I’d have to check the calendar but I’m 99% sure that here in Boston we’ve gone through three whole seasons in the past month. Temps were profoundly in the Eighties late into October and November (I still have two fans in my office, believe it or not). By a narrow two to one vote, the Earth, Sun, and atmosphere voted to finally let us have a couple of weeks of actual Autumn, and now they’ve managed to knock down all of the leaves in record time and are hurrying us onward into Winter.
It’s snowing. Thank heavens. Of course, I can be cavalier about enjoying one of the four-star features of New England weather because I have no kids to pick up early from school. Also, when wondering if I can drive my car home from my office, I’m not worried about it getting stuck in a snowdrift. I would worry about it getting stuck in the upstairs hallway.
It’s the ideal sort of snowfall, too: dry, fluffy powder that floats straight down and seems to weigh about seven ounces per cubic yard. You can actually look forward to shoveling stuff like that. When it’s wet and moving nearly horizontally because of the whipping wind, the sensible thing is to just bunker down and wait for it to melt down on its own by April or May. I mean, why bother living in a two-story house if you’re not going to exploit a bedroom window as a means of egress from time to time?
In fact, I was so eager to go out and play in the snow via the only means that’s available to a lone adult that I spent some time waiting for the snow to pile up and building a special iMix for what I wanted to listen to while shoveling.
‘Tis the season for a great many things. Among them: a parade of small packages from PR folks and tech companies, each containing some inexpensive offering or another. Each item has been selected with digital precision. They want whatever-it-is to be nice enough that I associate the name of the company with a burst of endorphins, but if they go one penny beyond an ill-defined but immediately-obvious price point, it has to be sent back, along with a curt little note.
(The phrase “If you’re going to treat me like a whore, the least you could do is pay me like a courtesan” usually comes into play.)
Usually, these people are spinning the wheel and taking a chance. I’m sure that [name redacted] thought that a $6 tin of Ghirardelli hot chocolate mix would work out OK but they couldn’t have possibly predicted that it would arrive on a gorgeous snowy day when a mug of nice hot chocolate is the perfect prop to have in your hand while standing at the window watching the stuff come down, and the perfect restorative after 90 minute of shoveling.
What I’m saying is that if sometime in he next two weeks I’m a little too enthusiastic about a fairly dull and pedestrian piece of software…well, I’m only human.