from the moment i emerged from the womb into another state of sticky malaise, my opinion of florida has been pretty low. There’s a reason people call the place “America’s penis,” and it’s not just because of its comically phallic contours.
Everything is fine when you imagine the Sunshine State as the peninsular paradise of popular propaganda. How could the hot, sunny, tropical balloon animal of a state you visit with your grandparents every summer vacation be anything but Disney magical?
Reading: Why does everyone hate florida
Well, believe it or not, there is such a thing as too much sun, folks, and that’s 11.5 months of hiding in a movie theater just to take advantage of the air conditioning. when every step outside means squinting as if jesus himself had come down to say hello, you give up trying altogether and resign yourself to a life of long-term summer agoraphobia
. Not all native Floridians harbor the burning hatred for their home state that I do, but that’s because they’re too busy literally burning up. Seriously, nowadays you could bake a pizza on top of most people’s heads.
but even aside from the sweltering heat, florida is a bit of a mess. actually, to be 100 percent frank with you, it’s a consumerist bunch of crusty weed suburbia, mall restaurants called such lovely, descriptive names like “grill” and chicken nuggets for the midnight snack of people baking at the sidewalk.
my advice: don’t venture too far from the maniacally familiar grins of mickey mouse and donald duck (heard that guy doesn’t wear pants). rednecks have been known to bite.
1. suffocating weather
I realize that any old fool can complain about the hellfire currently roasting all residents of the United States, but even so, the Florida heat is particularly…unpleasant. why, you ask?
let me tell you something about going outside in florida: every walk to class feels like you’re in a crowded public pool swimming a marathon you didn’t sign up for, desperately running to get to the other side before your lungs they run out and you fall on your side like a stranded magikarp. (I wouldn’t recommend getting to this point, people tend to stare.)
It’s a thing called humidity, and believe me, it’s a cruel bastard. nothing sucks the joy out of a happy face quite as nauseatingly as taking a step through the air the thickness of a crab-cheeseburger. And let’s not forget the scorchingly direct sunlight that Florida suffers from, thanks to its dangerous proximity to that beautiful equator.
I made the mistake of playing pokemon go the other day at noon, and I could literally hear my fingertips sizzling like bits of bacon with every tap on the screen. I’m still nursing my third degree burns.
As a person who lived in the Sunshine State with minimal use of air conditioning for 18 long, frugal years, it’s a wonder this article was written by a semi-functional human being and not a burnt popcorn. /p> p>
2. the culture of cheap recreation
There’s a special kind of commercial disappointment that comes from being delivered by a guy in a ridiculous suit on top of space mountain. After a few years of living just a short drive from the good mice residence, the idea of flaming yourself in a 140-minute queue for your 16th attempt at spinning a teacup is starting to lose its luster.
Not to mention the heat exhaustion you’ll likely die from if you schedule your trip between March and December. (If you still want to come to Disney even after reading this scathing roast of mine, do yourself a favor and come in the winter; I mean the two-week window in January when you can’t scramble your eggs on the sidewalk. Your scalp will thank you.) .)
and don’t get me started on the beach. I’ve seen so many tourists lying in the sand like leather bags and frying to a crispbread in my day, that I feel like I’ll have to get my corneas bleached before I can set foot on the beach again. I shudder at the thought of melanoma.
when you’re born here in florida, the novelty of stepping off the plane and enjoying the sweet smell of walmart’s green foam noodles laced with your grandma’s spf 100 sunscreen completely escapes you. hell, I recently came to a disturbing realization that I have never, ever in my life looked at a palm tree and thought, “oh my god, that’s a palm tree!” to my tropic-weary eyes, they’ve always been just trees, albeit limp.
The consumerist allure draws tourists to Florida in droves, and once the families have completed their annual trampling of the Walt House, cultural disenchantment pulls them back. believe me, I can hear the door slam under my cabinet of “frozen” coffee cups from 32 miles away.
3. the famous crazy Floridians
My home state is well known for hosting a collection of possibly the most interesting characters in the country. For one thing, as all Floridians noted, the Governor split his soul into seven Horcruxes when Congress wasn’t looking.
But the truly special members of this miserable swamp are the (seemingly) normal people from the (seemingly) normal suburbs. For example, the part of my childhood in a Florida suburb is known for exactly two things: cows and strip resorts. Nothing warms your heart like driving through endless fields of future burgers followed by giant bubble letters that scream “clothing optional” to every family of four cruising Route 41. Oh, the nostalgia.
I admit that rampant nudity may have just been my weird little corner of the swamp (and hey, congratulations nudists, pants are overrated), but florida in general is still often a poisonous mix of old birds of the snow, spring break hooligans, pitiful wackos who never fail to appear on the evening news, and last but not least, hordes of casually racist prickly pears. doorless jeeps waving the confederate flag were not uncommon in my high school parking lot, and for the sake of your sanity, protect your eyes from bumper stickers.
The only myth I can (somewhat) debunk is my good friend “Florida Man,” the feisty rustic who wields a bearded dragon lizard in his right hand and a machete in his left, as he rides off into the sunset on his seductive dolphin, but I do not want, because it feeds my point. Suffice to say, the Sunshine State probably doesn’t have more sociopathic buffoons than the rest of the states, but I wouldn’t rule out hot and steamy commercialism’s propensity to make longtime residents a little wacko around the eyes. p >
Okay, I admit it, Florida is not all bad. the sidewalk doubles as a pancake griddle, so that’s about it. put a spatula and some dough in your pocket and voila! instant breakfast on the concrete before Spanish class. nothing like the taste of gravel in the morning.
jokes aside, I recommend against doing that: curbside waffles put curbside pancakes to shame. ask anyone (and don’t forget the syrup! it goes great with your tears. I’m the expert, of course).
Now excuse me while I try to reconcile, for 3,028 times in my life, my sentence to this kitchen appliance in a home for the next three years.
I’m standing in a damp oven, folks, and its contents are rapidly turning into steamed broccoli.