I’ve always said that Nebraska doesn’t generate its own weather; we get our weather blown in from other directions. We get warm air blown up from the south, rain and snow creep in from the west, and cold air tumbles south from the arctic. All of America’s worst weather happen here, and the only goddamned constant is it’s always windier than you’d like.
Last night, Sarah and I went to meet up with my dad, who was in town overnight to catch a morning flight. (To Hawaii. We are incredibly jealous.) We met downtown at a burger place we’ve always wanted to try (The Omaha Tap House), and Sarah and I decided to drive down a little early to visit the best record store in town (Homers).
After picking up a few records, we walked the four blocks over to the restaurant. Little did we know that the weather had gone from mildly chilly to you’re gonna get FROSTBITE and DIE if you DON’T GO INSIDE. It’s a subtle shift, but Nebraskans know it well.
By the time we got to the burger place, Sarah and I practically stumbled in the door and required several minutes of pressing our hands against our faces to get the blood circulating again. “This isn’t a night for walking around,” Dad said. “How about I give you a ride back to your car when we’re done eating?”
We merrily accepted his offer.
While we’d expected a lot of snow and ice in the evening, this morning it seems that Omaha has been mercifully spared. Other states got hit much worse, with several of them declaring a state of emergency. The POLAR VORTEX strikes again! You better watch out, Virginia. Your goose is coo…er, frozen?
Ten Years in the Tub is going fairly well. It’s a longer book, filled with a decade’s worth of Believer articles about the books Nick Hornby was reading (or simply purchasing) at the time. Hornby writes about books so well that you want to stop reading his and pick up whatever he’s talking about — I grit my teeth and mumble warnings to myself. Things like, “You can’t take a break to re-read all of Salinger,” or, “Why would you want to read Moneyball when you’ve never read a single book about baseball?”
Hearing passionate people talk about the things they’re passionate about is inspiring. Thomas Merton makes you want to join a monastery; Nick Hornby makes you want to read more books.
It’s a strong reminder that no reader ever has enough time to read everything they’d like, but they all have time to bemoan the fact. Professionals just do their complaining in larger venues.
Speaking of which: School starts on Monday, and it is certainly going to impact my reading and blogging time. While I try to set aside a few hours every day, sometimes being around teenagers for eleven hours straight leaves you with so little energy that all you can do is go home and lie down.