It’s riveting, isn’t it, watching hour after hour of TV storm coverage, even though we’ve been dealing with snowstorms all of our lives.
It’s March and it snowed. Wow. Stop the presses.
Does that sound cynical? OK, maybe it is. Chalk it up to cabin fever.
But if you grew up around here, don’t you find yourself wondering when a winter storm made Chicken Littles of us all, hanging on every word as TV crews breathlessly inform us of raging tides, fallen limbs and downed wires.
We used to call that winter, remember?
But TV has changed us with its ability to vicariously place us in the eye of the storm, taking us where only our imaginations could have taken us in time gone by.
The late, great Don Kent was the Walter Cronkite of Boston’s forecasters back in those days, keeping us well informed without resorting to colorful maps or a bank of computers, relying on experience and his encyclopedic knowledge.
Yes, he was sometimes wrong and he heard about it.
“Someone would spot him,” his son Doug recalled upon Don’s death in 2010, “and they’d shout, ‘Hey, I just shoveled six inches of your ‘partly cloudy!’ ”
There was a simplicity, even an innocence, to it back then.
Now, whenever there’s talk of an approaching storm there’s not a gallon of milk to be found. Doesn’t all that extra milk spoil?
And the ones rushing to buy the milk need to get out of the way of the ones rushing to buy a snow shovel. Didn’t they already have a shovel?
Then you have the mayor and the governor, snugly dressed in outdoor sweaters, standing at podiums, grimly reminding us to drive carefully and be good neighbors.
You can almost hear Old Blue Eyes in the background: “Be careful crossing streets, ooh-ooh, don’t eat sweets, ooh-ooh …”
Marty, please. You’re from Savin Hill. Act like it.
Oh, and then there’s Channel 5’s Ed Harding sitting alongside the delightful Maria Stephanos. She’s wearing a casual blue dress, looking like she’s on her way to a summer soiree, while poor Ed, a buddy from the days we covered sports together, looks a lot like Nanook from the North with a bulky sweater stuffed beneath his suitcoat.
Was that supposed to remind us it was snowing?
Then should we expect him to be sporting a Speedo the next time it’s hazy, hot and humid?
Please. We’re acting like we just got off the bus from Albuquerque.
This is Boston and it snows here in March.
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