I know it isn't, especially if you live in East Setauket, Long Island; or Storrs, Connecticut; or Worcester, Massachusetts right now. But I wanted to show you Asbury Park last night, around midnight. I went for a walk. Not another creature out on the streets, only the occasional car crept past, in that inexplicable snow-quiet (tires on cream cheese). I walked to the boardwalk, turned, then the winds picked up. I was walking against a force that wasn't the more benign force I'd walked against just five minutes before, but something else. It snow-blasted my peacoat, my cap, the skin just beneath the eyes, and I leapt up the front steps, panting, dessicated: abominable me.