When snowflakes fall,

A whole pile of snow dumped over my little world in a short period of time, really got me thinking about society, human behavior and all that fun, light-hearted stuff.

Here’s a look into my moderately sane internal dialogue as I walked the snow-torn streets of Philadelphia:

Why do people, including myself, secretly rejoice in not being able to get to work and delight in watching the snow fall, only to get all stressed that we can’t get to work?

Why is it only okay for kids to enjoy the snow days?

This is actually kind of cool. Mama nature’s nudge of us to be still, rest for a time. What else can you do?

But I don’t think that I would eat the snow out here like when I was a kid.

Okay, maybe just the off-white piles.

Why are there only two types of snow drivers – the snails that you can walk faster than, and the belligerent SUVs who believe they control the universe?

Well whatever, Al Gore and Global Warming will make those bastards pay...

Are you seriously planning to maneuver out of that snow bank while on your cell phone?

Zack Morris called and he wants his cell phone back. I need a new, smarter cell phone.

Are you really considering walking over that icy patch with 4-inch heels and …on your cell phone?

Is that stupid or should I give you props?

There are two kinds of people – those who lend you their snow shovel and those who will hit you with one.

We sure are lucky to have a place to sleep in this frigid weather. I wish that guy did too.

Where will we put all this snow? If all of the inhabitants of the city just started eating it, we would not have a problem. Then again, we might all be dead.

The city says they are losing money in doing all of this plowing. Well wouldn’t they lose more money in lawsuits, etc if they didn’t? Especially since silly ass people are jogging and biking over the snow mounds and through ice puddles.

Dress codes at work should be casual until all the snow melts.

Any town that gets a decent amount of snow must find us hysterically pathetic.

I must look quite amusing roaming the streets in my red rubber boots, fuzzy green hat, and white (now beige) earmuffs.

And frankly, I don’t care because warmth is priceless….

Just like us

When I saw Andre Agassi, tennis great, in the media about his new autobiography, Open, I didn’t give it a second thought. I am a tennis fan. I grew up playing the sport, and still do. I was even an admirer of his phenomenal return game and performance towards the end of his career. Yet even with scandal-creating glimpses of Agassi dabbling in crystal meth, I was not racing to the bookstore to snag a copy.

I have a bizarre habit of not being interested in anything at the same time that most people are interested. My seriously delayed embrace of Harry Potter and Weeds are just two shining examples of my quirky ways.

So it was both shocking and completely predictable that I was handed a copy of Open, and was truly engrossed. It was certainly entertaining but more than that, it was raw, and painfully honest. Even if it turns out to be a fake, it was REAL. And for that, Agassi has earned my appreciation and respect.

Let me explain.

For those of you who are familiar with the contents of the book, or who could see it in Agassi’s eyes and demeanor throughout his tennis career, he writes about his tortured relationship with tennis.

Much like Michael Jackson, his wife Steffi Graf, and what seem to be many other greats, he had an obsessive father who was ruthless about discipline, training, and pressure to achieve. The cruel irony being that this preparation enabled their greatness. They were conflicted with the fame associated with their abilities and yet they could not imagine a world without engaging those talents. Nor could the world for that matter.

As we relive Agassi’s life to date, he tells us about how Jimmy Connors was basically a huge prick (surprise surprise), how he (Agassi) wore a hairpiece for the better part of his career, and that he had a long and adorable crush on Steffi Graf. Familiar maxims also pass by: Money can’t buy you love. Or happiness. “Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be”. Blah Blah. We have heard it many times. But still, the grass is greener on the other side. Easy for someone to say who can hang with the cast of Friends, eat at the best restaurants, and rub elbows with Nelson Mandela!

But if you are to wade past all of that, I see in Agassi’s narrative, a common human struggle (or at least for me). Misunderstood by others, and ourselves, we seek and yearn for something we cannot articulate, something elusive but that we know is there. We succeed and fail, are joyous and then miserable. We experience the repetitive, relentless cycle and feel a dull pain for something more.

A normal person might read what I wrote, and think on my interpretation of Agassi’s book and think: damn that is depressing.

Luckily, since we have established that I am quirky, I actually see something different.

Yes, life is a constant, and often lonely struggle. But we ALL share in common, the struggle and the journey.

Open helped reaffirm that I’m not the only one. And neither are you.

above photo from - http://knopfdoubleday.com/agassi/