I have to say, I've never been crazy about snow. It used to baffle me how people would go goo-goo over it, but I suspect it has something to do with a certain fascistic sentimentality and infantilism, with the rarity of "pure" whiteness in nature (which, call me a Melvillean, shit, call me Ishmael, but it really strikes me as more ghoulish-looking than anything else). At any rate, that particular phenomenon has always irritated me, especially when everybody knows and experiences what an objective pain in the ass it is. My apartment-to-class trek starts at 1st Ave and ends at University - this for someone with dachsund legs - and my job involves non-stop outdoor perambulation for over 4 hours. White winters simply hold no charm for my circulatory system.
And apologies if you're thrown by the uncharacteristic lack of climacteric in this post, but there's just no "but" to be deployed. I just really, really don't like snow. Not to mention I have to buy a pair of rubber boots now if I want to avoid a life-saving amputative procedure this week. And everybody knows how much I LOVE being made to shop.
I suppose I can throw in by way of a pittance that my favorite "Calvin & Hobbes" strip happens to be a speech-bubble-less episode where Calvin tries to get his dad to come out and play in the snow with him. Dad gestures towards a big pile of work, and Calvin shuffles out, slumped in disappointment. Dad resumes his work for a while, then looks out the window, contemplative. The next scene is outdoors, Dad romping through the snow, arms thrown open, dashing towards an ecstatic Calvin. Sort of an unguardedly sweet moment, very unusual for fellow curmudgeon and anti-corporatist Bill Watterson. He's not too optimistic about filial relationships either. But that man - well, you see, he's a regional soul. And he likes him some snow. And in Bill and Calvin's case, I can let that stand.
