Wither the Weather

The foreground is the Charles River, likely taken from around the MIT
boat house in neighboring Cambridge.

The Wife is a dyed-in-the-wool Minnesota, with lineage dating back several generations on some of the northernmost farm land in the country. In summer, she is miserable and talks about how much she prefers the misery of winter. Even today she would speak of her preference for winter, though I awoke to her text message, sent at 7 a.m., that reads, "Um, OK, that's pretty cold. Stay in today!"

About half the country is having a freakout. I'm having trouble not judging about half the country, and my judgment knows no bounds.

In New York, the Today Show is staying inside today. It's too cold to go outside, they'll tell you. It's 19 degrees. Minnesotans are rolling their eyes. That's a guarantee. Minnesotans watch people in New York talk about how cold it is and they roll their eyes. That's because the low in my hometown, Lakeland, is predicted to be -13 today with a windchill around -30.

That, of course, is nothing. On a Sunday afternoon during my senior year of high school, me and four friends went to the high school to play basketball during open gym. In my little Plymouth Sundance, we whipped some donuts in the parking lot, then played basketball for a couple of hours. While we were inside, the temperature dropped from around 0 to about -20. The wind also picked up.

When we came back to the car, we ran. We were all wearing basketball clothes. Sweaty basketball clothes. We jumped into the car. The engine started. It went into reverse. Nothing happened.

It took about 30 seconds to figure out what was wrong. The car was working just fine; the tires had frozen to the parking lot.

We jumped out and used everything in the car -- a couple of ice scrapers and an army knife -- to chip away under the tires. Frozen, we jumped back in the car. The Dancin' Dancer made a cracking noise as it pulled out of the parking spot; it drove as if the tires were shaped like squares for a few miles before the tires warmed up and returned to a round shape.

Every Minnesotan has a horror story, but that doesn't stop them from complaining about the weather. This latest cold snap has everybody complaining, taking pictures of thermostats at their desks. Nobody likes cold weather. I'm no better. I have Raynaud's Syndrome, which means my fingers and toes go numb at the hint of a slight breeze. I hate the cold weather.

Which brings me to my theory about life: If we could afford it and bring family with, the vast majority of the American population would all live in San Diego. Shutterfly, a Minnesotan who moved there in her 20s when she wanted to live somewhere cold, thought Southern California wouldn't be good for her weather-wise. After a trip to Disney, she's with me on this. Everybody should live in Southern California.

And we all could. There's nothing *really* stopping most of us from dropping everything and moving to San Diego. I could work at Starbucks. TW could find work. We'd live in a small apartment for a while as we establish ourselves. It wouldn't be glamorous, but it could be done.

What stops us is what stops almost everybody: We actually like it where we are and it's not worth the hassle and years of paying dues all over again. Therefore, we're going to suck it up and get through these few days of a frigid cold snap with our heads held high.

Also, it helps that TW and I are going to Florida tomorrow night. Suckers.