The Desert and Being Anti-Football

thematically giving a "dry heat"

the desert

A recent weekend trip to Palm Springs, California marked my first time being in the desert. I overheat in northeast humidity at 70 degrees, so I didn’t believe the dry heat would live up to the hype. It was 102 and 104 a couple days in a row. No matter how hot it gets your drinks will not sweat. I sat in the hot tub of our Airbnb to “warm up” from being in the pool which felt chilly. When we went into town my friends said they were sweating badly. I felt my forehead then my armpit. Dry as a bone. This is the climate for me, it turns out.

The feeling I want to experience again is how the air made my whole being feel. It was like all of my organs had a little more room among them. Or, like my entire being was evaporating into the desert air (and no, I wasn’t having a hallucinatory trip at any point). It sounds stoner-y when I try to describe this. Let’s try again: my body was less a vessel for my personal use and more of the elements, a part of nature itself.

palm springs, california and 1 eerie cow farm

One thing they don’t tell you about is the impoverished, migrant farmer towns you’ll drive in and out of to get to Palm Springs. This photo of the eerie cow town was the most offensive, putrid stench any of us ever smelled. It crept into our rental car and stayed with us for too long. My friend noticed a Land O’Lakes sign on a fence and yelled, “I’m never eating Land O’Lakes again!” An intrusive, sinister atmosphere hung over the town. It felt like a real life horror movie. I breathed through my mouth as much as I could but unpleasant whiffs of animal and death still got caught in my nose. I didn’t mean for this to be the lasting impression of my California visit, but it’s too frightening to forget.

anti-football

Entirely by accident, I ended up watching Sunday football. Just me, and a group of guys. This was a first. Upon walking into the house, I felt like I disrupted a type of mysterious male bonding wherein they all sit in chairs and suppress the homoerotic thoughts they have while watching fit, young men in spandex run into each other’s butts.

The excruciating part, otherwise known as the whole game, made me question dating in heterosexuality. If one wants to “settle down,” she’s expected to suddenly accept football into her life? Multiple times a week? Even in dating, you’d have to plan around an NFL team’s schedule! No one thinks that’s fucked UP?!?! I can get down with basic bitch things, but I’ve never felt further from mainstream America. I bummed two cigarettes just to have an excuse to leave the room. I can’t believe how many people’s lives football controls. It’s one of the biggest cults there is. There’s nothing for me in it. It’s inclusive only to the straight male personas and anyone who has no problem upholding patriarchal standards.

When their game ended, everything returned to a normal scene: we congregated around the kitchen island, empty beers littered the counter, and I DJ’ed over the speaker through my phone. I felt like myself again. During earlier commercial breaks, one of them brought up our 6th grade (!!) science teacher’s very specific way of speaking. The way they giggled with each other, as we all chimed in with impersonations of the teacher, made me feel at home again.