The Longest Month

Cherished Ones:

    

I hate January. There, I've said it. There are no redeeming qualities about the month named after Janus, the Roman god of Doorways. Seriously, who names an entire month after a doorway? This month, the  most banal string of 31 days in every year, holds no hope or promise, and offers all the charm of frozen scat and this January has been particularly miserable.
     Inasmuch as my fingers have been numb since last Thursday, this post will be what I call a Rachael Ray - short, but meaty. So, before my hands begin to resemble those of Ernest Shackleton, the following are my Top 5 Reasons To Hate January:

5. The Pennsylvania Auto Show - This lubed-up stepchild of the Farm Show (more on this to follow), is hopelessly mis-scheduled in a month where the utilization of the very products that are shamelessly peddled <pun alert> is seriously compromised by Mother Nature. Adding insult to this risk of injury are the usurious entry fees ($9) and parking fees ($10) gleefully collected by the churlish volunteers manning the turnstiles. Essentially, this is a torturous exercise - trudging through inclement weather, to a place that charges outlandish attendance fees, to view unaffordable merchandise that, if purchased, cannot be enjoyed for months to come.

4. Televised Awards Shows - Ok, we've got the People's Choice Awards, the Golden Globe Awards, the Critic's Choice Movie Awards, the Screen Actor's Guild Awards and the Grammy Awards all shoehorned into the month that celebrates doorways. I know, I know; as one who celebrates little as much as his own existence, it would logically follow that I would adore these nauseating spectacles of self-congratulation. However, while I appreciate décolletage as much as anyone, how anyone can subject themselves to the 1080dpi equivalent of a lava lamp is beyond me.
3. The Pennsylvania Farm Show - Much like the useless PA Auto Show, the Farm Show is visited upon us during the first full week of the year. Since 1917, this agrifest is a celebration of noxious odors, unbreathable air, hazardous ambulation (owing to the fecal matter and urine festooning the walkways) and incredibly large crowds of incredibly large people. Any of these would seem to be enough to dissuade even the most masochistic attendee; but despite all this, hordes belly up <second pun alert> to the baked potato stand, the milkshake stand, the French fry stand, the breaded mushroom stand, and this year's added feature, the bacon stand. This brings us to my next reason to hate January:

2. Diets - For the love of all that's holy, do I really need to be reminded that I've got the BMI of a manatee does every 3rd commercial have to be about diets and weight loss? We've just come through December, when every advertisement across all media portrayed attractive, happy partygoers eating and drinking their fill. In January though, we're jerked backwards - told that our excess was excessive, and we must repent of our calorie consuming ways, before it's too late. This is especially galling, as next month, we'll be force-fed <third pun alert> a steady stream of chocolate candy ads, to help us celebrate Valentine's Day. IT seems to me that binging and purging is not so much an eating disorder, as a suggested lifestyle. But, my number 1 reason for detesting January is:
1. The Weather - Although this may seem self-evident, January's weather is - without a doubt - the worst of all the months. Every Farmer's Almanac issued since the beginning of time bears this out. Terms like sleet, freezing rain, snow, ice, wind chill, and the newest one Polar Vortex, just pi** me off when I hear them, let alone suffer their influence and effect. In addition, aside from the conifers, nothing is alive! Who wants to go through a month where nearly every plant is dead? Additionally, this is the month where fashion is also dead. By the time we bundle ourselves in our overcoats, jackets, sweaters, sweatshirts, thermal undies, scarves, gloves, hats and balaclavas, we all appear to have the fashion sense of the homeless - inching our way down slick and slippery streets, tensing ourselves against an inevitable fall. 

     There it is dear ones; but lament not, this exorcise has thawed both my fingers and my outlook. In no time at all, we'll be rid of this accursed month and barreling through the shortest month of the year. I'm buoyed by my impending return to Africa, where both the weather and my welcome will be substantially warmer. I'll likely not bother you again until my return, when once again, I'll regale you with amazing tales and pictures of my exploits. As I've said before, Rick Warren is wrong. Ipsum enim est solum de me.