There’s a 50 percent chance of snow showers here in Las Vegas on New Year’s Eve. I guess that’s pretty cool—OK, literally cold—if you’re into that sort of thing. And once upon a time, I was. Although I grew up in Philadelphia, where a foot or two of snow falling every few weeks in the winter was the norm, I’ve lived in Las Vegas for all of my adult life, and let me tell you: As much as I find 110-degree temps to be uncomfortable, I absolutely just cannot bear the opposite, especially not here in the dry, bitter desert air.
This is a fairly recent development. Maybe it’s approaching middle age, maybe it’s just 25 years of desert living, but whatever is causing it, my tolerance level for temperature extremes either direction has been greatly reduced, but especially so for when the mercury drops below 50. As much as I like to layer clothing and wear coats and not sweat, I also like feeling my fingers and toes.
I used to get excited about the prospect of snow falling in Vegas. Now I just want to avoid being outside if it happens. This weekend, while spending time in St. George, Utah, where it was about 10 degrees colder than in Vegas, I actually remarked to Sara that I’d consider moving to Orlando, Fla. ORLANDO, guys. I hate Florida almost as much as I do Arizona, and yet I hate the cold that much more.
Winters in Vegas are otherwise what you’d call “mild”—typically mid-50s during the day and low-40s overnight. I know you Midwesterners are thinking “get over it, we’re lucky if we’ll see positive numbers before March,” but guess what? That’s why I don’t live in Michigan or Minnesota or whatever states are in the middle of the two coasts, and why even though Sara has Chicago short-listed on her potential career-friendly cities, I honestly think that neither of us would survive more than one winter there.
Meanwhile, time to crank up the heat and make plans to stay inside on New Year’s Eve.