The narcisissm of minor difference

For Northerners, Christmas in the South is bizarre for a number of reasons:

Notwithstanding the bleached cattle skull bedecked with holly mounted on the front of an SUV, a Canadian in Florida during the holidays experiences a weird fusion of "similarity in difference" in all details, at once comforted and bewildered by the locals' affected claim to coniferous trees, polar fleece and hibernation in the face of mangroves, short shorts and sunshine.  Even though they don't appear to have spruces and pines actually growing on their shores, Floridians make a valiant effort to pepper their colourful landscapes with artificial imitation greenery and red ribbon, because this kind of display signifies CHRISTMAS:

To continue the illusion, stores everywhere appear to pipe in the smell of pine and greenery,  compensating for the artificial growth that doesn't, of course, actually smell like anything.  This leaves Northerners accustomed to boughs of spruce being inseparable from their smell somewhat bewildered when they recognize that the soothing odour of Christmas comes from a can and is available at Publix for $2.99.  Effectively the same, aesthetically not so.  Similarity in difference.

Likewise bemusing to the foreigners is that Floridians seem to have a very limited understanding of the temperatures which the human body is able to withstand.  To our bemused eyes, it became readily apparent that to locals, anything short of 70 degrees was something necessitating winter coats, scarves and jackets, and much shouting of "figure it'll snow?!?" to strangers in parking lots.   People who will spend 12 solid hours neck-deep in the Atlantic ocean without blinking an eye become marshmallow bundles of puffy coats at the mere hint of reasonable temperature, seeking out Yule logs to blaze cheerily in their little-used fireplaces as they warm their hands and grumble apologetically to any and all foreigners for the "crummy weather."  It was mystifying.  Even the mascots were pretending to be cold:

   

While Sandor and I were wondering around in long-sleeved shirts, having left our winter duds behind, we passed locals in their cars with the windows rolled up, heaters blazing, lips bluish, coaching their kids on how to combat hypothermia and the dangers of scurvy.  "There'll never be oranges again," we could barely make out.  "The world as we know it is over. The apocalypse has come.  This is a scarf. You wear it around your neck so that if it gets really cold, it can double as a noose."

We kept walking.  They were selling key lime pie down the street.  Key limes are just like regular limes, but they're, you know, different.

Comments

[adam]

i almost died laughing at this
please write another