The Governor of New Jersey (Well, the “Acting Governor” – You remember. It was in all the papers) just declared a “State of Emergency.” I believe that means that only “essential” vehicles are permitted on the roadways. I’m not exactly sure of the scope of the prohibition, but it doesn’t matter, because I have no driving plans at the moment.

Random snow thoughts.

Why would anyone want to live in a place where it is 75 degrees, clear and breezy tonight? The 50-60 mile per hour winds and single digit temperatures expected in a few hours from now will be a rare treat. Cocktails on the veranda? Feh! There’s nothing like having 60 mph icy wind blow snow in your face and down your neck. Gott-damned bracing, that.

I just heard that Newark Airport is still open, “though experiencing significant delays.” Open??? I don’t think they have printed enough money to get my ass in a plane at Newark Airport tonight.

Why, why to local television stations feel compelled to have some sorry ass news person do live reports while standing in the driving snow? They don’t have to do that for my benefit. I can look out the window and see that it’s snowing like a bastard. Must be some kind of rookie reporter initiation. I believe that Dan *spit* Rather got his start by tying himself to a telephone pole during a hurricane or some shit. Dumbass.

From what I am hearing now, it appears that we won’t even be able to begin digging out until tomorrow afternoon. Thrilling.

I need a drink.

The snow began falling here at the house by the Parkway at 11:35, Eastern Time. Because of the several days of bone-cracking cold that preceded today, every farookin’ flake that hits the ground is sticking. If the weather predictions are accurate, this should slow or stop for a couple hours, and then we get the blizzard, which will dump a couple feet of this shit the powdery white stuff on the ground.

We made the obligatory run to the supermarket this morning with the rest of the nutbars who feel that they cannot survive 24 hours without five gallons of milk, three loaves of bread and four dozen eggs. We went, not for home-supplies, but rather to pick up about a half dozen things for mother-in-law who refuses to inventory more than three days’ worth of food in the house, and she was down to the last day’s worth. Crazy? Yep, but I have learned over the years which arguments are worth having and which are not.

Anyway, in the supermarket, my assignment was to go directly to the deli counter to pick up a half pound of Schickhaus (It absolutely must be Schickhaus, and it must be sliced thin), and a quarter pound of provolone cheese. I plucked my number from the number dispenser and saw that I was number 76. The people behind the counter were working on number 20. Hell, I only had to wait for 56 people to buy a quarter pound of this and a half pound of that. “Yo, is da ham nice? Lemme see. OK, gimme a quarter pound.”

Actually I had to wait for fewer than 56 people, because it turns out that many people play “deli-roulette.” They pick a number when they first enter the store and then continue shopping, checking in now and then on the current number of the person being served. The good news is that the oldish ladies who work behind the counter strictly enforce the “two holler” rule, and if you are not there, they move on to the next number and the absent-when-called person is schnitzled.

I suppose I could have taken a couple numbers and as my turn approached sold the lower numbers to the newcomers. Probably a bad idea though, because if caught trafficking in deli numbers, I could well be beaten to death.

So, I waited….and waited…and waited, and finally was blessed with the receipt of a half pound of bologna and a quarter pound of provolone, clearly life-sustaining supplies. One does what one must, I suppose.

So, for now, I think I will crack a book for a while and try not to think too much about what’s going outside or the prospect of snowblowing all this stuff tomorrow.