The five year mission

Captain James T. Kirk speaks at the opening of Star Trek of a "five year mission to explore new planets...." , etcetera. James Lileks writes that he's on a five year mission to come to terms with leaving Minneapolis and move to Arizona where it's warmer and where you can purchase wine at the grocery store.
And why is James planning this move? Because it's too cold up here for him to be assured of wearing shorts in July. Of course, while he never hints at it, Arizona happens to be a red state without a single "What would Wellstone do?" bumper sticker to be found anywhere...unless it's stuck to the bumper of a car with Minnesota plates on it, of course.

All I know is that I'm coming to the end of a line, somehow. All I know I don't want to die in a place where you can't wear shorts in July. It's 54 degrees here right now, and 95 in Scottsdale. The forecast here: cloudy and 10 degrees below normal into June. The forecast in Arizona: sunny and hot into the 29th century. If I spent my days in an office I might be less peeved, but even so I'd be ground down by the drizzling weekends, the panic that a cold July brings, the sense that winter is ready to slam the hand down again at the earliest possible opportunity.

I know a lot of Minnesotans who talk of warmer climes and complain about Minnesota's long winters and intruding chills. I happen to like the cold weather. Some of us do. I love the crunchy sound beneath my feet when the temperature is 30 below zero. The streets are quiet on cold days, apparently because the cold weather drives people indoors to smoke their crack cocaine. I sort of enjoy the complaints. Complaining of the weather is very much a Minnesotan thing to do. That's because we Minnesotans understand that the world was made for us and us alone. When the weather is perfectly suited to our liking, it is our duty to bitch about it. And bitch and bitch and bitch until things turn around and satisfy us enough to shut the hell up.

I'm on a five year mission, too. It's to come to terms with James Lileks' leaving Minneapolis and moving to a red state. We're fortunate to have a guy like him living here, telling the blogosphere and the newspapers of his take on stuff. Like a lot of people, the Bleat is usually my first read of the day. Aside from the occasional blog bash where James shows up to have coffee with us while we drink alcohol, I would not know he's gone elsewhere, so far as seeing the little guy. But I will miss the intimate stories of his visits to Minneapolis locales such as Southdale and the lakes.

Here's to you, James. Good luck on your five year mission to seek out warm life, to discover a warm planet, to go where no man has not been warmed.