Where's That Equator?

Late November is always a magical time of year, when the first snows blast their volcanic sputum upon our windshields and everything begins to really become a 24 hour hangover. If summer is New Year's Eve, then November is that dreadful New Year's Day get-together with bad food, 11 kids running around, and lots of Lawrence Welk reruns. In short, it's the beginning of a long, depressing journey across the temporal tundra. In areas of the northern midwest, where warmish weather is welcomed but never taken for granted, the inevitably abrupt shift into Siberian hell can never be a calm transition. Forget about those concepts of Seattle having a dreary climate and depressing environment - not hardly - it might be rainy at times, but it's not smelly, gray and cold for 5 months like it is around here in winter. They only occasionally see snow - we only occasionally see vegetation. Live in Chicago between the months of November and April, and you'll know what a depressing environment can really be like. Humans just aren't meant to live anywhere north of the 38th parallel - we belong in the tropics, running around with our machinery hanging out, flopping around like one of those stupid decorations people put on their car antennae.

I love when these homebody freaks extol the virtues of the beauty of a fresh snow, and the warmth of a cozy fireplace with good friends and a nice soft blanket. Bite me; go to Alaska you freak. I'll take the global warming. Oh come on, let the ice caps melt and we'll figure out a way to save the wildlife up there, who must be the stupidest of all Darwinian evolution, to end up migrating up to those areas. The polar bear must have been the really stupid bear that dropped out of school early to pursue a music career with Greg Brady, only to realize that the Brazilian Trance Music craze hit an untimely demise. As Sam Kinison used to yell to the famine ravaged Ethiopians, YOU'RE IN THE DESERT! GO WHERE THE FOOD IS YOU MORONS! Imagine him screaming that, and it has a little more zap to it. But to be pragmatic, our lumbering bodies are better equipped for handling 100 degree weather than 20 degree weather.

Many can recall my sincere hatred of driving, and winter conditions can only exacerbate this folly. My car is barely equipped to handle the rain, let alone snow. Left turns become U-turns. Trains need less distance for stopping than my beloved sledmobile. It's rear wheel drive, and not recommended for anyone north of the aforementioned 38th parallel. It's been stuck in 2 inches of snow. It's slid backwards while driving up a ramp. It even got stuck in a car wash once. Try pushing your own idling vehicle out of a slippery morass while being hot-waxed. I actually know what it's like to be an M & M after that. Hey, it could be worse - I could be living in one of those hideous cities in the northern half of the "former Soviet Republic". Boy, talk about a depressing way to live - cold all the time, always stuck eating beets, yuck. Worst of all, they can't even afford color. Colors are translated into unique, peculiar dotted patterns, in the same way they show the areas of temperatures on a national weather map. Let's see, it's going to be in the 80s where the map appears "oniony". Whoo hoo! Honey, we're oniony!
I have to admit, I started writing this diatribe in early January, right when the pot-bellied, loquacious weathermen would belch their funny "ho ho ho! Here comes the snow!" and similar moronic slogans. I don't like watching the weather report - it's too irritating to endure a double whammy of a typically crappy forecast, followed by cute small talk from the weather dork and the charming newscasters. Just give me a temperature for tomorrow. I don't even care about precipitation, or if tomorrow's windy day will be a real "hat chaser". No thanks. Numbers, vectors, and that's about it. Like the people in air traffic control. They give the basics, and the current conditions are spouted out in about 4 seconds. Not too difficult. And frankly, anyone who proclaims their love of the gentle snows and wintry scenes should find themselves stranded in a blizzard, ultimately devoured by hungry caribou. No remorse for winterphiles. Perhaps in rural areas, for elderly invalids, the gentle snowfall gives them something nice to look at, and a lot more things to count. Kids love it because they don't have to drive in it. Go ahead, build your little snow fort. In 20 years, you'll be wishing you could hide in one, after skidding out of control and plowing the ol' Impala into a lumbering cement truck. Impaled by an Impala. Nice ring to it.

Winter is just a disgusting reminder that our billowing wad of crud called "earth" is just a hair too far away from the sun. How about we find a way to chemically fix the ozone layer, but still allow global warming to flourish. Melting of the ice caps? Oh, c'mon, it's extra water! Dump it on the deserts and grow some oats or hemp. With all the extra unfrozen water in the system, and the higher temperatures, this whole orb can be a lush tropic paradise. Ok, so the middle east might fry a little bit, but let's see how many bombs they can build during those cool 160 degree evenings. Little tired, Skandar? Go out there and proclaim death to America! There ya go, lil' buddy! Aw, heat stroke got another one. (Cue the "Price Is Right" loss of game sound effect). How's the heat in tents? Intense! Ho ho hee hee, I slay me. They better not. Anyhow, I'd love to colonize some more American regions down by the equator, just so more of us can escape this abysmal climate. There are too many loopy bozos in the current temperate regions of the U.S., so it's time to think southward. Let's go! Manifest Destiny! Death to cold!