True to form, art imitates life, life imitates art. This of course under the assumption that GHD is art.
My eyes shot open this morning to candid radio chatter, there's a full blown snowstorm, but it seems like nothing more than a couple of flakes.
I've finished packing my entire apartment, i rearrange everything so the move should go as smoothly as possible. I make a few final phone calls to ensure that everything is in order...
Around lunch time, I bundled up, headed to the local dive diner, ordered a BLT, a waiter proceeded to drop a tray of dishes...again I thought nothing of it.
I went back to the apartment, took a nap, woke up to a phone ringing...the flight canceled. I'm stuck in Cleveland.
I was supposed to leave and yet in the back of my head I hear Phil:
"You want a prediction about the weather, you're asking the wrong Phil. I'll give you a winter prediction: It's gonna be cold, it's gonna be grey, and it's gonna last you for the rest of your life. "
Tragedy, my chauffeurs flight is canceled, the flights the next day all booked,
"Phil: Come on, *all* the long distance lines are down? What about the satellite? Is it snowing in space? Don't you have some kind of a line that you keep open for emergencies or for celebrities? I'm both. I'm a celebrity in an emergency."
And so I'm in Cleveland for another three days...if tuesday rolls around and I'm still in Cleveland I vow to learn how to play the piano, how to ice sculpt, and be a kinder, gentler Cole.