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Yesterday I pointed out that we have a dysfunctional relationship with the weather. Then, today, I wake up and see this:
Wait, what?
It’s a hot summer day. It might rain. 1/10? The vibes are…bad??? Fucking SpongeBob?!?
What the fuck are they talking about?
Now, I realize I have a youthful appearance and demeanor:
But believe it or not, I’m old enough to remember a time when hot summer days were a cause for celebration. People actually looked forward to them, and planned all sorts of activities around them. There were songs about it, and movies, and everything!
If summer didn’t offer you a sufficient number of hot days during which you could parade around nearly naked and repeatedly immerse yourself in a body of water, you were really disappointed. In fact, people wanted to be hot so much that they’d even get on airplanes and fly to tropical climes during the winter, if you can believe it:
Now all of a sudden when it’s hot in July it’s a 1/10 day and you’re supposed to stay inside? And to be clear, we’re talking about New York here! This is what it looked like here six months ago:
So somehow today is worse than this? I was out there that day. I came home with windburn and snotsicles longer than an old man’s balls. If today’s 1/10 then what the hell was that?
Look, I get it. Heat can be uncomfortable. Nobody likes a sweaty crotch. It’s especially annoying when you have to do stuff that isn’t compatible with being hot, like moving heavy furniture or going to a funeral or (Lob forbid!) working. But if you think this is a 1/10 day and that you should stay inside instead of making the most of the warm weather before winter comes back then you might as well just give up completely and surrender to the automotive industrial complex who want you swaddled, coddled and mentally asleep at all times:
Enjoying the luxury appointments of your automobile instead of the natural beauty all around you is where all this is headed. Whether you think a sultry summer day means the end of the world or you think it means you should stay inside your car or your home with your head up your fake woodgrain ass is ultimately immaterial, as the end result is the same–the world and all its grandeur just becomes yet another screen.
Indeed, I was so annoyed by the admonition to stay inside that I loaded up my basket:
Made for the nearest shoreline:
Moored my vessel:
Pulled up a patch of sand:
And drank to a toast to the weather nannies going and fucking themselves:
Hey, I’m always looking for an excuse to drink before noon, and spite is as good a reason as any.
1/10 my ass.
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