Dear Mother Nature and Old Man Winter:

I don’t know what the Eastern seaboard, the Midwest, and the parts of the south Pimp C didn’t originally want to claim have done to you, but as a recent New York transient embarking on his first very “real winter,” I want to make amends on each of their behalves ‘cause I’m tired of this. Like, so exhausted by this weather that I may need CPR and that electro shock to my chest (as the BEYONCÉ album plays on full blast) to awaken me if it snows again. Hell, who am I kidding? I’ve already seen the 10-day forecast and it basically says, “Snow in your eyes! Snow in your eyes! Ha-ha, sucker, more snow in your eyes!”

I’ve tried to suck it up and realize it could be worse. Say, I could be not only living in Ohio, but living in Ohio through one of the coldest winters in several years. But, I can’t do it anymore. I have to speak on this.

This is torture and so many of us are sick of it.

Of the snow. Of El Niño and La Niña hating, freezer burn damaged cousin, the Polar Vortex. Of fighting the urge not to curse out friends and friend-adjacents in California who keep throwing their sunny, bright weather in my faces (because that’s all Los Angeles has really). Of playing Slip ‘N Slip records with this trickery known as “Black Ice.” Do you know how petrified I’ve been of busting my butt on the sidewalk and chipping one or both of my buckteeth? I still need to get me some dental. You are putting me at risk, Mother Nature and Old Man Winter.

And what is this thing where you step the snow melts into mystery mush and unexpectedly pours into your shoe, no matter how high they are? I am sick of feeling like I am paying homage to Cool Runnings every time I step out to go get some catfish or to the gym to atone for it shortly thereafter.



Look at my pain. Just look at it.

Also, the city of Atlanta did not deserve to be turned into one large icicle. Granted, local government officials could’ve better prepared for increment weather, but that was still poor form. I mean, Atlanta is a traffic nightmare on a sunny day. Now imagine a bunch of country folks not used to BRR! GUCCI! weather conditions all piling on a freeway that’s long been too damn small to accommodate the population.

Were you trying to get back at NeNe? If so, I get that, but she ain’t gon’ learn. Ask Sheree, Kim, Marlo, and Kenya. Dead that beef and let the rest of the Georgia peaches defrost.

And as sure as I am that you two have enjoyed these little snowball fights you’ve been having, there have been like 90 of them in three months at this point. Isn’t that enough? It is time to step aside and let Spring begin pregamming. Seriously, give it up, turn it loose.

By the way, shout out to Cindy, Maxine, Dawn, Terry.

We get it: Al Gore never told a lie and we have to vote these Republicans out of office before every winter turns into the North Pole, and each summer, a field trip into Satan’s musty crotch.

You win. You win. You are ***flawless and I bow down.

Even as I write this, I’m looking at the forecast and crying silent tears. It’s about to be March and yet I see “ice and snow” and under 30 degree weather on the horizon. Really?


For the love of every God ever named, can you stop treating this country – and Harlem in particular – like a snow globe that needs to be shaken all of the time?


A Cold Country Negro Who Only Likes Ice When It’s In A Mason Jar Full of That Brown


Michael Arceneaux is the author of the “The Weekly Read,” where tough love is served with just a touch of shade. Tweet him at @youngsinick.