There comes a time when
all good people tire of putting on Canada Goose down coats (like, really, in my
neighborhood of Park Slope, Brooklyn, Canada Goose are everywhere – I wouldn’t
have a clue where they were being sold – Macy’s? Certainly not in this ZIP
code) and knit caps and lined gloves and thick woolen scarves and hideous Ugg
boots. Off we March! to the subway, the only year in twenty-five that I’ve been
in New York City that it rolls around to the month of March and this notion of
an enforced troop action in this puffy uniform has occurred and I accept it
like a slap in the face from an aggrieved stranger, someone, who, and this has
happened to me, or more to the point feels like it is happening often enough
that I’ve imprinted it as a memory strikes out at me solely because they don’t
like the look of my face, they think that my impolitic smirk is meant for them
when it’s not, it’s meant to convey how fed up I am with this practice of
putting on ALL these clothes in the fruitless attempt of keeping warm in this f—ing
winter that just doesn’t end, which brings me to a video that was posted on a Facebook
page from snowbound Watertown, New York, by Brian Ashley, my childhood pal from
Owen Sound, Ontario, where we both saw snow to last a lifetime. This winter,
though, Brian and I are over it. So with a tip of the toque to Brian, here it is,
the last word in the winter that never ends:
http://bit.ly/1lzbwi6.
Next: Running for
Your Life: Track Work!
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