You Know What I Never Want to Talk About Again?

The fucking weather. I can't think of a more banal topic. I don't care if you think it's too hot. I don't care that you think it's too cold. I don't care that you're tired of the rain, that you spent two hours shoveling out your car, or that you can't get over how nice it is. WHY THE HELL CAN'T YOU GET OVER HOW NICE IT IS? That makes no sense. Are you slow or something? You've seen nice days before. I know you have, because you couldn't get over the last nice day, either. It's a nice day, not a shellshocked Vietnam flashback, damn it.

But I digress. You know what would might make the weather easier for you to bare? If you stopped bitching about it to everyone in sight. No, that same concept does not apply to the things I bitch about here on the Interwebs. It just doesn't. Shut up.

Here. This a handy list of things I'd rather hear you talk about. Print it out and keep it in your wallet so you can refer to it when conversing with me:

• That CRAZY thing your child did that isn't all that CRAZY because every child that's ever existed has done it too but somehow it's CRAZY because your child did it. Especially if your five-year-old dropped a deuce the exact size, shape, and density as Abraham Lincoln.
• That CRAZY thing your pet did that isn't all that CRAZY because it's a relatively dumb animal and not a person and hence doesn't know any better. Especially if Fluffy chased his tail so fast he slammed a bunch of atoms together and discovered the Higgs boson.
• The differences between men and women. Oh, those are so CRAZY!

Intermission: the girl seated at the table behind me just loudly exclaimed into her phone "I've been operating under the assumption it was an STD." I have been doubled over the table trying not to cry for the last five minutes. This is why I write in places that aren't my apartment. When I can't make something up, one of the Somervillains will hand me material on a silver platter.

• The clothes you bought this weekend. Especially if you found a bedazzled shirt with the Miz's face on it for $5.
• Your car. Especially if it turns into a robot that battles evil.
• Derek Jeter's run to 3000 hits (thanks Travis). Especially if it's over, and number 3000 somehow came off Mark Teixeira's giant chin.

You know what? This is depressing me. I'm writing really hard, but I've got this nagging doubt in the back of my mind that you're all missing the subtle suggestion that I don't want to hear you talk about any of these things either, except for the parts that begin with "especially." So I'm going to give up and go see if I can get the girl sitting at the table behind me to give me her number. I know a few people who deserve a good bout of the syph.