Over the last couple of weeks, we've gotten a little taste of spring, and I have to say, I really, really liked it.
There was a time, not long ago, when winter, in all it's glorious wet and frigid wonder, was one of my favorite times of the year.
Not so much, now.
I'm discovering – and I'm not sure if this is a function of my growing older or just growing smarter – that I have less and less tolerance for winter. The odd part is that, as a self-involved, narcissistic gay man, I'm supposed to be less inclined, as my body degrades and comes undone, to appear unclothed in the baking sun. In fact, however, I find myself increasingly preferring the heat, and despite once being a "you can always add layers to keep warm" person, I'm absolutely ready for the broiling that generally hits New York in the summer. At this point, I won't even complain about the urine-soaked, baked streets and the skillet-like humidity.
Just bring the effing winter to a close, please!
There was a time, not long ago, when winter, in all it's glorious wet and frigid wonder, was one of my favorite times of the year.
Not so much, now.
I'm discovering – and I'm not sure if this is a function of my growing older or just growing smarter – that I have less and less tolerance for winter. The odd part is that, as a self-involved, narcissistic gay man, I'm supposed to be less inclined, as my body degrades and comes undone, to appear unclothed in the baking sun. In fact, however, I find myself increasingly preferring the heat, and despite once being a "you can always add layers to keep warm" person, I'm absolutely ready for the broiling that generally hits New York in the summer. At this point, I won't even complain about the urine-soaked, baked streets and the skillet-like humidity.
Just bring the effing winter to a close, please!
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