Fire and Icicles

After living my entire life up in the frozen tundra of Western New York (with the exception of a two year stint at the University of Miami), I have spent the last ten years in the paradise known as Miami, Florida.

After dreading the coming of winter for so many years, I am now in the enviable position of looking forward to it.

Summers in Miami are hot, humid, and sticky; whereas the winter time is sunny, dry, and comfortable…well most years anyway. This year Miami has experienced record high temperatures in both the months of November, and December this year. We are in the middle of winter and still running our air conditioner! This is not right! I am supposed to be saving money on the electric bill by giving the air conditioner a much needed rest, but not this year.

In contrast, the northern states are getting hammered with bitter cold, and snow fall being measured by the foot not by the inch. There are many people I know up there that would love to change places with me. With the exception of the higher than normal electric bills, I guess I have no reason to gripe.

When I first moved to Miami many people told me that it is ungodly hot and humid here in the summer time. My response to them was “I would rather gripe about the heat than the cold.” I still feel that way. There is no way I would want to change places with anyone up north in the winter time. I feel for all people that have to put up with frigid temperatures, no sunshine and piles of snow for over four months a year.

However I don’t feel so bad for them that I won’t rub it in every chance I get.

I admit I get a fiendish kick mentioning on Facebook that we had a record high temperature of 89 yesterday after reading them moan about the cold and snow. I love to read their responses (I would print a couple of these remarks, but this is a family column) it makes me feel all warm and evil inside. I love to causally mention that it is 85 and sunny here, after my friend tells me they just got sixteen inches of snow; just so I can hear him tell me to go screw myself.

Does this make me a bad guy? Am I really evil? When I die will I be sentenced to become one of Satan’s minions because of this?

Perhaps, maybe it would be fitting to have one of my old friends up in Heaven causally mention over the phone that it is beautiful and 75 there after I got done griping that it is 2500 degrees and raining flaming brimstone.

I wonder; do you have to shovel brimstone out of your driveway to get to work in hell? I know there are plenty of folks up north reading this that hope I will find out.