The Scarvelis Dump

Fair warning: I am about to share my views on something very, very controversial here. The topic to be discussed is so inflammatory, I fear being beaten and left for dead sometime in the very near future. This, only my second entry, may very well render me the Salmon Rushdie of the blogosphere. I am, however, compelled to move forward with all the courage and unshakeable fortitude many of you have come to expect from me.

I hate summer.

I can’t wait for winter.

That’s it. Of the two seasons, I much prefer winter over summer. Any day. By a long shot, even. What about spring and autumn, you ask? Well, as far as I’m concerned, they in no way qualify as full-blown seasons unto themselves. Sometimes they don’t even bother to show up at all. At least you can depend on summer and winter to show up. If summer and winter were movies, they would be the big Cecil B. DeMille epics. Spring and autumn would be those special messages preceding the main event asking you to silence your mobile phone, followed by previews of coming attractions.

Our little planet’s 364 & ¼ annual journey around the sun, aided by the tilt of the big blue marble may technically dictate that there are four distinct seasons. As far as I’m concerned, however, spring and autumn barely qualify as lowly transitions from summer to winter to summer to winter…and on it goes until the sun explodes someday.

(Golfers, in particular, are bound to take great offense at my assertion that winter is, by far, the superior of our two seasons. Then again, golf is the only sport I can think of where “if you play” is much more important than “how you play.” This is probably why I “don’t play” in the first place)

Why I hate summer and prefer winter:

• Summer Swimming: I don’t like immersing myself in water—be it a swimming pool or a more “natural” body of water, such as a lake or the ocean. Swimming pools give me the creeps—even with the chemicals. If somebody told you to soak your body in a bathtub full of water, human excrement and sufficient chlorine, would you do it? Same exact thing with swimming pools. The other, more natural bodies of water just plain scare the hell out of me, especially the ocean with all its strange and violent creatures. I don’t like the idea that, however remote, dipping my toe into the ocean to check the temperature could easily result in my drawing back a bloody stump.
• Grilling: Fine if you’re going to be eating the food. Not so fine if you’re the one standing over open flames in the searing summer afternoon heat. Two weeks ago I manned the grill, cooking for 15, at my mother’s house in Pittsburgh. I nearly came back to Cleveland in a body bag.
• Sweating: Sweating is fine if you choose to go for a good run or play sand volley ball or something like that. It isn’t okay when, in the summer, a few short steps to the bathroom during a commercial leaves you soaked. Or when picking up the remote to turn the channel is cause for a long shower and an ample dusting of Gold Bond just to take the edge off the walk back to the couch. In the summer, even blinking my eyes makes me sweat.
• The Smell of Burning Wood: In the summer, the smell of burning wood means somebody’s house is on fire. In the winter, it means all is well.
• Daylight: I look forward to one day a year over all others. I count the days with breathless anticipation for this special day. No, it’s not my birthday, or Christmas, or Arbor Day. The day I love so much is the day we turn the clocks backward. This act, combined with that whole earth-around-the-sun-marble-axis affair means it starts getting dark out around 4:00 p.m. and it won’t be completely light out again until around 8:00 a.m. I like it when it’s dark out a lot because it’s cozy.
• Cozy: Speaking of “cozy” there is absolutely nothing cozy about summer. Nothing. In the winter, a warm cat on my lap is an indescribably cozy situation. In the summer, it’s akin to a bucket of boiling water or magma dumped in my crotch. If I curl up with a good book in the summer, I might just overheat and die and stay that way until somebody figures out I haven’t shown up for anything for a few weeks. In the summer, a warm hug or handshake with another person can quickly turn into something completely disgusting and unspeakable.
• Appetite: I’ve come to accept the fact that heat makes me sick and I’ll be nauseated all summer. In the winter, everything tastes delicious—winter meals transcend the act of eating and, at least for me, become love on the end of a fork or spoon. In the summer, I have to force-feed myself. When I chew food in the summer, I sweat (see above) and my nose always runs like a faucet for some strange reason.
• Adventures in Weather: Every Winter day is an adventure. Will I beat the massive snowstorm headed this way!? Will I make it home driving through this massive snowstorm that just hit?! Will I be able to dig out of the massive snow storm that hit last night?! When will the next snow storm come (I always hope for snowstorms—especially the really, really bad ones that leave a couple of feet of accumulations and force me to barricade myself in for days at a time—with all my supplies, of course)!? I don’t much enjoy summer’s thunderstorms. They’re wet, that’s about all one can say. Every once in a while a really dramatic thunderstorm will hit. Problem is, when it’s gone, it’s gone. And all that’s left is more wet, which, in essence, is just like sweat (see above), sans the salty aftertaste.
• Feet: Where do I start? I’m glad most people have feet. They’re very functional. So are shoes. Is it just me, or is everybody wearing flip-flops in the summer these days? The ladies get a lot more credit than the guys on this one. Almost all females of the species make an attempt to maintain presentable (even pretty) feet in the summer. The guys, not so much. Best I can tell, the genes for attractive feet reside on that long part of the X chromosome that us guys don’t have. It’s that missing piece of chromosome that makes us boys more susceptible to a bevy of colorful and potentially fatal diseases and disorders that the girls just don’t get (like Hemophilia and atrociously ugly feet). Pair that with flip flops, hairy toes, unclipped toenails, toenails that are bruised/yellow/green and/or an inch thick with fungus, bunions, calluses and strange scabs and you get the picture. Better yet, just look down next time you’re at the supermarket or walking down the street—it’s like a horror show.
• Maggots: Last summer, after about two weeks of searching, I finally discovered that a KFC extra-crispy drumstick had fallen behind the stove…

I can think of a million more reasons I love winter over summer. I’d love to hear your thoughts now…

P.S. I’d like to formally apologize to my sister, Stephanie, who I publicly embarrassed a few weeks ago. I told several members of our extended family about an incident a few weeks prior to that when, for fear of messing up her hair by undressing, Stephanie proceeded to iron out a few wrinkles on her blouse while it was still on her body. By force of habit, she hit the steam button by mistake and sustained a massive burn on her stomach, which is still in the process of healing.