Getting the evil eye from that one woman in Ohio whose house is buried under 15 feet of snow and is freezing her butt off.

As we’re approaching the end of the summer, I personally can’t wait to get cooler weather here in Central Florida. Of course, it doesn’t really get that cold here. Most Winters, it doesn’t get much below 40 degrees Fahrenheit here. Of course, I don’t have the backlog of temperatures from the past five Winters next to me. All I have is a half-bottle of Diet Sunkist. I’m sorry to disappoint you if you love data and statistics, but this isn’t the blog for you anyway. I, however, like to satisfy everyone if possible, so here is a video of a man doing a Ted Talk on the analyzing the statistical data of a week’s worth of Ted Talks. Enjoy.

I know most of you are from cold weather areas, and you’re probably thinking, “Kenny, you’re nuts. You live in Florida, and I’m in England. It’s August and it’s 60 degrees, and that’s the best we can hope for. You’re bathing in the sunlight with your post 80 plus degree weather. God, I hate you.” And, yes, I know I’m not being 100 percent accurate here because I’m using Fahrenheit and not Celsius but I’m a lazy Asian American. Sue me.

I’ve always preferred the freezing cold over excruciating heat. I know. I know. Being buried under 15 feet of snow, shoveling through snow every day isn’t fun and wearing 15 layers of clothing isn’t fun, but neither is wanting to die every time you walk out the door and sweating in two seconds. In November.

I, of course, do understand that there are areas with all four seasons with freezing winters and hot summers, but I grew up in New York and the summers were nowhere near as bad as they are here. At this point, I’ve lived in Florida for solong with the humid summers and mild winters that living in a cold weather climate strongly appeals to me, but I don’t truly know how awful it is to live in an area with horrible Winters. I still want to live in an area where it’s November, and I’m not thinking that the weather needs to be colder.

Or maybe I should just bury myself in ice in my bathtub.

Timeless Thoughts: Excuse me while I pine for every single thing I miss in New York and will never have in Florida

This post is a part of Timeless Thoughts, a monthly link-up hosted by Georgie and Tara where bloggers share something they’ve missed from their past. OK. OK. That’s basically my entire blog, but I’m doing this anyway. Sue me.

The problem with moving from New York City to, well, anywhere else is you will always be nostalgic of New York and will try to feel the same way about whereever you’re living now. It’s just not going to happen. It’s like trying to squeeze Michelle Branch out of Justin Bieber.

There are many obvious things I’ve missed about New York. The architecture. Walkability. Good public transportation. Parks. Chinatown. Mispronouncing my r’s without being judged. It’s the little things you miss, you know?

Then there are things that I miss that I don’t think about that much. Food carts is one of these things.

In New York City, food carts are everywhere. They’re at every corner. They’re in front of courthouses. They’re there when you least expect them. The vendors know you’re hungry, and they’re ready to shove food in your throats.

The closest thing to a food cart we have here in Orlando is a food truck parked to the side of a Home Depot. The sad thing is that I’m not even joking.

Eating from a food cart may seem like an insignificant thing, but I’ve had fond childhood memories of eating hot dogs and honey roasted peanuts from random food carts at random places. You’re just not going to get the same feeling from eating a Big Mac from McDonalds.

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There are even food carts in Chinatown. I spent every weekend as a child with my family in Chinatown. From time to time, I would get what’s called mini cakes, which are small circle shaped pancake-like things. Yes, one can easily make them at home. The same thing with hot dogs. And, sure, honey roasted peanuts can easily be bought at any store. I am not reminded of my childhood when buying a container of peanuts from Target though.

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Food carts are local and owned by individuals. Targets are not. I’d rather support a local business. Also, I’d be at home. Part of the appeal of food carts is that they’re on the street, and you can just grab something to eat when you’re out and about. Cooking at home is the opposite of what I want. I want my hot dog on my way to the grocery store. I want to pay three bucks for it. And I want a big hairy man named Mike to hand it to me. Steve would also be acceptable.

Sorry, I’m busy. I have to read these online articles for the billionth time.

For more than ten years, I have developed a habit of reading random forums and publications of various topics. Television. Music. Crafting. Survivalist. Vegan. Parenting. Weddings. No, I’m not a bride-to-be 40-year-old woman with two children. I am a writer though. I get curious about, well, everything. And as a result, I read everything. From time to time, I like to reread previous articles and posts from years and years ago repeatedly. Again, like with everything it’s the nostalgia and the familiarity. I’m going to share these articles and posts with you because, well, even though they may be wildly outdated, they’re still interesting reads. If nothing else, you’d be slightly more amused than you were. Again, like so many of the things that I write about, this is most likely going to be part one of 1,500 posts. So get comfortable and enjoy the ride.

If you have read this blog for long enough, you know that I have an affection for New York, since that’s where I’m originally from. So, naturally, I’m going to pull some of my favorite articles from New York Magazine. No surprise there, I know. I might as well be the Statue of Liberty.

My Roommate, the Diamond Thief
By Brian Boucher
Originally Published February 6, 2006
A man shares the story of how he became roommates with a diamond thief he met on Craigslist

From the Sidewalk to Your Living Room
By Grant Stoddard
Originally Published June 25, 2005
A man spends the day dumpster diving to find furniture and other goods to stage an empty apartment.

How Far Would You Go for a Piece of Real Estate?
By Robert Kolker
Originally Published February 7, 2005
A man goes on a long, tedious journey to find the owner of the decrepit building next door and possibly purchase it for them.

Last Home Standing
By Jennifer Gonnerman
Originally Published September 6, 2009
After the housing bubble, a woman tries to hold onto her home while everyone around her is in foreclosure.

My Adventures in Psychopharmacology
By Gogo Lidz
Originally Published October 24, 2007
A young woman tells the story of her experience with taking antidepressants, ADD medication and assorted illegal drugs and alcohol over a period of six years.

As a side note. It’s very similar to the BuzzFeed video where another young woman shares her experience with taking antidepressants. Yes, you will cry, and you can blame me for your tears.

Timeless Thoughts: Clicking my heels three times and wishing I were in New York

This post is a part of Timeless Thoughts, a monthly link-up hosted by Georgie and Tara where bloggers share something they’ve missed from their past. OK. OK. That’s basically my entire blog, but I’m doing this anyway. Sue me.

It is very difficult for me to say where exactly I’m from. I’m technically from three places: New Jersey, New York and Florida. “Where are you from?” is one of the many questions I dread. If you want a surefire way for me to have an internal nervous breakdown, then all you have to do is bombard me with 25 questions about my life or personal preferences. My default answer when people ask me where I’m from is usually New York, despite spending the least amount of time there of the three places I’ve lived in. It’s where my heart belongs and where I’ve had my fondest childhood memories. When I visit my family in Queens, I often look at the houses and store fronts through a nostalgic lens because, honestly, you just don’t get the same feeling here in Florida. I moved to Florida when I was 12 and have been here since, but I just can’t say that I’m from Florida. I just can’t force myself to commit such a sin. Saying I’m from New Jersey is the same thing as saying I’m from Ohio. I just have no connection to it, despite spending most of my childhood there.

As shared in this post, I would go to the Chinatown in New York, every weekend with my family when I was a child. I didn’t do anything particularly exciting. It was pretty much just a lot of waiting while my parents were running their errands. I was a child though, and I didn’t mind waiting. In my eyes, it was a tradition, and I couldn’t imagine not spending a weekend randomly browsing gaming, kawaii or hobby stores or eating at a variety of Chinese restaurants or grabbing something from an Asian bakery.

Taken from here

Having lived in Florida for almost two decades, I’ve long since realized that it’s just not possible to get the same feeling of nostalgia of New York City. I would often try to emulate the feeling by walking around various neighborhoods or going to the random stretch of downtown we call Chinatown here and being disappointed every single time. The thing that’s quintessential about the Chinatown in Manhattan is that it’s an endless sea of people, mostly Asians, of course, squeezing in a very dense area of storefronts with apartments or offices on top. Walking on a street alone with one-story buildings and a four lane street with cars whooshing by is just not the same and, sadly, it took me many years to realize that.