You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Bad to worse.
It’s Day 3 of Winter Storm 2015.
I am about to go out again and face the evil that is blowing in the sky.
It snowed last night.
The only thing good about snow is that it’s not ice.
Snow affords traction where ice puts you into the center divider.
Now imagine Ice covered by snow.
South of the Mason Dixon line, that’s a recipe for disaster.
It’s like using a coffee strainer as a prophalactyc.
Southern Drivers on highways coated with ice and topped with now?
That’s trouble. It’s frat boys making napalm on the Delta Chi house stove.
I have been doing a lot of weather coverage this week, and most of the response has been positive.
Some Southerners are upset that I have interviewed Yankees who make fun of our driving.
“They are ignorant,” one email spewed.
“That’s insensitive,” another writes.
I told one viewer I don’t censor what people say and I can’t help that Northerners found their way to our cameras and commented on Southern driving habits.
You know some people from the North can be rude and impatient. And you know some Southerners can’t drive in icy conditions.
Add the two ingredients and you may get some hurt feelings.
So day 3 is here. I’ve smashed trees with shovels and played hockey on the sidewalk.
My demo tape for good live shots is piling up quickly.
L.A. here I come!!
That’s the good news.
The bad news? My frost bite is going to fire up tonight like three alarm chilli at a Milk of Magnesia factory.
My plan? I don’t have a plan.
How do you plan for negative 2 degrees?
Portable fire log?
Space heater in my pants?
hand warmers from the Swedish Bikini Team?
Tonight I think I’m just going to layer up.
A moisture wicking shirt first. Then a long sleeve shirt. Then a turtle neck. Then a sweat shirt. Then a hoodie. Then another hoodie. then a scarf. Then a winter jacket. Then some gloves.
The question is; how many clothes can I wear before I can no longer move my limbs.
At what point do I go from TV cool to puffy face bafoon?
At what point am I sporting more layers than an Alan Sorkin screenplay.
At what point do I transform into a four year old boy, stuffed into snow pants to go sledding in the back yard?
I will waddle before the camera, unable to bend my arms or legs.
I will rotate myself into position and hope that I don’t topple over like a gigantic news weeble.
I will look like a cross between the Pillsbury Dough Boy and a Navy Diver wearing an air suit with a big metal helmet and port holes.
So I lay out the possible ensembles.
Thick sweaters. Big sweat shirts with hoods.
I have socks and then thick socks.
I have gloves and ski gloves.
I have baseball hats, but no toboggan hats.
I have a scarf.
Tonight I will be my own cold patrol. I will stand in the minus temperatures and watch my own breath crystallize in the light before me.
My camera batteries will die. My cell phone will die. My fingers will burn. My hair will hurt.
By night’s end, my eye brows will simply fall off my face.
I’ve done this before.
Inhale a breath of negative temperature air and gulp it down.
Let that frozen clump of oxygen enter your lungs.
It is so cold it punches your bronchial tubes right in the face.
The air is that Coors Light freight train blowing into your bloodstream.
Your avioli take that frozen air and force it into your blood stream.
The frozen O2 enters the blood which says “What the hell’s going on out there, Jack? You re messing with our 98.6.”
And so it goes.
The body needs air, so the blood will just have to absorb this frozen gas and make do.
I have done 6 live shots and 5 packages in 2 days.
That’s a weeks’ worth of work in 2 shifts.
I expect to get a pat on the back.
“hey nice hockey live shot outside the arena. Or nice sliding sled live shot by the downed power lines.”
What do I get?
Make sure you wear your blue winter jacket. I don’t want any more emails about you not wearing your blue jacket.
I feel my avioli exploding with rage.
Blue?
Red?
Tan?
Who gives a F?
I almost T boned a car coming home the other night.
I was doing 60 mph. The interstate was a dark wintry mix.
The car was on the exit ramp.
I start heading down the ramp when I suddenly notice something’s wrong.
What is that dark colored thing in the ramp.
I’m barreling down on it at 60 mph.
I let off the accelerator. I see that it’s a small SUV that is covered with road grime. It is a chameleon, looking just like the off ramp.
It is stopped in the middle of the ramp. It is sideways, it’s passenger door exposed to the first vehicle not paying close attention.
I veer back onto the interstate as adrenaline pumps through my system.
I glance over and see the lifeless vehicle.
Oh My God.
I didn’t even notice the car until I was about to hit it.
I would have plowed into it without touching the brakes.
I have to go to the next exit ramp.
I am still shaking as I get on the surface street.
A blue jacket?
F you!
I almost just blew up the side of a car.
Would you care what color my jacket is then?
A lot of hours, a lot of crazy, dangerous driving.
This is when news people die. We go where we shouldn’t. We are sent to places others are leaving.
We put our lives on the line and sometimes we get hurt.
I got lucky.
Makes you wonder if reigniting frost bite and inhaling icy oxygen and standing on the side of an interstate to tell you that’s it cold is really worth it?
The forecast is for more nastiness through the weekend.
I know I have layers of clothes for the cold. I don’t know if I have enough layers for all the BS associated with covering it.
Life’s Crazy™