I don’t know about where you live, but it has been a cold start to 2014 around these parts. This has followed up on a cold ending to 2013. Most of the last three weeks have seen temperatures of 20 below zero (Celsius), with wind chill values occasionally touching the -30s. A few parts of the country have seen -50 temperatures, and it looks like the cold trend will keep going for some time yet.
The one good thing about this weather is that it is conducive to Canada’s great national pastime—complaining about winter. And lately, if you partake in a group conversation about the cold and snow it doesn’t take long for some great wit to make the following observation:
“Global warming? More like global cooling if you ask me!”
(This is a sterling example of what is sometimes called “dad humour.” Another famous specimen of dad humour is the old chestnut, “Rap music? More like crap music if you ask me.”)
I remember many moons ago another similarly vicious cold snap. I recall that I spent a lot of time walking from place-to-place while it was ongoing, and the bedroom I slept in at the time had poor-to-nonexistent insulation, so the spell of frigid weather took a toll on me. I even pondered some half-joking thoughts about whether it might make sense for me personally to become a global warming supporter.
After mulling this thought in my partially frostbitten brain, I came to the realization that a letter of support to global warming from someone suffering through a deep freeze would be a funny exploration of recency bias. And pondering that a little further, I realized that such a piece would be a good candidate for submission to the “Open Letters to People or Entities Unlikely to Respond” department of the McSweeney’s website. So when I had my “Open Letter to Global Warming” written and bashed into form, I sent it off to them and it was accepted. Hooray!
Anyways, that would be the end of a relatively mundane story, except for one strange final twist. Not quite a year later, I discovered through pure happenstance that someone at the CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) must’ve taken a shine to the letter, because a recording of someone reading it was broadcast during an episode of The Current—a weekday radio program. I even found a podcast of the episode online and was able to listen dumbfounded as some chap with an Australian accent gave my deathless prose a dramatic reading.
It was a surreal experience. The best part was that CBC made absolutely no attempt to secure my permission to use it or to inform me that it was going to appear on air. Now I know how contributors to Flickr must feel. But not to worry, as I vowed at the time, “the day will come when I have my revenge on Anna-Marie Tremonti.” In fact, this is the title of another humour piece/polemic I wrote, although I am forbidden from publishing it anywhere due to the contents of a restraining order that is still in force.
But enough of all that. In celebration of this fierce cold snap, I thought I would exhume “An Open Letter to Global Warming” from the vault to provide a little humour during this dark winter month. I don’t remember what rights (if any) I granted to McSweeneys, but I’m going to rerun it here anyways. Besides, they never paid me anything so I figure that entitles me to do what I want. If you’d prefer to read it as published on the McSweeney’s site, you can do so by clicking here.
An Open Letter to Global Warming
Dear Global Warming,
I know I’m not supposed to like you. I’ve heard about your grandiose plans to melt the polar icecaps and flood coastal cities, your aspirations to destabilize global weather patterns and throw fragile ecosystems into upheaval, and your desire to have all of us, by the year 2070, living inside geodesic domes, whence we will gaze wistfully out at moribund deserts and dream of greener times. I know everyone says you’re bad, but damn it, I don’t care, because after six straight days of minus-25-degree weather I’m ready to throw myself into your arms.
Being a man-made ecological phenomenon, you might have some difficulty in commiserating with my plight. You’ve never had to walk to get groceries with the skin of your face threatening to crack like old plaster because the only sound your car made when you tried to start it was the dry death rattle of an engine that refused to turn over. You’ve never had to shovel out a driveway while being lashed by blowing snow, with your teeth clattering together in uncontrollable Morse code, while your mind is preoccupied with the concern that your numb ears might have already succumbed to frostbite, and that they could be turning purple in preparation of detaching from your head altogether. If you had suffered through these things, you would not doubt my sincerity. This cold snap has turned me into a half-mad combination of Faust and Sam McGee; I’m willing to do whatever it takes.
I’ll start burning coal in my wood stove. I’ll buy the most inefficient SUV that Detroit has the gall to put on the market. Whenever a friend says something like “There’s not much snow anymore, not like when we were kids,” or the topic of climate change comes up, I’ll cite with authority one of the studies sponsored by Exxon that claim you don’t exist. So, please, let me join you over on the dark side. After all, there’s nothing (figuratively) cool about hypothermia, and the prospects of more arable land in the Arctic and balmy weather all year long sounds pretty good to me.
P.S. Please disregard my letter from last July’s heat wave. I was only joking.
First published on McSweeney’s.net, March 31, 2005.