More Snow Photos

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The trip back from work involved no small amount of slipping and sliding, and a freezing wade through knee-deep snow covering the as-of-yet unplowed Front Street near the Shot Tower subway station. But I did get more photos of the snowstorm’s aftermath, and my classmate Rame has more pictures from a trek around Baltimore with his DV cam.

Manhole in Snow

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Cool-2B-Carnivorous!

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Hey, teenagers, it’s like so Cool 2B Real and stuff, you know?

(Especially when you read the fine print and see that this message is brought to you by beef farmers who are subtly telling teens that you can eat lots of meat and still be totally kewl. Look at the Smart Snacks to see what I mean.)

Expedition to Penn Station

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You remember that part in Superman II, after Clark has lost all his powers but has to trek back on foot across the snow to the Fortress of Solitude so he can reverse the process and fight the three supervillains?

That’s sort of what the trip to Penn Station was like this morning.

But I made it, and caught the train, too. Now I can fight General Zod with my newly restored superpowers. Would you care to step outside?

Snowminions’ Doom

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My army of twelve windowsill snowminions has utterly melted to nothing:

This was taken a day after the Great Snowstorm of February, 2003.

Battlestar Galatter-Day Saints

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Sci-Fi is showing Battlestar Galactica, which I haven’t seen since I was a kid.

Or as some like to call it, Mormons in Space. More details here, including the fact that Glen A. Larson was with the LDS. Me, I’m not worried that the background nuances of a late-70’s science fiction could possibly inculcate cultic theology into me, any more than Battlefield Earth could turn me into a Scientologist.

Wow, I never realized when I was a kid that “Starbuck” was also “The Face” on A-Team. Heh.

Work of Your Hands

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From the fruit of his lips a man is filled with good things as surely as the work of his hands rewards him.

Well, the worst of the snowstorm has passed, and I’ve just finished shovelling a narrow little valley from the door to the plowed street, cutting through a knee-deep — sometimes waist-deep — sea of soft, fluffy snow. I don’t work with my hands nearly enough anymore, and it feels good — really good, to look out the window and see that clear path winding across the buried sidewalk to the road below. I guess Calvin’s (of Calvin and Hobbes fame) dad was right: shovelling snow does build character.

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the grave, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom.