Philly just stops in the snow, like no one who has lived here has ever dealt with it before. And the paralysis is media mental, where there is just unbridled exaggeration about inches, winds and social trauma. Not helping. But, if everyone just breathes, they can perhaps forget panicking and go play in the snow.
For the moment, I have Rittenhouse Square practically all to myself and what fine music this snow hush makes. There’s gorgeous accumilation, featuring swirl and horizontal snowing. Love that. On the other side of the square is a large dog convention and they are in heaven. Poodles, razorbacks, pugs, russels and a pit named Marcel and a terrier named Scot off leashes and socializing. Take a lesson Philadelphia. They make me jealous that I only have two legs. Hustled over to Sweat gym (the Art Museum was completely invisible down the Parkway) to make sure that I swim the same day I can play in the snow, a rare urban opportunity.
Now, a real snow day with coco and Garbo. Caio.
Later. Listening to the live broadcast of the Met’s new production of Offenbach’s Tales of Hoffmann, set in the 20s. So much better than hearing minority leader Mitch McConnell trying to demonize Dems and smear health care legislation. Much rather hear the muses, drunken writers and villians who can sing than tin-ear Republicans singing their NoNoNo arias ad naseum.
Enough, back to Offenbach. Au revoir les enfants.