Another snow-blowing night. Again we had that particular quality of snow, not wet but prone to sit in a lump in the chute anyway, rather than blowing out as it ought. It’s a heavy snow, leaden in quality. Or else something’s wrong with my snow blower. But it works fine when the chute’s clear, which lasts for the time it takes to clear the distance of about a foot, before I have to stop and clear it out again. With a stick. This is the first point in the Snow Blower’s Catechism—Thou Shalt Not Clear a Jam With Thy Hand. That way amputation lies.

We don’t actually have all that much snow yet, and there’s more scheduled for tonight and tomorrow. But I have a matter of family business to attend to tomorrow, and I’m not sure how long that’ll take. Which also means there may or may not be a blog post from me tomorrow.

Ori Pomerantz directed me to this excellent essay, Slouching Toward Geezerhood, from Bruce Thornton at RightNetwork. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the blunt truths of the universal tragedy that is the Baby Boomer Generation better expressed.

The most obvious feature of the Boomers is their refusal to grow up. The ever-extending length of adolescence, a confection of modernity, partly accounts for this. Post-war affluence made it affordable to prolong further this historically novel time of life between childhood and adulthood. Consumerism took advantage of the new market and the greater surplus wealth to elevate in social importance the whims and desires of a group flush with disposable income. The result was the most pampered, obsessed over, and indulged generation in American history. Why wouldn’t they want to prolong this privileged position as long as possible?

There’s much more, but I particularly like that thought. I’ve believed for some time that the whole phenomenon of the Teenager was a cosmically successful marketing ploy, designed to squeeze mountains of cash out of kids with unprecedented amounts the stuff to spend. Catch ’em while they still have no impulse control, and they’re yours forever. And if the moral fiber of the nation is goes from six-ply to two-ply, hey, that’s business.

A startlingly anti-capitalist sentiment from a conservative, I know. But capitalism isn’t a pure good any more than government is. Balance is the key, and has been part of the American genius… up till now.

Read it all.

It will not cheer you up.

I’ve been remiss in making Achievable New Year’s Resolutions the last few years. As I’ve explained in the past, it’s my custom to celebrate a high self-esteem holiday by setting achievable goals for myself during the upcoming swing around the sun.

So here are my Achievable Resolutions for 2011:

I will not learn to speak Classical Korean.

I will not make a solo voyage across the Atlantic.

I will not ask my congressman (Keith Ellison) to recommend me for a place at West Point.

I will not go into the Organic Foods business, either wholesale or retail.

I will not throw a wooden shoe into a steam loom.

I will not go on an all-escargot diet.

I will not attempt to give a ninja a wedgie (I’ve learned my lesson on that one).

I will not sign a non-aggression pact with Germany.

I will not pursue the legendary White Buffalo.

I will not paint an armadillo blue.

I will not steal a manhole cover.

I will not play hard to get with Gabrielle Anwar.

And a happy New Year to you, too!

Picture credit: Lance Fisher

I apologize for not posting anything yesterday. The day worked out differently than I’d planned, and I didn’t get home until after 10:00 p.m. (That’s 22:00, for our European readers.)

At noon I tried out my Christmas present to myself (made possible by a gift card, given by my neighbor in thanks for clearing the driveway, plus a very deep sale discount at the store). It’s a GPS device. I bought it because I came to see with intense clarity, while spending two hours driving around Chicago last October, looking for my motel, that I’m lousy with maps, have no sense of direction, and lack a wife to sit in the passenger seat and navigate. I’m the man GPS’s were invented for.

I plugged the thing into Mrs. Hermanson’s cigarette lighter, allowed it to acquire the signal, and then did a search for Culver’s Restaurants. I love Culver’s, but the only ones I knew were too distant to visit regularly. The GPS found me one just 3.5 miles away. (The hamburgers are great, but I particularly crave the deep fried North Atlantic Cod dinner.)

So this looks like a good thing.

Then I got a call from my friend S. S. had talked to me about collaborating on an epic lefse-making effort. We had planned to do it on Thursday (that would be today as I write), but he thought the weather forecast for today looked bad (ice storms, for the record; in fact the temperature was high, so the streets were mostly just wet), so could I come over now?

I did this, and spent an intense afternoon and evening exploring the mysteries of the sacred lefse. Continue reading Wednesday, with lefse →