Snow, Shank, Shrines

Woke up this morning to about an inch of beautiful, fluffy snow. I allowed myself to enjoy the scenery for about 5 minutes before worrying about my drive into work. I'm not scared of driving in the snow -- I'm scared of driving with SUV people in the snow. SUV people make me nervous because they are always in a hurry to splash muddy slush on my windshield in an effort to beat me through the red lights. SUV people, ham fists gripping the steering wheel, bear down on my tin-foil Toyota bumper, grinning with glee as they nudge me out of the way.

I hate those guys. They irritate me.

Speaking of irritation, nothing comes close to the level of irritation felt by my friend Shank. Lamenting one November morning that he'd never really had a cool nickname, I spent the day emailing possible monikers, but none really fit. As our friendship developed, I noticed in him a tendency to punctuate his paragraphs with phrases such as "knife," "sharpened pencil," "long-handled spear," and "finely-honed shank". These are often included in his witty observations on dealing with certain members of the public: those who let their children run wild in the library, speak loudly on their cell phones while using the on-line catalog, or security guards driven mad by craft programs. I call his emails little Shrines of Irritation -- paragraphs of descriptive perfection.

It's a tragedy I haven't been able to convince him to start a blog. His writing is sheer genius. I'll have to see if I can get permission to excerpt some of his emails. (I hope after reading this he doesn't include me in his newest shrine!)