The Holiday Season Precipitation Event of 2010 was either a "doozy" or a "humdinger," depending on which outmoded-slang enthusiast you ask, but it won't top the Halloween Storm of 1991, or the Armistice Day Blizzard of 1940, or the Arbor Day Hurricane of 25,603 B.C., or the Fourth-Quarter Self-Employment Taxes Are Due Today Sleet Torrent of 1963.
It didn't come on a holiday, and it happened at a time when we expect blizzards. If it happens over Christmas and it breaks records that have stood since the beginning of time -- meaning, when the boomers were kids -- then a blizzard will be remembered. Otherwise, it's just, you know, weather. We get that here.
That said: whoa. A fine storm, a classic storm. We're past the point where awkward elevator-trip silences can be smoothed over with storm talk; if today you said "Boy, it just kept coming and coming, didn't it?" people would give you a thin smile and edge away. But we can still talk about the aftermath, the result of the storm -- also known as Our World Until March, Deal With It. A few notes:
1. You'd think we'd be better prepared. The afternoon of Snowmaggaddeon I went to the store to see if people were standing 20 deep in line, buying bread, milk, and toilet paper. Yes, they were. To repeat a previous observation, it's as if everyone believes a blizzard is an occasion for French Toast and dysentery. It was awful; the fellow who got the last baguette swung it like a broadsword to fight his way to the checkout line. Back, you dogs! Back! But it made me wonder: Perhaps it's possible that blizzards are summoned by an imbalance in the quantity of milk, bread, and Charmin. When enough people run low, some strange physical relationship between the three either produces storms, or attracts them from North Dakota. By the time we redress the balance in the Force, it's too late. Just a theory, yes, but when was the last time we had a huge blizzard right after a huge blizzard? Nobel science prize committee, I think you have my address.
2. The Vikings have asked people to scrape the TCF field because it's not like we have a group of burly athletes who work 16 weeks a year who could show up and clear the field where they work themselves. In the old days Bud Grant would have been out there making the snow go away by glaring at it. That was the era when the Vikings sometimes dumped snow on the gridiron before the game, and wore actual horns on their helmets even though they'd occasionally be called for "unnecessary goring." Now, we're soft.
As long as they have everyone showing up to shovel, might as well lead them down the block and have them build a new stadium for minimum wage. Since they're in the helpful mood.
3. Heard a lot of people complain about the plows. A lot. It would be great if the city put up maps showing what's plowed, and used GPS and the city WiFi to update it all the time. It would be instructive for some, but it would also allow clever hackers to seize control of the plows and drive them six abreast down the freeway, so never mind. The only plow complaint I have: You get everything cleared, start to back out the car, and seconds later the plow grumbles down the road and shoves a wall of Paul Bunyan's Gallstones in your driveway. It cannot be shoveled. People hack at it like it collaborated with the Nazis.
Even if they plow, we still lose terrain. The drifts are so enormous we've lost an entire lane. People getting off buses have to get a transfer to make it to the sidewalk. Then you're going down a road and see a car a few blocks ahead. The only way you can pass is to get out, disassemble your vehicle, put the parts on a sled, pass, and put the car back together. If there's a little space, you do the Minnesota Nice thing: You pull over and wave the other person forward. Of course, so does he. So you're both sitting there for half an hour until you both start forward at the same time, then pull back in. Repeat until thaw.
But we're better people for all of this, of course. These storms define who we are. Hard! Tough! Flinty! Totally convinced a Prius is capable of gunning through a drift at a 30-degree incline! Three out of four isn't bad.
jlileks@startribune.com • 612-673-7858 More daily at www.startribune.com/popcrush.
