In case anyone noticed, I’ve been hors de combat the last couple of days because the Karl Rove Weather Machine decided to target New Hampshire with a massive ice storm. No power, no Internet, no nuthin’, and temperatures below zero Fahrenheit. We huddled around one of my Democrat neighbors whose incandescent rage at Bush for not doing anything!!!!! kept us warm. We would have hacked our way through the fallen trees down the hill to the general store to loot the plasma TVs, but they didn’t have any.
Our “town emergency plan” consists of the principal opening up the school for those without heat, light and whatnot to go sleep in. I thought of going down and checking it out on the off-chance that one of those Connecticut-style Seventies swingers’ parties from the Ice Storm movie might break out, but it seemed a bit of a long shot, so I passed. Not for the first time I reflected on how much I enjoy these sorts of occasions. As I remember thinking during The Day After Tomorrow, the hilarious climate-change comedy in which (warning: plot spoiler) a speech by Dick Cheney brings on the flash-freezing of the entire northern hemisphere, if the ecopalypse strikes a touch of the old frontier spirit and some long underwear would see you through. Sure, millions would die, but they’d be mostly whiners and EU nanny-state types. The rest of us would get by on ice fishing, some unregulated pelt-trading, and small government – though Corner posting might be a little light. Still, if it’s a choice between total societal collapse and Planet Bailout, I’ll take the former.