More white death from the sky
I’ve been at this long enough to know what to do. So when the hysterics on television started carrying on about the quantity of snow expected yesterday, I put a clean shirt, clean underwear, and my shaving kit into a bag and headed for the paragraph factory.
The snow fell, outpacing the plows, motorists got stranded on the streets and highways, and the governor told us to stay off the roads. When I heard that my neighbor David Zurawik, The Sun’s television columnist, had taken two hours to drive six miles and could get no nearer than three blocks to his house, I knew it would be an overnight stay.
After closing the final edition, I trudged up the hill to the Tremont Plaza, where I had prudently made a reservation. The bar was closed, but I had brought provisions. After toying for some time with the remote control, I realized that the television wasn’t receiving anything. I would have called the front desk about that, but the telephone didn’t work either. So I sipped some bourbon and observed the paralysis of Mount Vernon and West Baltimore from the thirty-fifth floor.
Fortunately, the room was warm and the bed comfortable.
After breakfast this morning, with nothing else to do, I returned to the office, where I have amused myself by drinking tea, blogging, and switching back and forth between New Twitter and Old Twitter. Later, after the final edition is closed, I’ll head back to Hamilton, and hopefully* I’ll be in my own bed tonight.
*Stop twitching. I’ve told you that that is perfectly OK.