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By Chris Vespoli

You know what I really hate? The snow. Man, this snow! Right? Can you believe it? It’s never-ending. Just when you think there can’t possibly be more snow — bam! — more snow! It’s everywhere. One storm right after the other, as if they were following some kind of “weather pattern.” Man, I hate the snow!

Isn’t it weird how when you were a little kid the snow was the best thing ever, but now that you’re an adult it’s just another reason why you have suicidal fantasies about swan diving onto the third rail of the perpetually-delayed 6 train? (Ugh, the 6 train! The worst! Can you even?)

If the trains are running well enough for you to actually get to where you’re going, have fun dodging the endless piles of trash that for some reason the garbage men refuse to pick up during a storm (I mean, isn’t that their job? Come on!).

And then there are the shin-deep rivers of slush at every intersection. Oh, don’t get me started on the rivers of slush, people! Waterproof rubber boots are a must everywhere you go, dress codes be damned. I even wore a pair with a suit when I went to a wedding over the weekend, and had to change into my dress shoes once I got to the reception. How embarrassing is that? You shouldn’t have to dress like you’re going fly fishing in Lexington, Kentucky if you need to cross Lexington Avenue, LOL!

Yes, New York, I’ve heard all of those tired, lame, “witty,” awkward-to-listen-to complaints about the snow. I hate the snow too…now let’s shut the fuck up about it.

Really, just shut the fuck about it. We all know the snow is terrible, and despite hot air’s effect on ice, complaining about it isn’t going to make it all go away. Apologies in advance for blowing your mind, but this is what winter in the Northeast is like. December? It’s probably going to snow. January? More snow. February? You bet your ass, snow. March? Maybe it’ll be mild, but maybe it’ll be two more weeks of more…fucking…snow. There’s not much we can do about it because, you know, it’s the weather. It’s gonna do what it’s gonna do. You know what definitely won’t help the warm weather get here quicker? Changing the photo on your Facebook profile to one of you in a bathing suit from last July, or complaining about shoveling, or spouting tired clichés like “this is the worst winter EVER” when making elevator small talk (just shut up and stare at the floor numbers like a normal human being).

The most common reaction to the snow by far is the empty threat of “one of these days I’m just going to move to [insert culture-less warm weather city here].” I lived in one of those places for a year — Los Angeles. I’m not gonna lie, the weather was gorgeous all of the time. Literally every single day was a beautiful day. It was great for the first few months, but once November rolled around and I was still wearing t-shirts and shorts, the perpetual summer started messing with my head. It felt like I was living the same day over and over again — like Groundhog Day if Bill Murray’s character was covering a surfing competition in Long Beach instead of Punxsutawney Phil. When I saw people light a Christmas tree with fake snow on it in 70-degree weather in the middle of an outdoor mall, I knew I had to move back home.

There’s definitely something to be said about the benefit of having seasons, and how they are able to unite a city like New York. You can hear all nine million people exhale on that first real day of nice spring weather, thankful to have made it through yet another New York City winter without killing ourselves or one another.

But rest assured, like all joy in this city, the joy of spring is extremely fleeting. The same people who are now complaining about the polar vortex will soon enough be lamenting the hot summer days when the subways are so putrid they smell like someone took a shit in a sulfur well. Choose your death, New York: fire or ice. It’s just like that Twilight Zone episode where Earth is moving too close to the Sun and is about to burn up, but it turns out it’s a dream that’s being had by a woman who lives in a universe where Earth is actually moving farther and farther away from the Sun and is about to freeze. Then you realize everyone has pig faces and a guy breaks his glasses or something like that. I don’t know, all those episodes kind of mesh together.

The point is that — winter or summer — New York weather will never be completely comfortable, and that’s good for us. Comfortable people become complacent. They stop hungering for something better. They become soft. They start playing ladder toss and listening to Jimmy Buffett and Sublime. I’m not saying living in New York makes you better than everyone else (am I?); I’m just saying it makes you a stronger person than you may have been if you were living someplace where rent is affordable, fresh food is plentiful, and you didn’t live in constant fear that someone was going to urinate on you and/or your belongings on the C train. New York’s shitty weather is just another test to see if you can handle living here, and every time you complain about it or threaten to move at the first twinge of cold, you prove that you really can’t.

Snow sucks, but I promise to shut the fuck up about it if you do too.

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