Oh the weather outside …

By the

March 22, 2001

I am so incredibly tired of this weather—not so much because it’s wet and cold, not even because on a bad day my nipples get hard enough to cut diamond; but mainly because the minute there’s a ray of sunshine, you have all these people breaking out their sundresses and sandals and flip-flops, and flouncing all over Red Square.

I have nothing against sandals. I rather like flip-flops, and sundresses can be very cute on occasion. But here?my God, it hits 55 degrees, with two rays of sunshine, and the whole world dons sunglasses, drops long clothing and throws itself down on Copley lawn, trying to soak up as much radiation as it possibly can.

This isn’t even funny anymore. Georgetown students display such an obsession with sunlight that it frightens me. I grew up in the desert. I know about sunlight. This isn’t it. If nothing else, half of the campus just got back from spring break somewhere warm?is sunlight so truly rare that everyone has to race to absorb as much ultraviolet as possible?

Actually, I tell a lie?it is pretty funny. I’m always immensely entertained by the peeling, reddened people I see wandering about campus right after spring break. Obviously, the only purpose of the break is for people to roast themselves to a crisp. Wincing faces, screams of agony as hugs and air-kisses are exchanged?they entertain me ever so much. Of course, the best part is watching all the people break out the short shorts, despite the fact that the temperature is in the low 30s, simply because there’s sunlight visible. Then come the chattering teeth, the hypothermia, the blue-tinged skin, the goose bumps?and all you can do is sit there and wonder, “Why the hell are they doing this?”

Now the desire to go running in this weather, that completely baffles me. It’s not as though Georgetown students can’t afford a pair of sweat pants or track pants or whatever the hell they’re called. Put them on! OK, so you see sunlight outside, you decide you could go for a run?ten minutes later your breath is frosting and your sweat turning into tiny icicles. I just have this overwhelming desire to grab one of those red-faced, frostbitten girls and scream “Put some clothes on, missy!”

I’m not even sure what I’m venting about anymore. It’s not just the fact that the students here seem to be anorexic masochists; it’s more than that. It’s about the flipping sunlight. A whiff of rays, and there we go?tube tops, midriff shirts, Tevas, suntan oil, backless, sleeveless, cleavage-baring, butt-cheek flashing outfits?and for what? Go to Yates! Wear a jacket and some sort of clothing that extends below your calves! And then everyone gets sick and bitches and moans. It’s not that hard to find clothing! J. Crew is down the road! Please. Get a grip. Better yet, get some trousers. Best of all?realize that March is not the summer, that gossamer dresses are being brought out WAY too early and that no matter how much time you spend in the sun, peeling and burning for the sake of a tan is just not worth it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to step outside. It’s a warm day and I need a cigarette.

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