Lick Your Finger, Hold it to the Breeze...Nothing

Tomorrow's forecast: Clear as crystal, no chance of snow whatsoever, and winds blowing at 0 miles an hour.

Sam Alito is on the verge of being sworn in as America's next supreme court justice. Iran is testing the patience of the international community's with their insistence on enriching uranium. And Martin Lawrence is back in theaters this weekend with Big Momma's House 2. And I thought things couldn't possibly get any gloomier and then...

Wednesday started out promising enough. After nearly two wintry months sans snow, it was blissful to wake up to the sound of cars sloshing their way through the streets, their vulcanized rubber tires slapping against the wetted pavement. A quick peak through the louvres confirmed that the precipitation puddling the streets was indeed snow, and it was falling heavily. But the air temperature was still warm, and the snow didn't stick, and within thirty minutes what had been a billowy affair turned into depressing drizzles borrowed from the Pacific Northwest.

While I have already come to terms with disparaging conditions of Taos Ski Valley, what happened next was more upsetting than finding out your girlfriend is nothing more than a mannequin, a tape recorder and a malicious friend who doesn't know when to end a prank.

I escaped the amassing storm by ducking into a nearby coffee shop. I sat down with my coffee, opened up my laptop, and was delivered an email from the editor of Crosswinds magazine, the independent publication for which I have been a food writer and movie reviewer for the past three months. The gist of the email was such:

We really enjoyed your writing but Crosswinds has gone out of business. Toodles.

I was, understandably, taken aback. Crosswinds had been a godsend for me, but there was no longer any hint of a gentle breeze, nor an airy whispery, nothing. The publication had vanished faster than the interest surrounding Tom Green. The absence of Crosswinds meant I no longer had a forum for my garrulity. No longer will I be able to rant about the shortcomings of subpar films and the scurrilous servers at Albuquerque's eateries. No longer will I get paid for making a meal and then submitting a point by point reenactment of my meal, aka a recipe. No longer will I receive advance copies of CDs months before the album hits the streets. No longer...oh what am I saying, I'm sure there's another publication that would be happy to have me write for them. It's only a matter of time. Until then, the blog continues.

Before crosses folded faster than a origami paper I had written two pieces that were slated for publication this week. Theses pieces will never see the light of day, however I put a lot of time and effort in them so they will appear in digital form. My review of Woody Allen's amazing new film Match Point appears below, and my restaurant review of Chef du Jour appears at WriterlyRights.

RIP Crosswinds, the freedom you granted my writing will be missed. And in death, all is forgiven, even the times you had to edit my articles for length.