The Missing Season

Back in 2000 I interviewed Jason Priestley upon his move to New York and asked him why he would leave sunny California for the heartless winters of the northeast.

“Because in Hollywood,” Brandon/Jason explained, “there are four seasons: Oscar Season, Emmy Season, Academy Award season and Golden Globe season. I always liked New York because you can appreciate the weather, good and bad.”

Good line…

New Jersey used to have four seasons, too.

Winters were blessed with three or four snowstorms, which were refreshing and felt more like fun events that were embraced than daily doses that are now shunned.

Spring was always decent in April and perfect in May, with highs steadily climbing through the 60s and 70s with a few hot days to tickle the summer itch.

Summers were always very hot and humid, but having a pool and central air growing up made it okay.

Autumns were always crisp. I don’t recall much in the way of anything abnormal about the fall, I just remember lots of leaves and the way the shadows of Giants Stadium would look on the field for the 4:00 PM classics between the Jets and Dolphins.

My journal in 2005, however, would read a bit differently. It was typically bitter for my birthday in February, but no snow, more of a sleet/drizzle. The first Little League game for my nephew in April was almost as raw as February, with more drizzle and highs in the upper 40s. The upcoming Memorial Day weekend with my second family that some call my beach housemates will really be no different than my birthday: Showers, a nippy Atlantic breeze, and highs no higher than the average low…about 20 degrees below normal.

I’ve looked at the forecast for MDW for a few days now, and the only thing that is illustrated on the Weather Channel are slanting gray dashes, big puffy clouds and numbers starting with 6s and 4s as respective highs and lows. And starting May 23, this forecast is not for one day, not two, but eight straight days of the same exact damn thing.

As I’ve written in the past, we are a generation that likes to complain. We’re spoiled, basically…spoiled since we were given mostly fair shakes since we played Little League or took Memorial Day vacations with our families. We’re lucky, but like being the only hot chick on a Saturday night at The Madison, it’s a blessing and a curse. The beast gets hungrier the more you feed it, and that appetite never makes us feel completely, well, complete.

But the issue here is that there is no one to complain to or about. I can curse the prompter jockeys on the Weather Channel and Metro Traffic and Weather all I wish, but unless I’m a Democrat, I can’t blame Bush for May feeling like March.

This weather forecast for the next eight days, especially after a winter and spring (if spring can even be called that anymore) was as cruel as anything we’ve ever experienced. Memorial Day was supposed to be a three day compensation package that would allow all the snow, slush, rain and pain to be forgiven.

Three days of highs in the upper 70s, light breezes and star-filled nights.

Really, all the climate calamities of 2005 until now would be absolved if we can just have 72 hours of bliss.

Instead we now have another summer sequel to endure.

Title: Noah’s Arc…The New Class.

Am I guilty of hyperbole?

How’s this for 40 days and 40 nights of rain and floods?

It has rained at least 12 hours for the past six weekends.

Make it seven this weekend if the forecast holds true.

That’s a 49 day stretch on the only days that really matter to those who work indoors with only 45 minutes of lunch outdoors to enjoy, except wearing a business suit without a Corona to compliment the sun isn’t exactly utopia.

49 days…one more bad weekend after that and we tie DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak.

Let’s see: Two rabbits, two giraffes, two Lassies…can we use The S.S. Minnow for this sequel?

By the way, guess how many times the high temperature has broken 80 degrees this year?

Three times…

Air conditioners must be flying off the shelves at Best Buy.

Regardless of this very bad luck, we’ll still push ahead and try to make the most of it in Sea Girt, Spring Lake, Manasquan and LBI this weekend. We’ll do all the things adults shouldn’t do but always ultimately capitulate on: Get overserved earlier in an attempt to escape the reality of what’s going on outdoors. Weekends like this always produce some odd bedfellows and sloppy dance floors, but it’s better than the alternative of being sober.

…or so I’m told.

This will all end on one glorious day a week or maybe a month from now. One day it will be 64 and crapola, the next it will be 92 and humid. Our bodies will not react well: Wrinkled shirts from sweating like Roger Ebert…pink and purple skin for the Irish who get too greedy for that perfect tan too fast.

In the meantime, think back to late May and June of 2003.

It rained for five straight weekends from Memorial Day until 4th of July weekend.

It was like a conspiracy without any human being involved.

But don’t fret: summer will be here eventually, just without the frisky foreplay of spring.

Hey Brandon, when does Oscar season start again?

Because these other seasons ain’t what they used to be…

Joe Concha is’s Senior Writer, co-owner of the site, and the owner of two umbrellas. For questions or comments, please write him at