I’ve been hit with culture shock on more than one occasion since I moved down here. Mostly they’ve been centered around debates on what constitutes cold weather or misunderstandings due to southern accents (like what good could it possible do to have children collect penises for the poor). But this weekend, after playing a rousing game of The Floor is Lava with Kathryn’s cat, I asked Kathryn if she was ever in a snowball fight where you lost the ability to use whatever part of your body was hit. Many a winter night of my youth was spent locked in snow battles where I had to hop on one foot or throw with my left hand because I had “lost” a limb to a well-aimed snowball. Before she could even answer I realized the stupidity of my question. Having grown up in the south, she could only remember playing in the snow twice as a kid.

Logically I know it doesn’t really snow down here; therefore people don’t have snowball fights, sled or ski like they do up back home. But until that second, the reality of a childhood without snowball fights hadn’t quite hit me. I love snow. It’s at the top of my list of things that make me miss Michigan. I can’t imagine not growing up with real winter weather. At this point in my life I can still count the amount of Christmases I remember having with absolutely no snow on one hand. But I fear that second hand is not far off, as I already have my plane tickets reserved for Christmas in Texas this year. I’m looking forward to it. It’s going to be fun. But there will be a small twinge of homesickness when I look out the window Christmas morning and see not snow, but sand and grass… and the bay.

In a completely unrelated note, if you haven’t done so already, head over to the seedy underbelly of this page and check out the Mantoge video.