Blogger Versus the Shovel
Over the last 36 hours, another 12 inches of the white stuff came strafing in over the high planes. I feel like I’ve spent half this winter shoveling the walk. Where were all these snow storms when I lived in an apartment and some poor bastard had to do all my snow removal bidding?

I went for Indian food yesterday during the worst of it. With a middle finger raised to the heavens, and Heavy anthems blaring from the stereo, good time was made rushing up 94 West to the Northern outskirts of town and to the best Indian food you can find under a mountain of Minnesota snow. The plows had given up keeping the interstate clean. The lanes were hidden under inches of snow. Looking back in the rearview mirror you saw soft yellow headlights trying to push their way through the blizzard. You could barely make out any shapes. The cars seemed like ghosts suspended in a white sea. My traveling companion, a Southerner, was loosing his hold on reality. He kept looking back frighteningly over his shoulder at the crowd of cars behind us. His posture was contorting as he crouched lower and lower in his seat. He kept on hollering, “This is some Mad Max type shit right here!!”. At Broadway Avenue we had to do some fancy driving to avoid the parade of cars that were spinning out of control. Through the front window the world looked like a giant pinpball game. One moment a car would be driving comfortably in front of us and then just like that it would spin 560 degrees and then carom off the cushion of a seven foot deep natural highway buffer. It was somewhat beautiful. Like ballet. At anytime we knew our number could be up and we’d be sliding across five lanes of traffic just to end up turned around staring down a Cub Foods semi. This is Minnesota. This is where the fun starts.