Blogagaard Remembers How Much He Hates November, December, January, Febuary, March

Every year I think No Way, This Time I'll Love Winter! But every year I am terribly wrong, as misguided in my optimisim as the writers of the new and hopefully soon-to-be-gone sitcom The War at Home. The only thing I can never decided is which month sucks worse.

Ladies and gentlemen, the canidates:

November: The begining of the end. Leaves are gone, but not much snow to cover the earth's gaping wounds. As soon as you leave the city you are driving through a flat dirt graveyard, trees exposed and screaming. Bringer of Thanksgiving, that most atrocius and dull of holidays. Who gives a fuck about the Cowboys or the Lions? Turkey? Christ. Why can't we let this holiday die? Christmas is already around the corner...

December: Getting colder now. Christmas approaches, and the evil dead begin to roam the streets, handing out stacks of catalogues whose items will only make your life seem emptier a few weeks later. Christmas Eve, party at my aunt's, I'll get too drunk and end up watching the Pope's Midnight Mass Extravaganza at midnight on the Spanish Channel, wondering if this is the year the Pope exactly dies on Christmas Day. (New pope this year, won't be as exciting). Christmas Day I'll eat some food, hang out seemingly forever at my aunt's place in North Minneapolis, and come home so bored I'll try to repress it for another year. Also, as an added kicker, my much loved mother's birthday is on Christams Day, and she's been dead for five strange years. Last year when I was drunk I read a poem called "What is An Apocalypse?" about how much we all missed her, ended up weeping in front of everyone and petting aunt's feral beast of a dog repeatedly, like a character from Of Mice and Men.

January: This month may be the best of them all. NFl playoffs. 31 days of St. Paul darkness, so all you really need to do is pin your ears down, survive, and not expect too much from yourself. You know your in the heart of winter, so it doesn't really surprise you. Also, you're so glad Nov. and Dec. are over that any ray of sunshine that falls on your face is welcome. Okay, January isn't so bad.

Febuary: I know where you expect me to go with this one. Valentine's Day. You expect me to rail at it, either as a bitter single person or as jaded writer anti-materialist. Actually, V-Day doesn't really bother me much. I've been lucky enough to be in love three times, and that's cool. Just didn't work out. People change. My personaility is strong, not a little like plutonium. I can't expect love to always be there. And for the commercialized part of V-Day, who cares? I'm an American. No American can rant about how bad the weels of commerce are unless they were lucky enough to be raised by wolves in the wilderness. If America is a whore, it is a really sexy whore who just might have a heart of gold at the end of the day.

But Febuary is COLD. It seems LONG. I do not like winter sports, either. Snow shoeing? Ice skating? Give me a break desperate peoples.

March: Okay, here is the worst black hole in all of sports. You can't even remember who won the World Series, football seems like a dream with a bad, Super Bowl aftertaste, and both the NBA and NHL playoffs aren't until fucking June or something. And it's still cold, and freezing, andwith that special slanting freezing ice rain. 31 long, dark days days, once again. The Nordic gods are laughing at us all. Ice age ahead?


Okay, my friends, cast your votes. Which month do you hate most? Which holiday?