Who Asked Me?

I used to run in to people from the Midwest and East Coast in California who liked to beef about the lack of distinction between seasons. My suspicion is that they were some of the same people I’ve since met in New York who go on about freezing temperatures and having to shovel their walk. Some people like to bitch. Yeah, I’ve got one of those fancy phones like everybody else that allows me to finger-flick between the high 60s in San Francisco and five New York City degrees on the same day. But you pick your poison, as the Germans are fond of saying. There’s an Edward Hopper exhibit at the Whitney and superior take-out just blocks away. What’s a little ice-chipping from your post-jog beard in light of the Big City lights? Besides, it all looks so pretty before the cabs get at it.

Weather-talk, while one of the lower forms of chat, serves a vital purpose. It allows for polite conversation between casual acquaintances and neighbors and segues civilly into beating a hasty retreat. Without it, we’d all just be beating unadorned hasty retreats. It’s of particular use during brief elevator rides when you don’t want to come off as a stalker to the pretty girl in 6A. And it’s a good primer to actual conversation in this world of increasing online communication. Its only drawback is that it just comes in three forms: “Beautiful out,” “Hot enough for you?” and “I hear it’s going to get even colder.” I’ve resigned myself to coming across as a stalker on those days in between.