Yay. It's almost fucking July. My favorite fucking time of year. When I'm just about to drift off to sleep at night - naked, with the fan set on HI and set six inches away from the blubber puddle I ironically call my body - only to be jerked back from unconsciousness by the sound of a Piccolo Pete in the parking lot. Two to three months of humidity so dense that every time I take a shower, I never know when to stop drying myself off. The magical season where I need twenty extra minutes to get ready for work in the morning in order to smear the entire contents of a bottle of antiperspirant over every last centimeter of my skin. Have you sensed the sarcasm yet, or should I be more blunt? I fucking hate summer.
I hate the heat. I feel like a hippo sitting in a bowl of clam chowder. I feel like I've been baked inside of a cake, and the humidity is a thick spread of buttercream frosting on top. I. Hate. The. Heat. I do not understand people who live for the summer, who love to sweat, who thrive on the sunlight. My hair stays in a tight bun for months - by the time I release it in autumn, it's grown six inches. I hate wearing jeans - they superglue themselves to my bloated thighs and strangle my flesh like sausage skin. My ankles swell up like little inner tubes floating on top of my shoes. I live on ice water, cold cheese, olives and macaroni salad from June to August. I need to move to fucking Reykjavik already. I could be happy in the grim, frostbitten eternal twilight of the extreme North for the rest of my fucking life.
But alack and alas, it shall never come to pass. <--- That was a goddamned poem. Anyway, in lieu of an AC unit and/or a swimming pool, I keep a steady stream of snow-filled movies on hand to watch whilst I lay in bed at night, feeling like a pig in a coal pit. Does it cool me off? No, not really. But it beats standing in front of the freezer naked, rubbing myself with ice cubes and packages of frozen peas.
The Terror - What I wouldn't give right about now to be stranded in the middle of a frozen ocean. Okay, not so much the lead poisoning or the cannibalism or the giant, pissed off Polar Bear God charging about, ripping people open like bean bags. I could also do without the crew of burly, hairy men who haven't bathed or seen a woman in two years. But hey, maybe they could make it like a cold version of Pirates of the Caribbean! Rent a room in a replica of The Terror! Pizza delivery via Husky sled! Free WiFi! Access to Crozier's liquor cabinet! Book a vacation on the eve of the solstice and take advantage of the Ice Carnival! All you can eat buffet in the Goodsir Dining Room! And for the 18+ crowd, we offer a midnight floor show featuring the "As A Boy" spectacle! Complimentary turndown service and free pillow turds available.
John Carpenter's The Thing - Well duh, like I wasn't going to include this - my all-time favorite horror movie ever, regardless of time of year. Shit, I think they ought to make this an amusement park attraction for horror aficionado's and sick fucks everywhere! Come to Antarctica! Spend your winter tied to the fucking couch! Daily blood tests and an endless supply of Jim Beam and bigass doobies! Play with our dogs and hope you don't get the one that explodes like a banana peel! Chess Wizard for everyone! Daily activities include putting out helicopter fires, being yelled at by Norwegians and playing with computers whose graphics predate Pong. At the end of your stay we'll be raffling off a severed human head with spider legs growing out of it! Amuse your friends and terrify would-be robbers with this handy pet who responds to basic commands such as: "You gotta be fucking kidding."
Pontypool - "Now, in our top story of today, a big, cold, dull, dark, white, empty, never-ending blow my brains out, seasonal affective disorder freaking kill me now weather-front, that'll last all day - or maybe - when the wind shifts later on, we'll get a little greenhouse gas relief from the industrial south." Now see, Shock Jock DJ Grant Mazzy contradicts himself here. He admits to hating winter, but he also acknowledges the destructive presence of greenhouse emissions that are heating up our planet and destroying it. Maybe it's just Valentine's Day that's got him down. Frankly, I don't know what he's bitching about. He's got a good job in the basement of a church in rural Ontario, far away from 'Murrica and with ample access to both moose and maple syrup. So make up your mind, Grant. Die in a furnace of fossil fuel fumes in a dystopian future, or die in a blizzard, torn apart by zombies? At least you have a full bottle of Glenfiddich and two hot babes to keep you company in the latter scenario.
Until the Light Takes Us - There are plenty of shots of summer in this film, as green and sparkling and pure a summer as any loyal Norwegian could hope for. But the subject matter and the plentiful footage of snow frosted pines, icy walkways and steady rains of lacy snowflakes make this documentary about that coldest of music genres - black metal - that much colder. The word "cold" is used to describe so much in this flick: the classic black metal riff, the grim lyrics and demonic vocals, the album cover art, the murder of Euronymous as committed by Varg. Cold, frozen, freezing, grim, dark...it'd be a great drinking game to play along to this movie. Every time one of the aforementioned words is mentioned, drink. Every time Fenriz pulls a weird face, drink. Every time Varg says something pompous....well, no, scratch that last one. You'll die of alcohol poisoning before the film is five minutes old.
Frostbitten - Sweden. Second only to Argentina when it comes to hiding ex-Nazi mad scientists, apparently. Where the sun is not seen for months and bored kids quoting Star Wars throw rave parties, turn into vampires via contaminated drugs and kill each other with lawn gnomes. This is 30 Days of Night, if that movie had a sense of humor and was tripping balls on hallucinogenics. It's Let The Right One In, if Oskar and Eli were about 5 years older with a penchant for Manic Panic and wardrobes courtesy of Hot Topic. It's also got a great looking master vampire who walks around totally naked, all wrinkly white skin, unhinged jaw, pointy ears and fruit bat face. This movie is so fucking nutzoid I can't possibly review it in less than 80 gabillion words. It's daylight for perhaps all of 0.3 seconds, the rest of the film taking place in complete darkness and mountainous snow drifts.
Ravenous - Here's another great attraction: spend a weekend in an idyllic log cabin in the Northern California foothills, where the skiing is amazing, the view spectacular and the stews full of meat. There's just one catch - you have to harvest it yourself. Preferably from the obnoxious tourists whose paths you can cross on a pleasant amble through the breathtaking forests and snowy hills. Cozy fires and ice cold baths in the nearby river await you. There's weed and bourbon aplenty. It's Eat or be Eaten at our Ravenous weekend getaway. But please don't lick the sleeping guests.
And because I can never think of a clever way to wrap up my articles, I stole the following post from Gavin Baddeley's facebook page. Gavin lives in Merry Old England, where temps yesterday soared to an insufferable 93 degrees. The post was incredibly well-timed and summed up perfectly my own feelings about the weather:
"I hate summer. And I'm not alone. Summertime in urban areas is riot-time, tourist-time, pollution-time and psycho-time. In rural areas it's mosquito-time, sunburn/heatstroke-time, pollen-time, litter-time, boredom-time, vandal-time, and gangbang-time. There's no worse time for tragedy than the sticky heat of summer, or for frantic attempts at pleasure. Christmas "joy" is an odious duty, but summer "gaiety" is a maladroit ritual performed with calculated chaos.
Persons of refinement prefer the other seasons, which progress through their days less heavy-footedly. Despite nature's tantrums during other seasons, be they storms, floods, ice or snow— man has made summer his personal disaster season. Taking the warmth nature has provided, he has fashioned for himself an environment where his mindlessness flourishes most. It is the only season which validates slobs. Those who have found civilized behavior repugnant the rest of the year can celebrate their boorishness in grand style. I would enjoy spring more were it not for the impending plague of summer with its human locusts thriving in an atmosphere far deadlier (if radiation levels are considered) than the worst blizzards. Other seasons may be violent in themselves, but summer is virulent, an incubator for personal malaise and discord."
SUMMERTIME ~ Anton LaVey
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