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They’re All Named Shawn, And I Hate It Here.

April 7, 2011

There are a lot of homeless guys who look like Nicolas Cage, but that’s not what this post is about. Rather, this post is about doom.

I’ve officially crossed over, friends. I’ve moved from winter panic into full-blown extended winter all encompassing rage. Lately, I hate everything! April usually brings on this uncontainable glee, because a pot of gold (in the form of my birthday) is waiting at the end of the month (It’s the 28th, TAKE NOTE). And at first, that’s what happened this year. I went skipping around the city, casting off layers and trading my tights and boots in for flip-flops and bare, embarrassingly pale legs. But it wasn’t over yet. There was even more snow. Cue the rage.

I want to know why this is happening. Is it because I went to Florida twice in three months? Is it because I put my winter coat away two weeks ago? Is it because my favorite boots are hanging on by a single thread? Is it because of less ego-centric but far more plausible reasons like climate change? I demand answers! I’d do something like write to my congressman, but since the government is like a day and a half away from shutting down, I doubt that would do much good. (Sidenote: does the current state of our government make anyone else immediately think of Martin Sheen saying “shut it down” before taking a midday jaunt to Capitol Hill with Bradley Whitford and the rest of the dream team to face off with the Speaker of the House? No? I watch too much television.)

I blamed New York at first. I wanted to believe that things are better outside this stupid city where a grilled cheese sandwich costs $12, and where people insist on stopping in the middle of the the sidewalk in order to take pictures of taxis and homeless versions of Nicolas Cage. But then I was in DC earlier this week, and was just as irate there! I mean, streets there make no sense, every intersection is a traffic circle, and cabs don’t even take credit cards. I’ve got news for you, capital city: even cabs in Little Rock, Arkansas take credit cards, so why can’t you? Also, I’m not mocking Little Rock; I spent a week there back in October and it was lovely. They have a healthy love for Bill Clinton and an aversion to traffic circles.

Parts of my beloved west coast aren’t faring too well either. Did you know that Washington state saw only four dry days in March? Four. If you live in the state of Washington and managed not to axe murder anyone during the month of March, you deserve a medal or a cookie or something. FURTHERMORE, I’m fairly certain the world may be ending.

But still, we soldier on. Sure, horns are blaring more frequently, some guy fought an old lady for a seat on the uptown 1 train the other day, and I may or may not have actually cursed a guy out on the street on my way home (he deserved it), but we’re surviving – no matter how much doom stands in our way.

We continue to force ourselves out of bed in the morning, don our coats and boots and scarves and mittens (STILL! AHHHH!), and drag ourselves to work. Even if you teach crazy people in the south Bronx every day, like my roommate. She spends her day with people like Shawn, who has four siblings – also named Shawn. No, really. We know there’s also a Sean, a Shaun, and a Shone, but we’re not sure about the last one. All we know is that they’re all named Shawn. (And yes, they’re mean.)

My question is: how else can you spell it? It’s driving me crazy.

Help. Please send sunshine. And maybe some Mallowmars or something.

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