Geezers of '78

Next week marks the 30th anniversary of the infamous Blizzard of '78. My parents were my age during the storm and apparently telling stories about 27" of snow falling over a period of TWO DAYS never, ever gets old. In fact, judging from the amount of coverage that this anniversary is bound to get one would swear that little green aliens fell from the sky on Feb 6, 1978 instead of a couple of inches of snow.

I understand that technology has improved quite a bit over the last three decades. With modern doppler and radar, an eighth grader could probably predict weather patterns better than the meterologists of yore. But baby boomers, seriously, do you have to keep bitching about the Blizzard?

For the love of Matt Damon, I know that it must've been tragic to be stuck inside for an entire week, especially since cable didn't come about until the mid 80's. But let's be realistic here: in the land before fax machines, the state of emergency basically guaranteed you a week of sleeping late and screwing around without your Blackberry going off every 5 minutes. Without telecommuting and the Internet, you could spend the entire week drinking Seagrams wine coolers and your boss would never be the wiser.

The Blizzard of '78 wasn't the Depression, Omaha Beach, or the Tet Offensive - it was a freaking snow storm. Either enter therapy or get over it. All of this talk about the Blizzard has my ears bleeding already.