Oh, I’m depressed today. I’m missing a snowstorm.
I adore a blizzard, especially in Manhattan, where the whole city shuts down and becomes eerie and pristine. There’s going to be a foot and a half of snow in New York today, and I’m in San Francisco. To make the irony crueler, I’m flying to Utah today, where it’s positively balmy in relation to gorgeous, frigid New York.
I remember a blizzard in 1993 when I came in from Brooklyn and trudged around looking for Magnetic Fields records in an East Village that was rendered so quiet that you could hear somebody’s footsteps crunching the snow a block away.
I really get into these exorbitant spirals of blue funk when I miss a blizzard (I missed the big two-foot one–last year?–when I was, again absurdly, in a relatively temperate Minnesota) I mean, almost Germanic depths of bleakness. Pretty comical.