A Bowl of Stupid

To all those in the Phoenix metro area who may tell me the heat here isn't so bad because "it's a dry heat", I would typically tell them to go to hell.

However, in this case, I would be too late — they're already here.

So instead, I will leave them all with a hearty and happy "bite me."

I came back to Phoenix on my way out of the country because, despite the fact I've not lived here for over 15 years, and despite the fact that I was born and raised in Philadelphia, the Phoenix Metro Area (aptly called "The Valley of the [Blood-Boiling] Sun") is the closest thing I have to a home.

Phoenix/Tempe is where I came of age (no, not that way … uhh, okay, that way too, but that's not what I meant). During my years here, I grew from adolescence to adulthood, I gained a sense of being and a moral center, and I learned — for all intent and purpose — who I am.

But I forgot just how un-fucking-godly hot it gets here. So, once again, just in case anyone tells you it doesn't matter because it's a dry heat — tell them to go fuck themselves, it's a goddamn oven.

And it's not even summer yet.

Those issues notwithstanding, I have enjoyed the past few days essentially reliving some of my finer, and more memorable days from when I used to live here:

• I went skateboarding through the Arizona State campus (and got yelled at by bike cops, just like the old days).

• I've been able to hang out with my college roomates — whom are the closest things to brothers I will probably ever know. As such, no matter how long it's been since we've last seen each other, we are able to instantly reconnect whenever I come to town — they are the closest links to my past that I have, and I love them for that alone.

• I had a great lunch with a couple of good friends I haven't seen in probably a decade, with whom I went to law school and are now practicing lawyers (reluctantly) in the Phoenix area.

• I went hiking in North Scottsdale at Pinacle Peak, a place that, although somewhat far away from where I'm staying, holds a special place in my heart from when I used to live here (by the way, from personal experience I can tell you, when they say "the park is closed", they mean "THE PARK IS CLOSED." — see "coming of age", supra)

And while I noticed several things as I skated through Tempe, and as I sped across town via the numerous new freeways, I did not notice just how much has changed until I got atop Pinacle Peak.

It was only from that vantage point, in an area that once stood at least one hour outside of town, that I could see a vast sprawl of once pristine desert land now littered with golf courses, and housing developments, and track-malls, and so on, and so on, and so on.

I felt cheated.

I had come to this place that held such a special place for me in my heart just to find it too has been besmirtched by the things of man.

And I realized — in the sweltering 100 degree heat — that, although the Phoenix and Tempe where I became a man will always exist for me in my mind, the city(ies) have moved on without me.

Truly, you can never go home. But I've still got lovely memories of the beautiful, mesmorizing place that Phoenix once was. And any property developer who wants to take that from me can go fuck himself.

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