Sunday, August 21, 2005

One day I live in Seattle. The next, Phoenix.

Of all the places I've lived, Atlanta has the most fucked up weather by a mile. And I grew up in central Texas, the home of freak weather.

It rains almost every day here in Atlanta—and not just a quick one either. It's a frikkin' deluge then followed by the incessant heat that turns the whole city into something resembling that feeling when you open a dryer before your clothes are dry and that humidity just sticks to your arms. Only this is like getting in the dryer and continuing the cycle. A few dozen times until September rolls around.

That's most days.

Then you get today. Just your garden variety scorcher. Probably mid to high nineties ('cause you ask four wearthermen andthey'lll all tell you something different) and humidity somewhere in the 80+ range. Houston's got nothing on this place. Not even close. I haven't seen out my windows in weeks for the condensation.

You know, Sherman rolled through these parts around this time of the year back in 1864 and probably thought to himself "Christ, I'll be doing everyone a favor by taking this place down." Nothing to do with war strategy, he probably was just tired of being wet and hot and it got out of hand. And don't get me started on the mildew. It's been known to run people out of their apartments. Not least of which, Jane, my girlfriend.

Fortunately she moved into a new house this weekend.

At least Seattle is cool, with super nice summers and sunsets over the sound and it's close to world-class mountains. Even Phoenix is kind of pretty in a scrubby, dusty, desert mountains-in-the-distance kind of way.

I'm ready to get the hell out of here, personally.

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