When winter lasts for at least five months, you really do forget what nice weather is like. Seeing the slow thaw of eventual spring is like waking from a dream; or, maybe more accurately, it’s like dreaming.

I’m already excited about getting my bike fixed up for the season.

But like I said, spring isn’t here yet. She’s just spritzing us with her perfume, sticking her ankle out from behind the curtain, and peering around feathered fans. We forgive her for teasing, because during her brief visit, she makes us feel better than we thought possible. We readily welcome her to replace the unremitting fishwife shrieks of Winter. She lowers our guard so the bull-in-a-china-shop debutante, Summer, can easily seduce us, promising magic before squashing us mercilessly between her thighs.

Last week, walking outside with some coworkers, I commented that I could smell spring approaching.

It snowed a few hours later.

You know, I’m willing to bet that the phrase, “If you don’t like the weather, wait a while,” applies to a good 80% of the world’s climates; but everyone proudly says it in reference to their stomping grounds, as if it was coined by their own dear old Grandpappy. Nothing is predictable. No matter where you live, it’s pretty much guaranteed that you’ll at some point be fucked over by the weather.

Maybe that, in addition to my obnoxious tendency to spin lame metaphors out of thin air, is why I fondly personify the seasons as WWI-era Parisian whores. They’re mercurial, we put ourselves at their mercy, and they indifferently use us and pass us on. They will infuriate us, this much we know. We can even roughly predict how. But, barring honest to God natural disasters, we bear our frustration with loving clenched jaw of Ralph Kramden, we grab our snow shovels in April, and we deal.

Then there are the other shitstorms that can’t be laughed off with a Honeymooners tag-.line.

First thing I saw on the news today was a father on national TV saying that he hoped his daughter’s killer would rot in hell.

Every day, I read or hear about the bloody vendetta fulfilled, within walking distance from my house, by the blind minions of a white supremacist.

There’s, you know, a war.

I’ve come into contact with personal tragedies on large and small scales, and the only thing I can discern from them is that sometimes, the world ain’t right.

Sure, I guess that’s “just life,” but it seems to me that hardship isn’t doled out in an equitable fashion, and there are too many good people who suffer blow after blow after blow. Some might find comfort in believing that it’s all part of some divine plan. I don’t. That train of thought makes me feel like a rat in a maze, and I don’t appreciate it.

I know it’s an extreme example, but I think of Job, and of the cruel game of Uncle in which God forced him to play. According to the scriptures, God let Job be tested, directly, by Satan, just to see how devout Job truly was. Don’t know why. Maybe it’s because Job wasn’t Jewish, and thereby didn’t qualify as being one of God’s Chosen, back in the day.

As Satan gave him one trial after another, Job didn’t just turn the other cheek, he took it up the ass. He didn’t have much choice; he was given a hell of an ultimatum, no pun intended.

I don’t know. I can’t think of any God as being that much of a power-crazed, bullying jerk. I also don’t see how He, in the Biblical sense, could possibly have the time to be so micro managerial as to pay all that attention to one poor dude.

It doesn’t make sense, there’s nothing you can do about it, and it’s best not to think about it too much, because it makes your heart hurt.

So, I cleave to the idea of the burlesque lady of Spring, and remind myself that I’m not really that cynical, nor do I believe in the Old Testament.

This past weekend, I watched a chunk of “The Ten Commandments,” and came to the conclusion that before that God really got used to His job, (not to be confused with Job,) all He was good for was inspiring tinny orchestration and over-enunciated acting.

Movies RULE!

~ Last Five Entries ~

Arm-in-Arm Down Burgundy - 09.05.05

Motivated! - 08.25.05

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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