By John Hayden
South Floridians are weird. The month of July proves it, coming in with a bang (July 4) and going out with a bang (start of peak hurricane season). Everything in between is weird, eschewed by the rest of the world while lovingly (and sometimes reluctantly) embraced by us.
It’s not the heat, it’s also the humidity
Some people consider talking about the weather as the most banal of small talk. But for South Floridians the topic is the hot, sweltering sun upon which we revolve. The average high is about 90 degrees with 73 percent humidity, giving us a heat index of a balmy 108 F. The Atlantic is hot (85 F), our pools are hot (mine’s sitting at 90 F), and even iguanas are wearing sunscreen.
And we love it!
Phoenix and Las Vegas see highs topping 110 F for weeks on end. Residents will proudly tell you their heat is superior to ours because it’s a dry heat. They’re full of hot air. If we want “dry” heat we can set our ovens to 400F and keep opening the oven door.
We love our hot, moist air. We sleep better, don’t catch summer colds, and save tons on moisturizing products. As a bonus: we also get to use the word “moist,” which for some reason makes people uncomfortable.
Then there are the afternoon storms. If someone asks “Do you think it will rain today,” the answer is always yes. We go from an unrelenting sun to thick dark clouds and heavy rains, then back to unrelenting sun in only about 20 minutes. Tourists find it freaky, we see it as a way to know the work day is almost done.
Quit Bugging Me
True South Floridians don’t get bugged by bugs, which is good. Some of our insects are large enough to get work as extras in alien and horror movies. We give them cute and classy names.
Palmetto bugs are just roaches that hit the gym and no-see-ums are essentially coastal mosquitos on steroids. But it’s hard to get mad at ‘em because they’ve got adorable names. Uninitiated tourists tend to disagree.
So why do we put up with it? The easy explanation is uncrowded beaches and great drink and dining deals. That’s nice, but way too basic.
The true answer is that we’ve created a culture. Anyone can tell which season it is if there’s snow on the ground, orange and red leaves on trees, or fresh sprouts on plants. Our culture has taught us skills, like being able to determine relative humidity within two points and, if it’s after 3 p.m., spotting the nearest awnings to run under.
Others can go to P-town or Saugatuck for mild summers in the woods. We bond over the heat while drinking $5 cocktails during brief storms. We turn small talk about the weather into a science.
I’ll be the first to admit it’s not for everybody.
About two-thirds of Floridians were born elsewhere. This is the place we’ve chosen. These are the friends we’ve chosen. This is the chaos we’ve chosen.
We embrace those choices, one sweaty July day at a time.
