Snow, Please.

Imagine a guy with a beard. A nice, bushy, white beard. He looks nice with that beard. Distinguished. Warm. Friendly. Then one day, he shaves the beard, only to reveal a face full of scars, pockmarks, lopsided moles, puncture wounds, bug bites and a birthmark shaped like a vomiting goat.

That's Pittsburgh in winter when the snow melts.

This time of year, western Pennsylvania sprouts a bumper crop of ugly. There's no sugarcoating that fact. Without snow, this place ranks right up there in dismal with post-eruption Mount Saint Helens. It's brown and gray and dead and depressing. Ever see a promotional photo of Pittsburgh in winter with no snow? No. You know why? Because it's fugly, that's why.

We had an inch and a half of rain yesterday, and all people are saying is, "Well, at least it wasn't snow." Yeah, that would be awful if this vista of mud and leafless trees and naked scrub brush and brown grass and crooked telephone poles were to be covered up by a blanket of pristine white snow. Thank God it rained and now I can see every discarded milk jug in every decomposing patch of thickets along every dilapidated guard rail.

"Well, you don't have to shovel rain."

This is the frequent refrain from folks who'd rather suffer Seasonal Affective Disorder than push fluffy white snow to the curb. I guess an increased risk of suicide is preferable to an increased risk of heart attack.

Unfortunately, these folks are getting their way right now. This gray, lifeless day could last another three months. They may be happy, but I'm praying for snow. Everything's dead out there. It might as well be buried.