Mmm. Filler.

Ok, first the football-ery.

Woohoooo! Ben Roethlisberger (who has is OWN website!?) is the Offensive Rookie of the Year, by a unanimous decision. Plus, he's the first quarterback to be named to that position since '57. That's freakin' cool. The man's an alien. I swear it. He's also 20 days older than my little brother. That's creepy, and makes me feel a little like a dirty old woman.

Wait. I am a dirty old woman. I'm just not a cradle robber. (Though I could make an exception. Ben! Call me!)

Now the rest of it all.

I love the beginning of the year- the return to a sense of normalcy after the hell that the holidays are, playoff season, and I've still got a good month till I have to start puking over Valentine's day. And, on a good day, I even remember the correct year, so things go fairly well. That said, in my neck of the woods, (and believe me, that neck is a little redder than the tourism council would have you believe) the (great) State Farm Show is about to get underway.

Now, mention the Farm Show to a Pennsylvanian, especially a central Pennsylvanian and they will react with either unbridled 'neck glee, or immediately they panic, and begin to mentally inventory their icebox, and tally up the rolls of toilet paper in the house. Why? Because Farm Show Week, without fail, brings the most godforsaken weather of the year. Blizzards? Check. Sleet? Check. Ice? Check. Locusts and blood raining from the sky? Check. We get it all. Now, you'd think that we'd be used to this by now. Oh noooooooooooooooooooo.

Farm Show doesn't start for a week, but already we've got a WINTER STORM WARNING for rain possibly turning into ice tonight. Which means every grocery store in the county will have screaming hordes of people looking for toilet paper, bread, and milk. Nevermind that it will actually be 45 degrees tomorrow... the schools are on high alert. The milisecond the first drop of rain crystalizes into ice, the superintendents will be on the phone to the local news outlets, with cries of "No school!" Elvis forfend an actual snowflake manage to fall from the sky, we'll call out the national guard, and bottled water will be in short supply.

Next week, when the Farm Show's on, forecasters will recommend holing up with your "fluffy" friends, so that if the snow really does start to fly, and you didn't stock up on chunky soup, you can make your own (you know... out of chunky people). If the forecasters don't start suggesting cannibalism (though I wouldn't put anything past that damned Matt Ritter on WGAL) Katie Couric will corner some poor shit on the streets, wanting their opinions on "THE STORM OF THE CENTURY". "How does seeing all this snow make you feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel?" In between Super-Duper-Fan-Freakin-Tastic-Nyah-nyah-Thpppppppppt Doppler weather updates from the storm team, we'll be subjected to interminable shots from the Sheep to Shawl competition, and Livestock shows. (Not that there's anything wrong with that, but y'know... War, corruption in the government, other stuff that matters!)

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Snow. Farm Show. Possible looting, pillaging and chaos. If you don't hear from me next week, I was probably captured by a horde of skinny people, and am being held hostage until spring.

*$()Q!%#@! winter.