Trying to get into the (Almost) Daily Distraction vibe.
It’s that time of year again. The dreariness of fall and pumpkinmania seem to excite everyone but me.
I am a lone season curmudgeon swimming upstream against a current of Halloween decorations that retailers began bringing out in August. I have never understood the appeal of this most shallow of seasons. Maybe I was traumatized on Halloween when I was a boy. If it happened, I sensibly blocked it out.
Contrary to popular internet opinion, I do like other people. In limited doses, of course, but the sentiment is real. Having said that, I do find myself irritated by much of humanity in the Northern Hemisphere once October rolls around. People who like to think they’re beaten down by the heat of summer — especially here in the Sonoran Desert — become perky. As far as I’m concerned, perkiness is a trait one finds in overly medicated people who are in denial and/or are serial killers. Fall is polluted with perkiness. I often wonder how many murder victims spent their final moments gagging on the smell of pumpkin spice.
To me, fall is the waiting room for death, which is winter.
A quintessential desert boy, I have never been fond of cool or cold weather. Whenever I tell people that, they scoff and say I don’t know what cold is because I’m from the desert and lived most of my adult life in Southern California. Not true, naysayers. When I was on the road full time, I would play clubs in the Great Lakes cities and other cold environs during the dead of winter. Places that only get three decent weeks of summer don’t pay comedians well then because nobody wants to spend a couple of hours indoors.
So, winter in Chicago, Detroit, and Anchorage it was (and will soon be again). In fact, I spent my early road years driving through Ohio in the winter doing one-nighters because that was the place where I could get the most work.
Winter and I are old acquaintances, and we don’t like each other very much. I think it’s a wasteland full of women in pants and it thinks I’m a Class A d-bag for not appreciating THE SEASONS.
Whenever anyone tells me they don’t like my desert because they love the seasons, I know the conversation is over. The seasons are for people who want to waste their money on snowblowers and parkas rather than refreshing cocktails on a beach.
And probably serial killers.
In my dream scenario, I would be on my way to Australia or somewhere in South America so I could spend my fall and winter in their spring and summer. Even my desert is getting too cold for me. It snowed in Tucson four times last winter. I’m thinking of spending some time in Florida next winter just to avoid that nonsense. That’s right, I want to be a snowbird from a city that is overrun by snowbirds every winter.
At least the Florida serial killers make things interesting.
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