Ah, what a fine, warm winter day it is as I stroll to class, savoring the balmy breeze, basking in the sultry weather that is February in Vermont. Wait a minute … where the hell am I? “This is a skier’s Gehenna!” rings one resounding cry. Not a winter sports maven myself, I am still disappointed that the northern climate is mimicking that of Connecticut, a state of confusion in meteorological terms. Connecticut’s winter sky is what you might call a tease, stark and white, with swirls of frigid air, but with nary a flake of snow to be seen. But as of yet, Vermont has not proven to be more than a flirt, either. It even takes its fickle nature a step further, breathing an indisputable heat on the many walking Burton and Rossignol billboards, children flung down an incline on slabs of metal as soon as they could physically remain upright. And these children are not happy. Neither are those individuals enticed by the serene, picturesque wiles said to be far-flung in our Green Mountains and her offshoots. And laughably, so many people still deny the Greenhouse effect, rolling their eyes heavenward at the merest mention of Ozone layer depletion. Goofy little gases that cook up earth ’till she’s warm and toasty? NEIN! Well, I’m really rather unsure how such a phenomenon can be denied any longer. Geographically, we are almost Canada, a largely untamed expanse of pristine and shivery tundra. But in reality, our ground is like the face of a prepubescent: smooth like buttah. Your average ten-year-old has no facial hair, and we have no snow. Winter is two-thirds over and I have had no urge to run kicking and screaming back to my, historically speaking, comparatively warm state, holding my blistered flesh-and that’s what I’d been promised. I would sort of like the challenge, but this year may not hold such a Polar Bear’s delight. Moreover, the recent onslaught of visiting prefrosh, the very students we wish to seduce with our theoretically white and fluffy thoroughfare and landscape, are reduced to allurement from other, less reputable sources. The minute their moms are at a meet and greet with other maternal types? “Yo,” comes a sly whisper, “How much can you party?” Formerly, the question would have been, “Can I ski to class?” Or, “Is there a course on making snow angels?” Perhaps, “Are snowboards included in tuition?” Now, though, “Does UVM have its own beer?” has taken the place of inquiries pertaining to delicious, inclement weather. I daresay, if Old Man Winter has been mutinied against by some punkass kid, we the people of UVM are here to fight in the name of the frosty elderly. Until we receive such confirmation, though, we can only hope for a booming “JUST KIDDING!” and await several feet of rich, frozen precipitation conducive to one hell of a Vermont winter.
