Through a Pretzel Nugget, Darkly


No doubt you’re all wondering how my wife and I are handling the “Snowpocalypse of ’10”  after being stuck indoors for the past three days – three long, dull, cold and horrible days of shoveling snow, watching terrible daytime TV, and generally getting on each other’s nerves as the endless hours of enforced idleness patiently grind away at our dwindling reserves of self-control.

Pretty good, all things considered. Thanks for asking.

 

A picture of me, freezing.

Just chillin'.

My wife of course hates snow and cold and winter with a passion that I personally reserve for Joe Lieberman. She’s done pretty well during this storm but lately cracks have begun to appear, and I’m considering hiding all of the sharp implements in the house or maybe locking myself in the bathroom until spring.

To remain sane my wife spends a large amount of time on the Internets, which is fine in the morning, but in the afternoon and evening our piece o’ crap Hughes.Net satellite Internet connection slows to a terrible crawl, and she gets increasingly irate. I helpfully point out that it’s not my fault (while slowly backing away), but that does little to sooth her mounting rage. Eventually she stomps off muttering, no doubt plotting a hideous revenge against me, the local weatherman and everybody who’s hogging her bandwidth.

Personally, I have become an obsessive consumer of Utz’s pretzel nuggets. We have two opened bags in the house. (And don’t’ tell my wife, but I have a couple more hidden in my car.) Sometimes I dip them in hot sauce. *Shudder.*

When not mechanically snarfing down junk food I spend hours rebuilding my ‘Magic: the Gathering’ decks while watching cooking shows on TV. If you don’t know what ‘MtG’ is, congratulations. Pray that you never learn.

During the limited period that we can get online, I too like to surf the net, tardily reading email, updating my Facebook status and fact-checking the celebrity nipple-slips displayed on the Huffington Post site. Yesterday I got an email from my brother informing me that the fastest-growing kind of plastic surgery in the United Kingdom is breast-reduction procedures for men and suggesting that I write a blog about that, but he can forget it. No matter what the philosophers say, some phenomena are better left unexamined. Frankly I wish I could get that information out of my brain altogether, so why spread the agony?

Not surprisingly, given the way that I’m otherwise spending the day, I actually kind of look forward to the time I spend outside shoveling snow – clearing the cars and the front porch, digging a path down the hill to the barn and then excavating the paddock area. It’s cold, sweaty and exhausting and after a couple of hours my feet are frozen ice cubes and my back feels like it’s been pummeled by a coked-up butcher wielding a meat tenderizer, but by golly I feel frickin’ MANLY when I’m done.

Also, all of the exercise I’m getting will help get rid of those man-boobs.

I mean, if I had any, which of course I don’t.

Crap. I’d better get out there and dig some more.

Anyway, if you find yourself in my position, I have two pieces of advice for you. First, make sure that you have plenty of pretzel nuggets on hand to help you get through the long afternoons. And second, don’t open any emails from my brother. He’s a dangerous smartass.

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2 Responses to “Through a Pretzel Nugget, Darkly”

  1. Brothers Says:

    You know, if I had read your column, I might have been offended by it (and your man-boobs). Fortunately, I make it a point never to read your writinhg. And I have my doorman sweep the snow off our sidewalk, so I don’t get any on the bottom of my loafers as I stroll out to Babbo for a little snack with Mario Batali. Have a nice day!

  2. Sister Says Says:

    Why so delayed in your response, brother #1? Have you not been reading, brother’s blog religiously?

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