Winter Underland

I just drove home from work through a sleety-snowy mix that's slushing up all the roads pretty good. This is very much a step down from the middle of the week, with its high temperatures in the 70s and cool, springlike breezes. Friday afternoon is the Achilles heel of D.C. area traffic, so although I'm happy that I spent a relatively minimal 65 minutes in the icy Hell Commute I still want to look angrily up at the weather and yell -- what was it Samuel L. Jackson told Robert De Niro right after shooting him in Jackie Brown? -- What the fuck happened to you, man? Your ass used to be beautiful! Except of course that I'd just get a cold faceful of ice pellets.

The grim weather doesn't make much of a difference to my evening since I was already planning an early bedtime before an early flight to New York tomorrow to go listen to the NY Philharmonic with Jack. I'm not altogether hopeful for that plan itself -- I guess we'll see overnight whether the God of Weekends continues to spit on us from above, amused by how it freezes before it hits the ground.