The Cold

Hey everybody (and by "everybody" I mean Maria, Coinstar, A-Ham, Marteen, and Waffles, seeing as they're the only ones who read this) - let's get something obvious out of the way: January + New York City = FREEZING COLD.

But as much as the cold delivers an icy pimphand to my face every time I leave a heated lobby . . . even though it's powerful enough to shake me from the inside out (my liver's been dancing all day) - and despite the fact that it has the ungodly power to turn my nipples into glass cutters and force my balls to retreat to someplace circa my navel - I like the cold.

Life is cold, for the most part. You start life cold (and wet, and hungry, and back-asswards, too, but that's besides the point). You end life cold. In between, you're always searching for the next thing that will keep you warm for a while, the next warm fire or space heater or whatever the hell you want the metaphor for happiness to be.

The cold reminds you that you're still alive, moreso than anything else, in my opinion. When you feel cold you feel alive - you instinctively know that you need to remedy the situation if you wish to stay alive. It tells you that you're not invincible - you can be as strong or as smart or as fast or as whatever the hell other adjective you wanna put in there as you want, but in the end, something invisible and intangible can bring you down to your knees like you're its bitch. Because truth be told, we're ALL the cold's bitch.

To tell you the truth, I dunno where I'm going with this. It's freakin' freezing outside, and as I was walking down the strip tonight it just hit me that the cold is there and we have to fight it, even while knowing that it's going to get us in the end. It's the fight that counts.

Keep fighting the cold in life.

And, of course, this goes without saying, but . . .

Stay classy