Welcome to my first column (I’m going to make it obvious – that I’m making it obvious – that this is my maiden voyage into the weekly editorial unknown). Now touting the inconspicuous, which hopefully won’t be often (unless you like it, in which case I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth), I figure the best way to ease into this 22-inch pair of jeans is with something we can all relate to – the weather.

It’s been nice. I don’t care if it’s global warming, a cyclical trend, plain good luck, or NASA space heaters (I’m not sure if the pun is intended) – the weather has been convenient during these winter months, if not downright satisfying. But there I go again, pointing out something everyone already knows.

I might as well keep right on going.

If you’re like me, there hasn’t been any getting up a half-hour early to hustle out in flip-flops and way-too-tight-for-public (or too loose) pajama pants to start the car, no cursing (while dancing to occupy the mind) at frozen locks and doors once outside in that splendid and breezy outfit the neighbors must love (and document), no scraping of windows, no clapping and grumming (groaning while humming) waiting for the heater to kick-on, no two-hands clenched to the wheel, whimpering, with a trail of cars behind you so far back the last one in line is actually in front of you, no having to push (wearing shorts and Reebok Pumps) once the angered herd following you runs you off the road, no shoveling, no slipping, no getting up from slipping and watching with horror as the plow re-fills the end of your drive way, no wet socks, no tense moments removing galoshes, no crying (don’t tell me it doesn’t burn when your bare hands touch the snow), and last but not least, no vigorous clacking, stomping and banging of the boots (pumps) every time feet meet a snow-free piece of earth.

Note, based on the above analysis, that half of our winter hell-capades could be avoided if we didn’t have to drive cars.