Ah, spring. So you're back. After a series of teasing drive-bys, abbreviated calls, you think you can just cruise back in here, drop some flowers on us, put your muddy boots on my table, and I'll just give you a big sloppy kiss and all is forgiven, eh? Do you think the red tulips in front of the post office make me forget how late you are? You have some trees to get to work on, so get busy. Maybe I'll drag out the grill for you. We'll see how you behave.
Yes, so it seems that appropriately seasonable weather has finally found its way to the Outpost. Hard on its heels came The Tourists. The incidence of bright yellow license plates increases around 3pm on a Friday and you know They are coming. They are easy to spot; strolling slowly down Main Street arm in arm, gazing intently at everything. They say things like "Its SO PRETTY here." Or, "Where's the Diner?" (Answer, smack in the MIDDLE OF TOWN but you don't want to eat there. Go to Harland's on Pearl.)
I resent them, a little. Oh, I'm glad they are here. They are the bigger part of our economy, especially these days. But I feel like I just hiked up a giant mountain of suck known as Winter, clawing my way hand over hand with the promise of soft green grass and 70 degree afternoons at the top, only to be met by a carload of looky-loos who drove up the other side and stand gawping at the vista and complaining about the lack of a Starbucks. Where were you in the iron grip of February, when everything was brown and gray and the cold was a lingering torment even under layers of fleece? Where were you when the wind strafed the canyon with relentless daggers of ice and the snow fell up? Enjoy our town, but understand that we don't just enjoy this weather; we earned it.
I'm making an effort to be less crabby. This lingering malaise of non-specific anxiety is getting tiresome and I think its time to spend my energies in more worthwhile pursuits. Apparently there is some need for a person to work on the 'comedy' portions of our upcoming women's chorus anniversary concert. Some have intimated I should do this. Frankly, its terrifying. I much prefer being funny to distract or irritate and not on cue and for others. People say I should do standup. What I hear them say is 'You should go about naked, and see what kind of response you get.' It couldn't be any more stressful or potentially humiliating. Maybe stress and humiliation is the better part of comedy, but its always better when its someone else's comedy. So we'll see. Since the better part of both my employed and social life of late seems to be observing humans in the act of mistreating each other, the well of funny is running a little shallow and silty.
Well, its 81 degrees and I suppose I should get out and mingle with the off-worlders, bless their turnpike-driving hearts. Hope your day is splendid!