Snowstorm.

A is reading yet another Brian James book.

It was my birthday this past Thursday. A made me coffee and took Napoleon out all day. He also made quesadillas and washed the dishes.

We had a blizzard this morning. I received e-mails in my inbox, alerting me to which of Alexander's were cancelled this week. Napoleon kept burying his head in the snow - as if it were a comfort blanket - whenever we let him out to pee.

I had knitting duty today for our Knitting Olympics downtown, so I went. The venue for today's Olympic knitting was CBGB's. Bleecker street was covered in white up to there, and, magically, no cars had descended on her. I walked on Bleecker, straight to the white and red awnings, covered in snow. The red letters were only half-visible. I guess this is the last winter I'll see those awnings there, on that street.

Only one other knitter showed up, and we were the only patrons in the venue. "The Olympic knitters," said Hilly, as he walked in to check on us. The bartender was grateful that we tipped nicely.

I found this on Gothamist.