Two feet of snow. Before even one inch fell, our brave media christened this latest snowfall “The Blizzard of 2013.” In the 1800’s, people had the decency to wait until 1889 to christen the March 1888 snowstorm “The Blizzard of ’88.” But now, we need a dramatic label, preferably conjuring up images of hardy pioneers slogging on through fifty foot snowdrifts carrying 200 pound knapsacks and fighting off wolves.

In actuality, we’re weenies.

We sit inside, warm and full of scotch, watching the snowflakes fall. And all the while, we loudly pity ourselves because of the enormous hardship the storm is working on us, for example, by making it impossible for us to go out to buy pizza.

Whatever happened to the concept of the stiff upper lip? Robust civilizations celebrate the hardy and self-controlled. But as the civilization decays, poets waste their minuscule talents celebrating failure, bemoaning the fate of the incompetent, and gnashing their teeth at the injustice of anybody living well by working hard and making a buck. Diseases that used to be considered mild annoyances are promoted to plagues ; “The Hearbreak of Psoriasis;” “The Agony of Ingrown Toenails;” “The Plague of Big Mac Deprivation.”

All of which is really cool!

Whining is inherently fun, and it’s even more fun when other people listen to it uncritically! No matter what it is, we can let it all hang out. My foot hurts! My head hurts! My ass hurts! Gimme sympathy! None of this suffering in silence nonsense. What fun is that? We can damn well suffer at the top of our lungs, in the serene confidence that no one will say “Shut up, you crybaby!” “Crybaby” is a non-PC pejorative. The response you can bet the farm on is “Oh, you poor thing. Let me give you a hug.”

And you can generalize to things other than bodily discomforts. I want a bigger house! I want a cooler car! I  want to jump in the sack with Claudia Schiffer! I want all of your money!

The last one I like.