Summer and Suffer are Just A One Letter Difference
So you love summer? Good for fucking you. So I guess it’s Memorial Day and all the people in those snowbound and unattractive northern cities are jumping for joy because the temperature has risen above Freezing-To-Death degrees and women are wearing less that ten layers of clothing. Congratulations, rest of the country. Have a glorious summer. May it find you tanned, happy, and oversexed. But here in
It started raining last week, and it’s not predicted to stop until, oh, about October. Now, this is not like
Going to the beach is really fun. There are many days where the sand is so hot you have five less layers of skin when you walk from the street to the shore. Lying out is a not the best idea anyway, since most of that sunscreen you put on to protect you against the UV 112 is sweat out within about a minute and a half. You can try reading, but you’d better make sure you bring a hardback that will give you muscle cramps from holding it over your head all day, since the glue in softbacks tends to melt after a couple of hours causing the pages of your Clive Cussler to go flying three blocks south. Go in the water to cool off, you say? Well, aside from the inevitable thieving of all your personal possessions unless you can learn to say “Can you watch my stuff?” in Spanish, there is the little issue of the Atlantic Ocean being roughly the temperature recommended to cook a lobster. Which is ironic, because that is what most Americans look like after a summer afternoon in
And remember all those American tourist girls that you picked up at the bars and played with in the sand? Yeah, well, they won’t be coming around for a while either. But you know who will be coming around? Rich South Americans. Because THOSE girls are always down for a romp on the beach after a couple pitchers at The Playwright. The UM girls are gone too, being replaced in local bars by local girls (and by “local” I think you know what I mean) home from UF or
Baseball? Don’t get me started. I love the Marlins to death, but read my paragraph about going to the beach above, place it in a mostly empty football stadium with no wind, and put a borderline unwatchable team on the field. Night games are a blast, too, especially when the afternoon thunderstorm has decided to stick around and try and watch the game with you. Rain delays are great, even better when you stay until 1 in the morning to watch your bullpen give up their 14th game winning homerun in a row.
Then there’s that little weather phenomenon we like to call the Hurricane. Mercifully, the season doesn’t start until June 1, but it has now been extended, I believe, into Valentine's Day. Even if we are spared a storm, there will be a minimum of three “scares” spaced just far enough apart so that as soon as you take your shutters down, you are putting them back up again. And when you’re not putting plywood or aluminum all over your house, you can go wait in hour-long lines at Publix to buy water and potato chips, or wait in a gas line to ensure that you can get around what’s left of the city when there is no gas to be had. I am convinced that Home Depot, Publix and Exxon/Mobil are seeding the clouds.
So yes, yes, enjoy your summer you condescending assholes. Just because it’s hot doesn’t mean we can’t be having the same fun you are. We’ll just need a lot more water to do it. And then, when fall rolls around and your girls’ clothes come back on and your barbecues turn back into Foreman Grills? Yeah, I’ll be sucking down a Call-A-Cab at Wet Willie’s and sending you pictures of palm trees from my phone. Have a great summer. KIT