It’s not that weather really bothers me. It doesn’t. Portland’s rain is just rain, and Phoenix’s heat is just heat; that’s not what gets to me.

The denial, that’s what gets to me.

Sure it’s dry heat. So is an oven. Doesn’t mean it’s fucking comfortable.

Don’t tell me it’s not really raining, especially when when you have to push your soggy hair out of your eyes to get a good look at me.

I’ll be the first person to enjoy a little sense of superiority from my local weather. Is it snowing where you are right now? Well, it is here.

See? I admitted it. I’m not standing out in my backyard in a pair of shorts, covered in fluff while I say “this? this is nothing.” (Although tonight I did go out in the backyard in a pair of shorts and wrestle with my snowy dog, barefoot.)

Point? I admitted it. It’s weather, you can’t fnord it out of existence, and it doesn’t scare people away if the crazy locals don’t acknowledge the climate — it just attracts loons.

Now, if you want to tell me that “this is nothing, you should see the snow where *I* live”, then go for it. That’s bragging. I’m a guy; I get that.

The rest of it just concerns me.