Let's Talk About the Weather

The rain sucks. All Californians know this. However, most people are willing to make exceptions for certain circumstances - overwhelmingly, when they're in a sad or longing or otherwise poetic mood, and they feel that the heavens and all the world are in sympathy with their one random speck of a soul in the universe, and therefore everything is in harmony. I learned to love the rain when I was 16; that was the year of El Nino, which would have been pure hell under any other conditions. But I happened to be in love that year, for the first time in my life, with a boy who was taken (and in hindsight, probably gay). The rain was gentle and despondent and everlasting, like my love.

By the by, I may have been sarcastic about the "random speck of a soul," but I do wholeheartedly believe in whatever philosophical school it is that claims that everything in the world would cease to matter if I, Rex, did not intercept and cogitate upon it. Cartesian? (PS, I swear I'm not a terrible person; this conviction has more to do with my postmodernism.)

Anyways, pop has consistently confirmed my thesis that rain is beloved mostly as a materialization of one's mood. Clapton, "The Sky Is Crying" (though I think this was a cover); the Ronettes, "Walking in the Rain"; "Singin' in the Rain," in a happy, inverted way; the ending of "Breakfast at Tiffany's"; "Point Break" (just kidding! I threw that one in for me); etc. etc.

Yes, yes, this is all very nice. My point?

The rain sucks! Here I am in the best of moods, feeling loved and validated and hopeful and humbled, even, as I haven't felt in a long, long time, and the stupid rain is killing my buzz.

That's okay; I'd rather feel good and irritated than bad and poetic. At least for a little while.