Burn, baby, burn

One of the large 'n fancy houses I jog by on Brattle Street burned right to the ground last night. It was the home owned by the founder of Polaroid and it had been under construction forever as I remember seeing workers out by the garage the last time I lived in the city. It does make me sad when a lovely big old house is lost because I so prefer them to more modern structures.

In other news, we're getting snow, and since I'm not driving, I'm a little mad, because our county is the only one other then the Cape not getting 7 to 10 inches. Mr. weatherman, if I'm not driving anywhere and it's the weekend I want you to dump it on Somerville! At least until February when I may well be sick of it all. Ah, me.