Blizzard of ’05
If you grow up in Iowa, you’re used to thinking about snowstorms that defied descriptions, you know, snowdrifts that piled up so high that you couldn’t even open your front door. Well, for many kids in Brooklyn, this weekend is going to have been that storm. Too bad for them it happened on Saturday and Sunday, because this would have been a very rare DOUBLE SNOW DAY, which is every 4th grader’s dream.
I went out before it got too intense, around 2pm Saturday, to get groceries at the Food Co-op. Needless to say, every other person living in Brooklyn had the same idea, and it was a fucking nightmare. Two hours later, the conditions got intolerably cold and windy:
By 7pm, you couldn’t see up our old street at all:
And by midnight, the whole neighborhood looked like a quaint, frozen village stuck in an 1880s-era snow dome:
When we woke up Sunday, most people couldn’t get out of their stoops, but there sure as hell weren’t getting into their cars. This is a neighbor’s Prius and another neighbor’s VW Bug:
Deciding we’d brave the sub-zero wind chill, Lindsay and I walked over the Prospect Park, where I thought there would be very little activity. Instead, every single family from a mile radius was out there with their kids:
It has to be one of the first reported cases of “sledlock,” where lines of thirty kids were waiting their turn to fly down the hill and make a quick right turn to avoid braining themselves on the lightposts. I’ll go out on a limb and say this was THE BEST DAY OF THESE KIDS’ LIVES judging by the screams of pleasure:
Lindsay used his 6’5″ frame to get some good momentum down the hill. He handed the sled to me, and as I neared the bottom, I hit a mogul that threw my cap over my eyes. While I was struggling to see, I hit a HUGE mogul that sent the sled into my mouth, where it lopped out half my front tooth:
ACTUAL SERIOUS CONVERSATION AFTER MY TOOTH-LOSING SLED RUN:
Me: Um, dude? I have to go home.
(I give a pathetic smile, showing that I now look like I live in a trailer outside Gaffney, South Carolina)
Me: Because of THITH.
Lindsay: Oh no! Did that just happen?
Me: Yeth, is there any blood?
Lindsay: No. Shit. I don’t believe it.
Me: I better go home.
Lindsay: Yeah. I mean – um, yeah.
Me: I can’t believe it either.
(I turn to leave)
Lindsay: Hey, wait. Do you need me to say something to her? Like tell her that you weren’t doing anything reckless or something?
Me: I dunno.
Lindsay: I can tell her we weren’t rough-housing.
Me: No. I mean, she already knowth why I came out here.
Lindsay (dejected): Okay. See ya.
Hours later, I realized that Lindsay and I would have had the exact same conversation in 1977. Funny how shock just turns you right back into an 8-year-old. When I told Tessa that story, she couldn’t stop laughing for a half an hour.