurts my back. So in short, I’m almost an old man and I’m only 25. I’ve had a few scares with the Brett Farve thing, but judging from his appearance in nearly 35% of all Superbowl ads, I think I’m still safe from old age for a few more NFL seasons.
Enough with the freaking snow already.