They say that over 1,000 people move here to the great state of Florida every single day, and really, who could blame them?!  Sun, fun, and a distinct lack of devices designed specifically for the moving of snow from one place to another … trust me, once you’ve spent 15 hours a week dedicated purely to just moving snow out of your way, the arguments against relocating to a state that instead has the word “sunshine” built right into the official slogan tend to become few and far between…

I should know – it was just about seven years ago that I made that very same transition from winter wonderland to heat wave heaven myself and really, despite those random sleepless nights when I just yearn for snowplows and my favorite shovel, I wouldn’t have it any other way!

Of course, I suppose if there was but one problem to be highlighted when we talk about the notion of moving south to a state with far fewer snow-related anythings, it’s simply that nobody ever tells us northern transplants really what to expect when we get here from our frozen tundra counterparts where snowmen and polar bears and winter jackets are commonplace!  There’s no book to read, or even just a pamphlet to flip through while enjoying your complimentary glass of orange juice on your way past the welcome center once you enter the Sunshine State – nothing to tell you which sides of the street the elderly drive their golf carts on (hint: all of them), or which seasons to expect the largest influx of tourists (again: all of them), or even simply that alligators do, in fact, live in places other than the Everglades!

Nope, instead us newbies are simply expected to just figure it out for ourselves, just like our predecessors did before us, and theirs before them, which might work in some cases – I mean, sure, giant lizards munching on your rhododendrons might be a bit of a surprise the first time around, but if you ask me, a little unexpected gator with your morning paper is nothing compared to an even more vicious predator that also happens to be native to our State of Florida as well.  Frankly, now that I stop and think about it, I’m not even entirely sure that anything could help to prepare a Florida newcomer to the dangers that stem from these vile, blood-thirsty savages, but in reality, I suppose that anything to raise general awareness helps when we’re talking about the wildly aggressive, trained killer that is … the Florida Telemarketer, or Obnoxious Scam-Artius.

Preying on unsuspecting, new residents to the Sunshine State by tricking them into thinking that they’ve instantly won free cruises or amazing timeshare opportunities that they simply won’t find anywhere else, these slimy scavengers feed off of a gullibility that is actually quite common in those who have recently packed up their lives and made such a pilgrimage in search of a warmer climate.  Armed with the suggestion that one really can get something for nothing, they pounce on the exhausted and offer bargains that would in practice put cruise lines and timeshares out of business, if not for all of the hidden fees and vacation surcharges that lurk within the depths of the fine print, that is…

It was but only a couple of weeks ago that I found something in the mail that served as a pleasant reminder of the first, and thankfully only time that I, myself, got sucked into the hype by these relentless profiteers shortly after I moved to Florida back in 2003.  It had all started with finding an exciting message on my answering machine about winning a free cruise to The Bahamas, and eventually ended with the disappointed realization that $400 in “fees” was just a tad bit “expensive” for what the fine folks at Cheap Ass Travel Unlimited were calling a “free cruise!” Luckily, I think I only got about $75 into the “deposits” before the something fishy’s going on here-alarm went off and I stopped returning the extraordinarily urgent phone calls left by my official Cheap Ass Travel Agent asking that I pay off my remaining “fees” and “secure my free vacation today.” Eventually, the calls stopped and I was left to mourn the loss of my $75 in peace, but if anything, at least a lesson was learned from that experience.

On the upside, it was after that vacation-related scamming I knew that I had officially became a bona fide Florida resident … well, it was either then or that day when I had to wrestle a gator out of the only free parking space left at my apartment complex – both were pretty memorable in my book, although whereas I still like to consider myself on speaking terms with that alligator, I’m not so sure that I’d say the same for Craig V. with Cheap Ass Travel.  But despite my finally catching on to his shenanigans $75 into the scam, clearly good, old Cheap Ass is still doing ok with roping in the unsuspecting or I wouldn’t have received another fantastic offer in my mailbox just last week…

The thing is this, folks – while we may never be able to stand up against giant lizards or even the elderly in all of their 15mph glory, we can band together to put a stop to telemarketing scams right here and now by discouraging gullibility amongst our friends and family, especially if they’ve got Jimmy Buffett on the brain and have been talking about heading on down south on a permanent basis.  Seriously, feel free to just smack them right upside the head if that’s what it takes – for the amount that you’ll eventually save them in port fees and docking surcharges and cruising taxes, they’ll be thanking you when their vision finally returns to normal!

Remember, friends don’t let friends think that they’re getting 4-days and 3-nights in The Bahamas for free…

So Tuesday officially marked the beginning of June, and thus also welcomed us into the beginning of Hurricane Season here in the Sunshine State.  The NOAA is predicting that 2010 will see an “above normal” level of hurricane activity with conditions that resemble some “very active” seasons from years past.

Upon hearing this news, the average Floridian replied, “Meh…” and will do precisely nothing to prepare for our potentially imminent destruction…

And don’t be deceived – hurricanes are bad! Think like the movie Twister, but also with lots of water, and alligators replacing the cows that were sent flying through the air like Frisbees … sorry, Tornado Belt folks, but when push comes to shove, getting hit in the face with a giant reptilian beast with even more gigantic teeth trumps getting hit in the face with your average dairy cow any day of the week!  I think even the cow would agree with that particular allegation…

Nonetheless, I guess it’s not that we don’t care … well, ok – for some of us that’s exactly what it is … but I think for the majority it’s just that we don’t care in any resemblance of a preparatory fashion. Call it a result of overly embracing our laid-back, beachfront lifestyle, or maybe just eight too many margaritas, but unless those 120mph winds are literally knocking on our front door (while floodwaters are simultaneously slipping in underneath), somehow the threat of having to kayak down the block just seems too farfetched to be worth the hassle of actually getting up and going to the store.

Then again, not for nothing, but it is really hot here in Florida in the summertime!  I mean, seriously – who wants to go lugging around cases of water and extra sandbags when it’s 95 degrees in the shade outside?!  Forget that…

Of course, unfortunately the end result of our storm-surge-oriented apathy here is that when it does come time to batten down the hatches and ensure the survival of our wee suburban communities, it’s damn near impossible to buy little more than an empty water jug and some stray Pop-Tart crumbs because at this point we’ve been succinctly beaten to the punch by a quaint, little group of paranoid residents that I like to refer to as The Overly Prepared. You’ve probably seen them around – these are the same folks who put blankets over their bushes and spend their afternoons enforcing the local HOA guidelines, and whereas the rest of us would be satisfied with a case or two of water and a few canned goods out in the garage, these folks won’t rest until they’ve got enough reserves stored up in their hurricane bunker to refill the swimming pool from scratch and rebuild city hall entirely out of tin cans!

In this particular setting, you’ll see them as you come walking out of the store empty-handed, each member of the family pushing a separate shopping cart brimming with cases of water and canned goods as if they’re stocking up the Great Pyramid, the only comic relief left being in watching them try to fit several hundred gallons of water into the family minivan.  “I’ll come back for you and the kids later, honey!” Dad’s anxiety announces as he finishes loading the precious cargo into each and every passenger seat before slowly puttering out of the parking lot in the severely overweighed suburban transport.

By now it should be pretty obvious what you need to do, though – just find out where these people live and move next door to them! If you hurry, Dad should be pretty easy to tail by the sparks emitting from his back bumper scraping the ground, and sure, they might be a little obnoxious the rest of the year, but hey, hurricane season is technically six months long, so in my book not having to be on watch half the year is well worth the random lawn care critiques and awkward dinner parties.  And no need to worry about mooching – trust me, at this point with that many kids, your taking a few cases of water off his hands in your time of need is the least of his worries, so no need to feel guilty about it!

Besides, it’s either my plan or you actually have to get up from the couch and go buy all of that crap yourself in this heat!  You do realize that a single gallon of water weighs eight pounds, right?

Yeah, that’s what I thought…

Folks, I don’t want to sound like a buzz kill here, but nonetheless I feel the distinct need to clear something up.  Specifically – it’s November here in Florida.

You know the month – smack dab right there on your calendar between Garfield Trick or Treating for Lasagna and Odie Dressed Up as a Reindeer.  It’s a 30-day period traditionally known for turkeys and Thanksgiving and eventually also transcending the seasons from autumn into winter.  Most important of all, though, is the simple point that the month of November is not in what you would consider “the summer” … also known around these parts as The Season of Air Conditioner Appreciation.  I know that Florida tends to get stereotyped as the state that doesn’t experience actual “seasons,” but that’s simply not true.  Our seasons may be significantly less dramatic than those experienced around the rest of the country – i.e. we’ve never had to “get up early to go shovel out the car” … thank god!  But we do still see colder weather towards the end of the year and there are several days when we even have to dig out *gasp* long sleeve shirts!

All gloating aside, however, the real reason that I wanted to bring all of this up is because this ugly “no seasons” stereotype carries right over to a very time-honored tradition here in Florida that when not thought through can lead to devastating, often times shriveling results.  That activity, of course, is swimming.

You see, people don’t realize it because the Florida that they see on TV and in the movies uses those fancy special effects and digital editing these days, but believe it or not, there comes a time here even in the Sunshine State where the water, simply put, is f-ing freezing! Sure, it may not have icebergs in it or be frozen over like bodies of water in some northern states that shall remain nameless, but still, if you think that you’re coming to our state to simply “hang out at the pool” between, oh say, late September and March, you’re either a polar bear or at the very least in for quite the rude awakening!

Also shrinkage, guys – think about it.

“I know, I know…” you hear me say sympathetically.  “It’s just not fair.  It’s still 70 degrees out – that’s warm, right?!” But we both know that water temperature and air temperature are two different things … well, *I* know that, anyways.  And if you’d like to test this theory of yours out by dipping the twins into the shivery 60 degree depths, by all means be my guest!  Just don’t come crying to me when you’re resembling raisins in all the wrong areas, wondering why you can’t have kids while also asking me to autograph my latest book for your nephew, even though we both know that it’s really for your wife to make up for ruining her favorite blouse in the washing machine with that black pen you forgot to take out of your pants pocket.

Besides, there are still lots of great things that one can do here in Florida during the cooler months that don’t involve losing one’s toes, genitals, and other appendages in no particular order to an icy grave.  For example, you could find somebody who has a heated pool or spend your hard-earned dollars at one of our many fabulous theme parks, many of which have plenty of twisty-turny roller coasters that will jostle your insides to the point where swimming will be the last item on your agenda for the immediate future.  Or even better yet, you could always just do what us locals do during this time of year – be thankful that it isn’t hurricane season – that always helps to warm my bones after a cold and blustery day!

Just remember that unlike many of life’s other challenges, this is one that copious quantities of beer cannot solve and if you think waking up next to someone whose name you can’t remember is bad enough, imagine that they don’t have any toes because they thought that every droplet of water within the boundaries of Florida was like bathwater all the time! The truth is, that doesn’t actually apply until mid-March, which is coincidentally right around spring break, so until then you’re still welcome to come and visit, but you might want to bring a book.

…either that or just stay where you are and enjoy all of that shoveling – it’s really your call!

Yeah, yeah – you can probably see where this one’s going before I even get started…

So as you can probably discern from the lovingly flattering photo, yours truly got burned recently, and not so much in the investing in Internet stocks … on margin!-sort of way as the genius thought he was putting on an adequate quantity of sunscreen, but apparently wasn’t-method of getting oneself scorched.  Now I’m stuck for the next three weeks looking like a lobster on his way to his last supper.  Why does it always have to come to this???

Oh, that’s right – the lack of sunscreen! How quickly I forget … it’s almost hard to believe I live in Florida sometimes, isn’t it?

But you see, I guess that’s part of the problem because for the most part, I don’t really ever go “outside” – at least not during the summertime months down here!  It’s always 180 degrees out, with a humidity roughly equal to an Olympic-sized swimming pool worth of water for each man, woman, and child stupid enough to step out from behind the safety of their air conditioned cocoons – does any part of that sound appealing to you?! Besides, it’s three months out of the year – the other nine are beautiful, and none of them are filled with snow, unlike my previous northern abode, so in comparison I actually think laying low for ten weeks as opposed to ten months isn’t really all that bad of a deal…

Of course, just try selling that argument when people come to visit.

It’s like that old saying about how you never seem to do all of the neat things your town has to offer except for when people come to visit, however in this case instead of going to the wax museum or the local discothèque, we instead found ourselves going to the beach … at three in the afternoon … in the middle of summer, and while don’t get me wrong, I love me some beach, but at three in the afternoon in the dead of summer?  Not so much!

Believe it or not, though, that’s not even the worst of it.

Frankly, I was a little put off when I discovered later that evening just how badly I’d gotten burnt because while usually I scoff at the thought of slathering on sunscreen and feeling all gross and slimy for the rest of the afternoon when I’m out and about, this time I actually even succumbed to said sliminess and sprayed it on like a pro … or so I thought.  I then proceeded to frolic amongst the waves without a concern in the world … at least not with regards to getting singed by those harmful UV rays from our mother sun.

Sure, there was still an underlying concern about getting eaten by something so terrifying that it regularly gets its own week on the Discovery channel, but as far as I’m aware they don’t exactly make a spray for that, and even if there was some sort of Shark Repellant Bat Spray currently available on the market, that’s an entirely different column for another day…

So really, what’s a closet heliophobiac to do here with this chemically-flawed conundrum?  I get burned when I don’t put on sunscreen, and yet I also mysteriously get burned when I do put on sunscreen.  It doesn’t take a solar astronomer to figure out that something is afoot here and I intend to get to the bottom of this just as soon as … I can move more than three inches without my shoulders feeling like someone is slow-roasting them over an open fire.  Ow ow ow – good lord, does that hurt!  Whew…

You know, it might be a few weeks – you might want to check back with me later.

Let’s play a game, folks!  It’s just a little something I’ve cooked up in my spare time lately called Things You Never Want to Hear in Florida … in July, and it goes a little something like this: simply choose from the following what you think would be the worst possible thing to hear mid-summer here in the Sunshine State of Florida…

a)      ”The AC’s not working.”
b)      “We’re all out of rum.”
c)      “There’s an alligator at the front door and he looks pissed.”

If you answered A – “The AC’s not working,” you win the prize, which coincidentally is this nice box fan from Wal-Mart that sure would’ve been nice at my house a couple of days ago when tragedy struck our quaint, Floridian household here in the dead of summer!  As for those of you who opted for pina coladas or giant lizards as your answers … well, despite the stereotypes or your apparent alcoholism, let it be known that either one of those things on their own don’t even stack close to the idea of Florida living, au natural.

Maybe both of them put together might come a little closer because hey, when the Bacardi doth runneth dry, opening the door to see if the lizard on the other side came bearing fruity coconut and pineapple-flavored refills may very well sound entirely reasonable, but of course, that’s an entirely different column altogether…

But regardless, by far the worst is still having the air conditioning just mysteriously die without warning, and if it happens after business hours like mine so conveniently did recently, then all the better!  Really, there’s nothing quite like coming home at about eleven o’clock at night after a long and grueling day, only to find that it’s rapidly approaching 85 degrees inside your humble abode … and it’s still warmer outside than it is inside … and there’s no breeze outside whatsoever, even if opening up windows was a minute possibility.  If there was ever a time to call in a favor from that friendly, neighborhood repair guy whose fence you had recently helped paint, now would’ve been a wonderful time to call in said favor!

Unfortunately, though, I have no such recently painted neighbor, and even if I did, chances are *I* wouldn’t have been the first one out the door on a blisteringly hot Sunday afternoon to help him save a few bucks by painting it himself!  Remember, with the Florida heat and all?! So there I, my better half already sweaty and less than thrilled because she’d gotten home several hours prior and was clearly done with this whole no AC conundrum – the two of us destined to bear the brunt of this lack of proper household cooling for at least the next twelve hours or so, all depending – of course, on just how available the repair guy would be to come relieve us the next morning.

And the trouble is that really when you think about it, there’s not a whole lot you can do when such a disaster strikes and you find yourself sweating to the oldies, minus the spandex and a creepy Richard Simmons frolicking around on TV.  Sure, you could spend the night eating popsicles with the refrigerator door propped open, or maybe just make the best of it by falling asleep in the tub, but either is going to leave you in pretty rough shape the following morning … assuming you can actually get out of the bathtub after what I can only imagine would be one of the worst sleeping positions ever!  Nonetheless, my wife and I finally opted to endure the old-fashioned way – by opening all of the windows, turning the ceiling fan in our bedroom up to blow everything that isn’t bolted down around the room in a frenzy, and simply hope for the best.

A matter of hours later, as the sun came peeking up from behind the trees, with songbirds chirping all about, we awoke, knowing that the worst had passed.  Well, there were papers strewn in every corner of our bedroom, it was still scathingly hot, and at one point throughout the night I could’ve swore I heard a wild animal of some sort clawing at the window, but other than that, we were good to go!  Now thoroughly drenched in sweat, we waited for the repair guy to come and lend us his services, which would promptly return us to the land of the civilized.

Twelve hours, folks!  That’s how long I went without air conditioning one hot and sweaty night in July of the year 2009, and frankly, those were probably the twelve worst hours that I’ve had since I moved to Florida over five years ago.  The human body just isn’t designed to endure non-conditioned air, much less temperatures with the digits 8 and 9 in them!  It’s something that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies … well, maybe that one guy, but that’s what you get for cutting in front of me in line for It’s a Small World. No remorse!

So the moral of our story today, simply put, is this – if you live in Florida, don’t ever put yourself in a situation where you could possibly be without air conditioning for more than, oh say, four and a half minutes, max. Buy a second backup air conditioner, make a copy of your neighbor’s keys the next time they’re out of town, or even – dare I suggest it – actually help your friendly neighborhood repairman paint his fence one weekend, if for no other reason than so you can call him in the middle of the night should such an occasion as this arise in the future!  If he doesn’t have a fence, build one for him – trust me, three weeks of digging post holes and hammering boards will be time well spent if it might help you avoid spending seven or eight hours sleeping in a pool of your own sweat.  Whatever it takes, really…

Don’t let your household become just another sweaty, broken air conditioner-related statistic.

Can a brother spare a gallon? A cup? Maybe even just a tablespoon?! Because frankly, my lawn will take just about anything you can give it at this point!

I don’t know if the rest of the universe has heard, or even if you guys care for that matter, but here in Florida we’re experiencing a bit of a water shortage right now … which I know is more than a little ironic, seeing as how the Sunshine State is surrounded on three sides by water and our main tourist attraction outside of Mickey Mouse Land is the freaking beach, but alas, it seems that there’s not much that we can do with such copious amounts of salt water other than frolic around in a carefree manner in its presence, and although that actually sounds pretty good right about now, no quantity of wet and wild, bikini-clad ladies is going to help make my grass turn green again.

…sorry, ladies…

So needless to say, we’re in just a little bit of a panic down here, or at least our fearless leaders are as they attempt to conserve water by any means necessary. Of course, watering lawns and washing cars were obviously the first to go, along with turning off those cool, ornamental fountains that gurgle water so prestigiously on promenades throughout the city. We’ve even heard hair-brained ideas as bad as attempting to restrict restaurants from openly handing out glasses of ice water to patrons unless they specifically request it, and even then I think it’s only supposed to be considered “on loan.”

Don’t ask how the whole “return policy” works … let’s just say that people start to get a little desperate when the swimming pools runneth dry around these parts!

I guess the funniest part of the whole situation is that while here in April, we’re clamoring for water like our frozen Margaritas depend on it and the fate of the backyard barbecue as we know it is at stake, check back with us in about a month and a half when we’re entering into the “stupid rainy season” where everyday is a banner day for the umbrella salesmen of the Sunshine State and no doubt we’ll be singing a very different tune. You know, when “What do you mean I can’t even wash my car?!” becomes “Ahhh, screw it – let the rain take care of it…” and errands that don’t get ran by 3:00pm are gonna have to wait until later for fear of melting … but hey, it still beats getting blown away by a hurricane…

Of course, in the meantime until that liquid gold begins thundering down from the heavens with a vengence once again, life here in the Sunshine State of Florida … the floppy-hat-wearing tourism capital of the world, home to former heavyweight champion Hollywood Hulk Hogan, and the proud host of 14 Olive Garden restaurants (featuring the never-ending pasta bowl), is going to be a little different from that carefree, aquatic-loving lifestyle to which we’ve become accustomed. We’re all going to have to make some sacrifices along the way, whether it be by learning to enjoy wading in the family pool as opposed to actually swimming in it, by sneaking into the bathroom and turning off the faucet while other people are brushing their teeth (just in case they didn’t learn that conservatory gem back in kindergarten), or even by simply ordering that next fruity, umbrella-laden drink without ice – remember, every little bit helps!

I, for one, have been doing my best to help do my part my by continuing to be too lazy to care about washing my car until this dry spell is over. Mind you, I tried going even above and beyond to call of duty by also being too lazy to care about doing the dishes, the laundry, and pretty much anything else that required getting up from my comfy location smack dab in the middle of the couch, but in retrospect that ended up just creating a whole new mess of problems to boot…

But never fear, my fellow Floridians, for we will drudge through this depressing drought, we will come together as a state and rebuild our region’s water reserves, and with the hard work and dedicated conservation efforts of each and every one of us, eventually we will all be able to shower again some day!

What’s that, you say? It’s not that bad of a drought?!

Good to know…

Oh good – you’re still here!

Sorry, folks – I would’ve been here sooner, but I ran into a little “traffic problem” along the way, and by “traffic problem” I mean to say that I got stuck behind someone who opted to go approximately .0000002 mph in a 55 mph zone on what seems to be by far the longest stretch of unpassable, two-lane highway this side of civilization. Frankly, I’m surprised I even made it here at all because at the rate I was clipping along, with chipmunks and squirrels zipping by me on the side of the road like I was moving backwards, I was starting to get concerned that by the time I finally did arrive, the home that I knew would’ve by then slowly deteriorated over time, making way for a new golf course or strip mall or whatever else tends to blossom up in the middle of suburbia when something dies a slow and arduous death…

Sadly, this idea of driving without actually moving seems to be the painful norm here in this small, Floridian town that I call home. Some folks “playfully” like to call Florida God’s waiting room, which is cute and all until you realize just how big of a parking lot that God needs for his medical facilities! If you ask me, the almighty needs to look into building a few parking garages or something because his current plan of just letting his patients roam the streets in their cars at the speed of nothing just isn’t working and I’m fairly certain that I’m not the only one who’s at the end of my rope here on this one!

Of course, just like in any community, there are some parts of town that are better than others – for example, the roads not in our town are infinitely more traverseable than those within a lug nuts throw of city hall…except on Thursdays when that one senior center just on the outskirts hosts BINGO night, anyways. And mind you, it doesn’t help that my own particular little village also happens to be one of several specks on Florida’s landscape that plays host to snow birds by the trillions who flock here each winter so as not to wreak havoc on their own snow and ice-laden communities with sub-adequate driving skills and nothing but time to kill until Wheel comes on at 7:00pm. Let me tell you, until it’s taken you 15 minutes to drive a mile and a half because you’re stuck behind a small houseboat driving fifteen miles a month down the highway with its left blinker on the entire duration of the trip, you haven’t truly known misery…

Mind you, though, it’s not only the elderly delaying my transit home after a long and arduous day, as we certainly can’t have a conversation about bad driving without remembering the soccer moms and hockey dads in their mini-vans and SUVs, shuttling a battalion of children to one extracurricular after another in a desperate attempt to live vicariously through little league tournaments and ballet recitals, all the while driving profusely down the center of the road at 20 under the speed limit while barking grocery lists to their significant others or sharing gossip from the latest PTA meeting with others who are simultaneously wreaking havoc in their own sport utility vehicles in other neighborhoods both near and far. If I had a nickel for every time I’ve gotten stuck behind one of these lazy road squatters just distracted enough to not allow me a single opportunity to pass because they’re conveniently speeding up and then subsequently slowing back down each and every time we get to a suitable passing area, I’d probably have enough to at least take a cab a couple of nights a week…which actually might help quite a bit!

Imagine – if only these torturous souls knew of the insanity that they were passively inflicting on the twenty cars lined up behind them. I’d like to think that there would be a general threshold that eventually kicks in when every trip behind the wheel gets a driver aggressive honks, middle fingers, and death threats that one would finally come to the realization of, “Wow – maybe I am a horrible driver! How’s about I do the world a favor and just take the bus from this point forward?!” If only it was that easy, and gumdrops rained from the heavens, and every street was lined with the sparkles of silver and gold, and instead of collecting taxes the government held an enormous, coast-to-coast ice cream social once a year on April 15^th.

Yes, such a world free of vehicular ineptitude would certainly be grand, but alas, our currently reality lies littered with snail-paced drivers and at the end of the day, aside from purchasing a steamroller (which is really expensive – trust me, I’ve looked into it!), there’s little else we can do besides grin and bear it, and buy stock in whatever company makes those squishy, little stress balls shaped like SUVs and station wagons. Just know that the next time you’re out there stuck in traffic behind somebody who would rather do the daily crossword puzzle out of the paper than actually drive anything even vaguely resembling the posted speed limit, you are not alone, for no doubt on a similar highway I’m doing the exact same thing.

The only difference between you and me – I’m getting more material for these things every single time! So look for that new book on How I Learned to Stop Letting Idiots on the Road Get to Me and Love Taking the Bus hitting the shelves of your local bookseller any day now…

This is a messy time to live in Florida.

Sure, summer’s finally come to an end, leaving us with slightly lower temperatures during the day, and hurricane season should in theory be wrapping up before we know it, but tanktop weather and flying Volkswagens are really the least of our troubles this time of year as we leave behind a realm of serene car trips with the top down and theme park visits where we didn’t have to worry about what to lean up against and move into a period where everything and everyone is plagued by the southern locusts that are … lovebugs!

Of course, anyone else who lives here in Florida can certainly relate that September is just as much a month of love as that other one that barrages us with hearts and flowers and crème-filled chocolates … except for instead of hearts and flowers and said delicious chocolates, instead we find ourselves being barraged with stinky bugs doing the nasty on every light-colored surface imaginable. From stucco walls to cement driveways and even on that awesome white shirt that’s surprisingly slimming when paired with the right pair of khakis, no surface is off-limits for this seasonal gathering of horny, navigationally-impaired denizens of lust. Their only known predator is the automobile windshield, but with the sheer quantity of elbow grease required to remove their dead carcasses after the slaughter, many Florida residents such as myself would argue that it’s probably easier to simply remain indoors for a few more weeks until the coast is clear…

But one thing about lovebugs – they may be hideous, disgusting insects that swarm obnoxiously over everything in existance here in Florida between the months of August and September each year, but you never catch them trying to spend $700 billion of your hard-earned money to save the asses of for-profit corporations whose blatant greed managed to push any inkling of clear judgement right out the window. Nope, at least lovebugs have that up on our brilliant Wall Street investors – who knows, maybe if they’d followed the lead of our lovebugs and spent more time screwing each other instead of the rest of us, this whole mess would’ve never even happened…

Of course, never fear, though, for Sarah Palin will soon be here to save the day, with her adorable smile and slapshot of justice. Mind you, Sarah Palin has never actually encountered lovebugs herself, but she’s been to Georgia and you can see Florida from there, so that’s practically the same thing! Let me tell you, I think it’s comforting to know that soon our nation will be enjoying the level of care and concern that only a soccer mom* can provide. Any inside word on what kind of snacks she’ll be bringing to the inauguration? Fingers crossed for rice krispie treats!

* I’m sure that a few (psychotic) pro-Palin patriots will be quick to correct me that their beloved Sarah is a hockey mom, not a soccer mom, so I’d just like to note real quick here that I don’t care! Soccer / hockey / croquet / horseshoes / any other pee-wee sport – they’re pretty much all interchangeable in my eyes.

I guess if there’s but one thing that we can count on, it’s that at least as far as the lovebugs are concerned they’ll soon be out of our hair (literally!) and have moved on to pester someone else in a matter of weeks … I’m not so sure that we can say the same for the other two! Well, the $700 billion bailout will definitely be gone – I’m sure the executives at large are already licking their chops and padding their Christmas lists as we speak. As for sweet, old Sarah, I guess the best we can hope for is that a PTA meeting or something comes up and distracts her long enough for us to elect someone who knows what the Vice President actually does … that is, besides preparing the President’s 3:00pm snack. It’s too bad, too, because I hear that John McCain is really a sucker for those ham and cheese roll-ups that look like little monsters – a delicacy around the Palin house, at least when caribu or moose isn’t readily available…

Whoa, boy – it’s been a crazy week, hasn’t it?! And I’m not even talking about that Olympic fever that I hear has been going around lately. If you find yourself showing symptoms, I would recommend clearing off all those old episodes of Dharma & Greg on your Tivo, stocking up on beer and Doritos for sustenance (…because let’s face it, those who can’t do watch it on TV every four years instead of going out and getting a little exercise…), and then ultimately calling in for work for the next two weeks.

On the other hand, if you happened to live in Florida anytime over the last week, I would recommend thanking Jebus or your lucky stars or whatever imaginary idol that you might happen to worship for our state staying firmly planted on the map exactly where it was before Tropical Storm Fay wandered drunkenly into our lives from somewhere near the Dominican Republic.

Actually, Fay ended up being a pretty lame storm, but at least she was a storm at all and that’s more than we’ve been able to say for quite a while! It’s been a couple of years since we’ve really had to even deal with hurricanes, so if anything this was a good opportunity to see that we all still remember how to panic and run around like we’ve never conceived the notion of inclement weather even so much as glancing suspiciously in Florida’s direction. As if our homeowner’s insurance rates are sky-high just because our insurance companies enjoy fleecing their customers for everything their worth, plus another 45% next year, with state approval…

Our local news crews did their part of driving everyone into an absolute frenzy by offering 28 hours a day of storm coverage, bringing us such important news bulletins as how the lady down the street’s dog is preparing for the storm and what not to wear at the shelter to avoid getting beaten up.

As usual, grocery stores across the state sold ridiculous amounts of water just in case suburban families didn’t have enough crap to prevent themselves from parking in their own garages already. Also quick to fly off the shelves were pop-tarts, beef jerky, and of course, copious amounts of beer – because let’s face it, for many the idea of being stuck indoors with the family for an extended period of time and also being sober simply isn’t an option.

And then there’s our studious weathermen – what can we possibly even say about these guys that hasn’t already gotten me plenty of hatemail from columns past? Seriously, I think you’ve really got to hand it to them this time – they really nailed Fay’s path down with the pinpoint accuracy that one could only expect from a multi-million dollar system of radar and elaborate computer-generated models. I mean, first it was coming straight at us, then it was going to miss us by just a hair, then it was thinking about swinging back around for another pass after stopping off for 2-for-1 happy hour at Chilis – the only way their predictions could’ve been any more accurate would’ve been if they’d had a monkey just pick random cities out of a hat and then plotted those points on a map, then crumpled the map up and ran it through the dryer a couple of times. Keep up the great work, folks!

I guess the important thing is that we all made it out ok and didn’t end up having to pick up pieces of our roofs out of the neighbor’s yard, or worse yet, actually put that beer and jerky to use while enduring hour seventeen of Family Game Night: Hurricane Edition – believe it or not, even cheating at Monopoly begins to lose its flair after the third or fourth game. Of course, the other side of the coin is that we still have a couple of solid months of hurricane season left this year, so don’t blow through that booze stash just yet – you may still need it before the year is up…

Oh, who am I kidding – you can always buy more in a sobering panic the next time the news man sounds the alarm!

I’m stuck in a cruel loop that shows no signs of ending in the discernable future, kind of like Groundhog’s Day, except without the hilarious chemistry of Bill Murray to lead us through an otherwise mundane plot about the psychic abilities of oversized house rats.

Also, the oversized house rats are all wearing shades in my version.

You see, here’s my problem – you may have noticed recently on the news or something, but the Sunshine State of Florida where I call my home these days has this tendency to offer an abundance of very bright light throughout the majority of the waking hours. I really wasn’t surprised by this – heck, that nickname is plastered over signs and banners and even souvenirs to mail back home to all of our friends reminding them that Florida, indeed, gets a crapload of sunlight (note: trademark “Florida – We’ve Got a Crapload of Sunshine … Come Get Some!” – spring break slogan gold!). But it’s certainly something that while although I thought I was doubly prepared for when I first set foot in this alligator-encrusted homeland, the current times are proving to preach a much different story about my ability to block 95% of UV rays on my own…

The trouble is, I came to this fair state nearly five years ago with a great pair of sunglasses – you know, one of those pairs that you see in the mall for an outrageous sum of money and think, “No idiot in his right mind would ever spend that kind of money on a stupid pair of sunglasses!” Well, I did, or rather I got them as a last-minute gift as a way of saying, “Good luck in Florida – try not to get skin cancer…” and for the next couple of years, life in this bright, bright state of ours was anything but to me behind my super-expensive, all-filtering shades. It was my understanding that they even added +1 to my Coolness attribute, an attribute that I sadly just decreased by -3 with that Dungeons & Dragons reference, but needless to say, it was pretty freakin’ sweet when I had those sunglasses.

As you can probably guess, however, this is where our story takes an ugly turn because eventually came a day when my awesome shades were no more, broken under the weight of just being loved too much, I like to think, although it’s probably more likely that they were broken under the weight of my accidentally sitting on them one day when they slipped out of my pocket while eating lunch at the local chicken shack. I was devastated because not only was it like losing a good friend who was always with me through bright times and dark over the years, it was like losing a good friend who I couldn’t in my right mind afford to replace on my current salary without going without food for the better part of the month! I’d have to go back to wearing those cheap sunglasses that one buys off the rack at the local superstore for $9.88 a pair and then proceeds to lose before they even make it out of the store in shame … was that really a road that I was prepared to turn down?

Well, sadly as I have gotten somewhat accustomed to eating over the years, I threw in the towel that was my dignity, ordered up a big, Fat Albert-sized helping of Humble Pie, and picked myself up a pair of those el cheapo shades that don’t require monthly payments as my former sunglasses did. Then about three weeks after the fact, I walked back into said discount superstore and bought another pair of el cheapo shades, and mind you not so much because I loved the things so dearly and wanted to buy pairs for all of my friends, but more along the lines of the el cheapo things lived up to their el cheapo name and promptly broke not long after having left the store with them. It was a simple break – the arm of the sunglasses apparently just one day decided that it wanted to live the rest of its life unattached from the rest of its sunglass counterparts – however this was also when I sadly earned that the ever-popular concept of “warranty” does not apply when one is purchasing el cheapo sunglasses.

It’s always important to read the fine print, kids, and also, to consider that it should serve as a warning sign when you’re purchasing a product referred to even by the store employees themselves as el cheapo sunglasses.

So basically, take that little scenario and just play it over and over and over again, a la Groundhog’s Day, and you’ve pretty much got my current situation with regards to owning a pair of sunglasses here in the Sunshine State. Sometimes the arms break, sometimes the lenses pop out, and sometimes the entire apparatus just up and disintegrates right off the front of my face, but it’s pretty much like clockwork at this point – give me a pair of cheap sunglasses, and within three weeks time, I’ll hand them back to you in a mangled pile of wires and UV-resistant plastic incapable of being worn by any man, woman, or even dog whose owners are cruel enough to try to dress him up like a people even though it’s clear that he just wants to be a stinkin’ dog. The only real benefit to having this skill would be if you had a strong desire to waste $14.87 about every three weeks by buying the exact same poorly-made eyewear over and over again, and my research thus far shows that nobody in our current society really has that desire.

And as far as I can tell, the only real way for me to buck this horrendous cycle of sunglass-shattering events would be to spring for a new pair of overpriced, non-el cheapo sunglasses, but seeing as my fiancée if consulted would probably prefer that we pay for our wedding this fall rather than buy me a new pair of sunglasses, it looks like I’m going to be stuck going through sunglasses like FOX goes through horrible ideas for reality TV shows for at least a little while longer!

Next week on FOX: from the people who brought you Foxy Boxing and To Wed a Dwarf, a new reality adventure about a man so desperate to get a pair of sunglasses that don’t suck that he’s actually willing to eat all of his meals for a month off the floor of the very sunglass section where he’s been buying cheap sunglasses for far too long! Will he make it the full 30 days and walk away with the shades of a lifetime, or will he crumble in defeat and go home with nothing more than A Dirty, Hairy Mouthful? Monday night at 9:00pm, dinner is served…