After the most recent blizzard of the century – or maybe it was the one a few days earlier – the mayor of some burg in New Jersey was all over the news complaining bitterly that the storm that was supposed to deliver snow out the wazoo hadn’t. His Honor’s beef was that he’d acted on the advice of local TV weatherpeople (who, he ruefully noted, underscored the gravity of the situation by wearing sweaters to work), closed City Hall and sent everybody home early. Now, with barely a quarter-wazoo on the ground, critics of his administration were calling him a meteorological pansy and he wanted either an apology or the snow he’d been promised.

Cabin fever is real; it is a madness with triggers as varied as the individuals it afflicts. For the snow-starved mayor, it’s gratuitous sweaters. For many of us with total accumulations of three or four waz (a new snow measurement I’m proposing), I suspect it’s Classic Rock.

Those of you with school-age children know what I mean. You get up in the morning, the storm approaches, you don’t have time to watch the closings crawl by at the bottom of the TV screen, so you flip on the radio and tune in the local station your school district calls when Old Man Winter’s being a jerk.

Invariably, this is the same station that has a music library dredged from the bottom of the WalMart bargain bin. It’s a phenomenon I’ve witnessed in three distinct regions of the state – whether you’re Down East or Midcoast or somewhere in between, dawn’s hardly cracked and you’re listening to ”A Horse With No Name.” Followed, of course, by ”Dust in the Wind.” Just to find out if the dadblamed school bus is coming.

Tuesday, at my house, it comes, just ahead of the snow creeping northward from The Other Maine. As the morning wears on, the snow turns to sleet so I stay tuned to hear if they’re sending my first-grader home early. From Paul McCartney apologizing to Uncle Albert to Steve Miller embarrassing the Entire English-speaking world with his ”I speak of the pompitous of love” line, it’s a gusher of radio waves so execrable any alien civilization receiving them will either steer clear or obliterate the responsible planet. By lunchtime, the sleet has turned to actual five-pound bags of chipped ice falling from the sky. Getting clobbered on the head with one would be preferable to listening to that hideous ”Reaper” song by Blue Oyster Cult, but alas.

My theory about the link between Classic Rock and school closing announcements is that it’s cosmic payback. The generation, my generation, that foisted upon mankind this abominable combination of cliche-ridden music and lyrics both pompous and meaningless now is all grown up with kids of our own and, instead of being able to walk away from this youthful blunder, we now are compelled by parental duty to listen to it.

Where I live on the coast, Tuesday was rotten, but not quite rotten enough to close school. Inland, where I’d planned to go, it was bad enough to stay away. At least that’s what the sweaters on TV were telling me.

So I hunkered down at home to get some work done, deciding to start by catching up on what legislators have been stuffing into the hopper lately. More than 1,600 bills have been filed so far; the last one I’d read, a couple of weeks ago, was LD 628, ”An Act to Prohibit Certain Conduct Relating to Elephants,” so I had some catching up to do.

As everyone knows by now, LD 628 has nothing to do with the behavior of elephants, famously well-behaved creatures, but instead with the cruel treatment humans in traveling shows visit upon them. It’s a perfectly fine bill with a provocative title.

Scanning through the newest proposals, I am amazed at the sheer fertility of the legislative mind – no unmet need escapes notice. Even the unneeded ones.

We’ve got bills to license everything from cats to political campaign workers to people who give colonics. There are special license plates for everything from Maine Black Bears boosters to Bill Cohen fans. If you aren’t a member of at least one of the 20-plus distinct population segments in line for special hunting or fishing privileges you might be interested in the special Total Loser plate. If you like special rights, you’ll love the bill to make assaulting a sports official a more serious crime than assaulting anyone else.

Ever notice that a good many Mainers sport haircuts (or, as they say in The Other Maine, coifs) that might be perhaps just a decade or three behind the times? The bill to require continuing education in the beauty trades will fix that. Ever feel a bit harried, even testy? You won’t after May 17, A Day for Reflection and Tolerance, rolls around. Ever think that if there’s one thing Maine really, really needs, it’s something that will keep its citizens engaged in endless, bitter argument? Then you’ll love the bill to have a statewide referendum on whether local voters can have referendums on whether or not to display the 10 Commandments in their schools.

A display that might be timely, what with LD 1443 – An Act to Make Adultery A Crime. A real crime, too – Class D, up to a year in jail. (I looked into this. Some 26 states have longstanding criminal adultery laws still on the books, but in the last quarter century there has been only one prosecution, in Alabama. For some reason that escapes me now, it was noted during the previous presidential administration that Washington, D.C., has a criminal adultery law but it was also noted that to enforce it would likely cripple at least two of the three branches of government.)

Call this bill a desperate attempt by judgmental bluenoses to legislate morality if you wish, but I see some intriguing economic-development aspects. The demand for the enormous amount of minimum-security lockups this law would bring couples nicely with Maine’s growing supply of vacant paper and lumber mills. The ailing textile industry would get a huge boost from the scarlet A manufacture. And just imagine what the night before enactment would do for the lodging industry. Talk about your now or never.

Anyway, I was already to whine about unnecessary legislation until it occurred to me – that New Jersey mayor probably feels better for his silly outburst, I feel better for ridiculing my radio and if legislators can blow off a little cabin fever steam with a few silly bills, what’s the harm? Besides, it’s late afternoon, the chipped ice has turned to cubes, I’ve tuned in again to see if the tonight’s math fair is still on, they’re playing, I swear, “A Horse With No Name” again and I’m thinking there ought to be a law.

Bruce Kyle is the assistant editorial page editor for the Bangor Daily News.