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December 10th, 2009

It's easier to suffer comments about California not having seasons gladly when it's not my fourth day in a row putting long johns on under my jeans to scrape ice of my windshield and drive to work in thirty-something degree temperatures at 10 am, past snow-covered low hills, hoping to hit a peak in the mid-forties at the heat of the day.

Bitches, that is a season, and it's called winter, and if we're getting it at nearly sea level in a coastal climate in late autumn, and if, while not our average long-term experience, it's not uncommon either, that means we have seasons here. Winnipeg we ain't, and you'll get no argument from me about that, but we aren't fucking Cancun.