thirty days and counting

Because I am a benevolent despot, I hereby give you all a break from my excruciating adventures in the world of prosody to bring you this important news flash:

Blizzards in March — are you serious? Don’t you people know that you have two Australians inbound who’ve just escaped an infernal summer, whose bodies may not be able to adjust to this -459.67°F bullshit you keep doling out over there? At least wait until AFTER you’ve got all of our tourist dollars, and THEN cull us like a pair of winsome harp-seal pups with the bloodied mattock of your unending winter. I was planning on travelling in shorts and t-shirt. Not happening, stupid Australian man! Of all the places in the world, I did not think the White Walkers would begin their assault in Central Park. I was planning on leaving the obsidian blade at home, but now, well, there goes the effing baggage limit!

I type somewhat tongue-in-cheek, knowing that your storm is ‘unseasonal’, and that the season is improving every day. Here in Oz, the shocking heat of summer ended with a snap. Imagine sitting naked in a Finnish sauna where it’s 110°C then stepping out to throw yourself through a hole in the ice into a frigid lake. I know what it’s like, because I’ve done it. There’s a moment where your testicles disappear and your heart stops in your chest, and a little voice says, “Hmm, heart no longer beating. Is this the end? And, like, where are my balls??” before it lurches back into motion and the boys reemerge. That’s what out transition to winter was like. Thirty-degree Celsius drop overnight, and since then it has rained solidly every day. There’s so much water on the ground the cats are using their food bowls as little canoes to get around. In other words, of course spring is coming to NYC. Just please ensure it’s firmly in place (no slushy sidewalks thanks) by the time your visitors arrive.

And a little shout-out to the new President of the US while I’m at it. I love this guy. Before he took office the $AUD was on a slippery slope down to 50c US, but now, with those tiny hands at the wheel, the fiscal relationship between our countries has improved remarkably for moi, and I’m looking maybe at 78-80c for my dollar! Thanks Donald! I don’t care what anybody says, the US takes care of its allies. Admittedly, I don’t give a damn what happens to the exchange rate after the 28th April, because I will be coming home with empty pockets, and whoever is in line to receive my last tip gets to retire early for the week after I dump all my $USD. I don’t trust those loose-change ‘charity’ bins in airports. I trust even less the little brown paper bag the air hostess (urk! was that sexist?) brings around for your foreign currency. I think of that as the duty-free cigarettes and Stoli fund for the crew once they reach their next stop. You can’t trick me with your pretty smile!

Anyway, so we’re not yet at panic-stations. I’ve had to modify my travelling wardrobe to include long pants, and included something warm on top in case I step off the plane at JFK and get blown ass-over-tit down the icy runway by some rogue draft. If things are truly shitful, then Fifth Avenue will have to hold its breath while we scuttle down to REI in SoHo, grab that ugly yet imminently practical down parka by Arc’teryx I’ve been eyeing off all year. Hopefully, it will be in the ‘Winter Bargain’ bin; if you’re anything like us, we sell all of our thermal underwear in mid-summer, and all of our shorts and singlet tops in mid-winter. My advice to all those whiny retailers (boohoo! peeps not buying my stuff!) is maybe step outside once in a while and check the weather? I’m not buying your overpriced shit unless I need it, and my needs are dictated by the elements.

Thirty days and counting.

I’ve waited five years for this, America, so don’t let me down.