December 11, 2005

Isn't water amazing? According to science, whom I have personally asked, this is a true fact. More than any other chemical, water is capable of assuming more forms that can kill you horribly. Whirlpools, tsunamis, icebergs, sleet, El Niño, the list goes on. And, studies have shown, a full 85% of these forms have been found on Boston roadways.

It is for this reason that I've decided that my car should go into hibernation. Bears do it, and my car is very large and has a tendency to make grumbly noises when angry, so I figure it's about time it got to hibernate. My decision may also have been due to the fact that a 2-foot wall of snow had accumulated around my Explorer, mostly due to the fact that I hadn't moved it since 4-7 inches of snow plopped onto Massachusetts Friday afternoon. So everybody else needed to get the snow off their cars, which were very non-hibernating, but where do you put the snow? Clearly, into Chris's parking space. It's not like he needs to get anywhere anytime soon, like to buy food or anything.

So when I walked down to the parking lot to survey the damage, I found that Tufts had pretty much plowed the parking lot clear, except for one large, fluffy white blob where my car had once been. Fortunately, I had acquired, the previous day, a “snow-broom,” which is a long red stick with bristles on the end of it which is used to clear snow from your car. The possibilities are endless. And even more fortunately, I had intelligently thought to stow the snow broom in my car.

So I managed to crack and crunch the driver's side door open and retrieve the broom, and then briefly observed the pile of frosting that was then covering my hood, like a big green Ford cupcake. I kind of poked at it with my snowbroom, wondering if there was a proper way to do this, and maybe I could avoid looking silly by kind of staring at my car with my mouth open for a few minutes. The pile had, it seemed, frozen into a large, single mass, so the broom bristles were not being very helpful. However, with a slight push of a non-gloved hand, the entire mass slid off the hood and fell to the snow with a crunch.

The question still remained, however, as to how I was to get my car out from the little snow fort that my automotive neighbors had so kindly built up around it. I thought briefly of piling it onto the cars adjacent to me, as that was clearly where Mother Nature had intended the snow to go in the first place, but then I thought, “This is an SUV. I do not fear nature. I aggressively run nature over. I saw it in a commercial once.” So I kind of kicked some of the more egregious pieces of snow out from behind my tires, and decided to see if I could just kind of… plow over it. Turns out that local television commercials don't lie. (Although you'd think at least one of those used Pontiac dealerships can be beat… best not to think too hard about things like that.)

And so, with that behind me, I was then free to enjoy Christmas time in Boston, which, pound for pound, is a lot more Christmasy than Christmas time in Alabama, where the only places that feel like Christmas are the insides of malls, which have been decorated that way since approximately Father's Day. Everything seems a lot more magical and friendly in Boston in December. Even the sputtering rivers of curses spewing from the mouths of the drivers you cut off on the rotary seem a little more melodic, as if to say, “Good tidings to you and your kin!” with special added gestures.

Oh sure, there are a few inconveniences here and there, like if you don't get rid of the ice on top of your car it will all come cascading over your windshield at an inopportune moment, sounding like you just drove your car into the Waterford crystal display lobby and then resulting in your weaving erratically around the highway (making other drivers wonder if you are not, secretly, a taxi). And too, I got to experience something I like to call a “thundersnow” on Friday, when sleet barrels at you horizontally and actual lightning sets actual cars on fire on actual highways. But mostly, the beginning of winter could have been worse. Much much worse.

And it may get worse. After all, the White Witch is in town now. At least, I presume so, because I ate Turkish Delight recently, and let me tell you, if a character representing Satan did not conjure such a thing up, I have no better theory for it. The stuff is so weird. I have no idea why little Edmund (this is all about Chronicles of Narnia for those poor unfortunate souls out there who have not partaken of the film yet) sold out his family for this gooey goop. Sticky toffee pudding, heck yeah. Oreos, definitely. But Turkish Delight? The whole idea of candy is for you to experience delight, not Turkish, who are presumably still laughing at the British for that time they sold them sugar-covered tanning waste and called it “Delight.” Perhaps the White Witch laced the dessert with something a little more exciting… like Oreos.

However, I have yet to see an ominous white palace anywhere yet, so the White Witch might not be fully in power at the moment (and you can also tell because the fauns upstairs who enjoy clog-dancing at all hours have not yet been turned to stone… there's an up side to everything).

The movie's really enjoyable, especially at 2:30 AM , when even Will & Grace is enjoyable (“Ha ha! He made an inappropriate reference to his genitals! Ha ha!”). It's not so fast paced that it obliterates the magical feeling that's so necessary to making you believe that a snowy forest exists on the other side of a wardrobe, resulting in scads of closet space. You just know that if the wardrobe had come into a Southern suburban home that Narnia would have rapidly filled with plastic crates from Organized Living covered in labels like “Sombreros – Mexico , 1996.” ("Mom! Where do I put all my old Ninja Turtles?" "Just leave them in Narnia for now, dear.")

So until further notice, I'll be enjoying Christmas time in Boston, and praying that Father Christmas brings me medieval weaponry. Or at least a snow shovel.