You know those parts in the horror movie where the supernatural slasher finally goes all postal and starts making coeds into ceviche? And there's always one of the monster-fodder that goes completely bugnuts at this point, sobbing and screaming and clawing at the scenery in a frantic, futile attempt to escape the fate she understands with horrible clarity that the screenwriter has meted out to her at the bottom of page 63?
Portland is like that about snow.
We get completely, mindlessly fucked up. Our streets are like the trail of the Grand Armee' back from Moscow to Smolensk littered with the wrecked debris of passage, our businesses close, our public institutions shut down; we just huddle in the cold and dark and wait for the sun to return like Paleolithic hunters shivering in terror through the eclipse.
I drove from North Portland to Oregon City today. With chains it was unpleasant but do-able; the worst part was the pathetically Victorian level of Portland "snow removal" meant that my little Honda Civic was often belly-down in the snow.
Nobody else made it in. I puttered around, did a little housekeeping, and now I'm ready to go home. No big deal. Anyway, here are some images from Portland's "Arctic Blast" of 2008: Amherst Street at 7:30 a.m.And a couple of artistic treatments of our yard all lovely with the snow.Hope you're enjoying better weather than we are, or are at home skiing and enjoying the snowfall.