February 10th, 2010
There is chaos among New Yorkers today. Another 9/11? No. Black out? Guess again. Snow…the holy mother of all emergencies. When the white stuff is coming down...people love to talk about it. In length. Then buy milk.
Is it possible that snow is really just God's cocaine falling from the sky? Don’t refute this too hastily. If you created the world in seven days you might need a powerful nervous system stimulant to give you an extra kick. It takes a lot of energy to build night, day, heaven, seas, sun, moon, stars, animals, man and the internet in one week. According to the folklore in my head, there was supposed to be another week of creation but God’s excessive dosages of this crystalline tropane alkaloid resulted with lethargy, tremors and psychosis.
I do feel that snow is the sexiest of precipitations. Evidently, I am not alone in this assessment.
Here is a preview for Fox’s newest reality show called “So You Want to be a Water Vapor Falling from the Sky Idol.” Judged by Simon Cowell.
Contestant # 1: Rain
Simon: That was terrible, I mean just awful. You are far too common in the competitive world of water vapor. My advice is that you fire your precipitation coach and know that you’ll never surpass the mild fame you achieved in Costa Rica during rainy season.
Contestant # 2: Hail
Simon: Did you really believe that you could become the next Water Vapor Falling from the Sky Idol? You’re a pathetic excuse for a complex dance between moisture, wind and ice crystals. You have to commit. Do you want to fall to earth or not? Go back to your cumulus cloud, lose some weight and if you want to pursue a career in precipitation, don't.
Contestant # 3: Snow
Simon: (Sitting back, arms crossed and looking very pleased.) Congratulations, you’re coming to Hollywood in the clouds. You could very well be the next “Water Vapor Falling from the Sky Idol.”
On a final note, I feel that snow also plays a pivotal role to local weathermen, who in my opinion, are generally mangled faced 40 year old virgins. Last night I saw a glimmer of hope in the 11:00PM local weather guy’s eye as he was giving us the green screen stats about the upcoming storm. He must live for this shit because it’s a real power position that he seldom experiences. After the news, I see him heading to the bar at TGI Friday's and greeted by a slew of women who find sex appeal and mystique in someone who speaks snow. His confidence gets the best of him and he delivers the following line to his admirers. “Yeah, I predict some inches. In my pants.”