Happy President's Day, for all of you presidents out there. We're enjoying the "White President's Day" made legendary by the old Bing Crosby President's Day carol, and then some... the sound you hear of glasses clinking is giddy weathermen toasting their success in predicting what is a truly impressive blizzard in these parts. This is actually truly terrible timing for me, as I am fairly certain I have a failing hard drive here (they're not supposed to sound like dremel tools, right?), and I'd really love to run out and snap up a replacement. Trouble is, I can't imagine actually getting anywhere under these conditions, as tempting as it might be to have a story to someday torture offspring: 'Tell us more about the old days Grandpa!' ... 'Why back in my day I had to trudge through two-foot-deep snow in a blizzard to get a hard drive!'
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