The color of sorrow is white
It snowed here in Allentown, PA last night, and I am becoming acutely aware of how my mood is directly proportional to the temperature outside and the amount of rainfall. 90 degrees and no rain = Ernie Banks. 28 degrees and snow = Dave Kingman.
Today I’m Dave Kingman. A neighborhood kid is shoveling the walk and the driveway for ten bucks. My “job” at work today will be to find a cheap snowblower online, so internal combustion can do the work for me. Science needs to get its collective butt in gear and start making us some affordable robots so my robot can go out and run the snowblower for me. Then maybe my mood won’t be ruined.
Bulls lost, Bears lost, Cubs haven’t filled their hole in LF or closer, and Sosa’s still wearing a teddy bear on his sleeve. On the bright side, my wife and I had an awesome Christmas, but its glow has been covered in a chilly white blanket assembled from millions upon millions of individual flakes of agony.