Snow?

I'd like to take a moment to issue a giant "what the HELL?" to the weather outside. Yesterday it was a beautiful 60 degrees in Manhattan, albeit slightly overcast. Warm enough for me to run 3 miles in Thompkins Square Park. Today, when I left work, there was a blizzard going on outside. Apparently, some Canadian storm has freakishly gotten itself lost, and mistakenly foundered itself offshore of New York, not unlike a beached whale. I can only suggest, barring the creation of a James Bond-esque weather machine, that this storm relocate itself 1500 miles to the north. Soon. It's March already, and I no longer live in Ithaca. Please, storm, remove yourself from the premises, or I shall be forced to call the authorities.

Krikor stopped me this morning as I was coming back from the shower. Lazily leaning out of bed and propping the door open with his arm, he looked at me, half-asleep, from bed.
"There's a message on the answering machine for you."
Puzzling. I almost never give out our home number, preferring to communicate over the cell whenever possible. It could be someone from work, but I already checked my positions online; could Taser have been taken over in the past 20 minutes? Not likely. There's really only one person who would call me at this number. I wonder...
BEEP
"Hi Jason this is Kimberly from xxxxxx. We'd like you to come in again and meet our head trader..."

Elation.