Florida: Now I Get It
When we moved to Manhattan last summer, a local friend told me, “you need a great apartment here, and a place outside the city where you can escape.”
I didn’t really understand what he meant until the other day when my 14-year-old daughter who was struggling with her scarf and bulky jacket asked, “when will it get warm again?” She had good reason to inquire, as last month was the coldest January here in 13 years. I thought for a second and replied honestly, “Sometime around mid-May.”
She did not like my answer. And when she cried, “that’s over three months away!” I remembered my buddy’s advice about getting out of town. At the time, I had assumed he meant “escape” to somewhere drivable, like the Hamptons, the Berkshires, or the Hudson Valley. But more and more, the universe seems to be pointing me to—dare I say it—FLORIDA! (Though my wife assures me I’d be going alone.)
I’ve been to the Sunshine State three times since October. Twice to play amazing golf courses (Seminole in Juno Beach and Pelican GC in Belleair), and once—a few weeks back—to headline a weekend of comedy at McCurdy’s Comedy Theater in Sarasota. The weather there wasn’t great, but I had a blast, and it was still 30 degrees warmer there than in NYC.
Then, a couple days ago, after navigating the 12 blocks of windy, concrete tundra between the gym and home, I was greeted in our Upper West Side vestibule by a flyer inviting me to “Escape Winter / Discover Tampa!”
At first, I found the pitch a bit absurd. But as my frozen fingers fumbled with my keys, I realized that Tampa Realtor Kelly Burchill is a marketing genius—she had put the right message in front of the right audience at the right time. While my neighbors and I were sloshing around in the snow, her ad evoked visions of a balmy Brigadoon where Baby Boomers and Gen X’ers sipped boat drinks on the pickleball court. To paraphrase Jimmy Buffett, “I wanna go where it’s warm!”
Until this winter, I never understood Florida’s appeal. When we lived in Atlanta, the cold was something to be tolerated—you might need a heavy coat once or twice per year, but mild temps were never more than a week or two away. Then, sometime in March, dogwoods open, azaleas explode, and you’re done.
New York winters come to stay. We’re not even halfway through the official season, but it’s been miserable since before the Macy’s Day Parade. Last week, I said to my wife, “Oh good, it’s warmed up to 36 degrees.” That is a messed-up example of how the brutal chill utterly depletes one’s expectations.
It’s not only that it’s frigid, but here, the weather is unavoidable. In car-centric cities, you transport yourself between garages in the climate-controlled bubble of your automobile. But in New York, you engage with the elements directly. Every venture outside requires tactical planning and layers of specialized gear. Before you leave home, you suit the hell up to take on the Polar Vortex.
This is my fifth winter in the city, but my first in 20 years. I don’t remember it ever being this bad. Perhaps, like the agony of childbirth, winter’s pain is forgotten and replaced by more romantic memories of cosmopolitan life. As likely, my skin has thinned and my diminished mane means there’s no barrier to prevent heat escaping from my body. Either way, I’m fantasizing about more temperate climes, and there’s no place sunny within an 8-hour drive.
So what’s the antidote? Florida. Catch one of the early, affordable intra-time zone flights from NYC-area airports, and you will be basking in Florida’s tropical embrace by lunchtime!
It’s a popular choice. According to data surfaced by Chat GPT 4.0, the air “route between Miami/Fort Lauderdale and New York City is the most traveled domestic airline market pair in the U.S., with an average of 10,400 people traveling between the two every day” (emphasis mine). The source of this info is a little hard to verify, but even if this statistic is off by 50%, that’s still a lot of Yankees trying to get warm.
Never mind that three hurricanes tore through the state last fall. Forget that Florida is infested by mosquitos, dangerous reptiles, and feral septuagenarian divorcees in clingy neon body suits. Ignore that summer, which starts on Easter and ends around Halloween, is equally as treacherous as a February Nor’easter. Or that skin cancer is basically inevitable. For six months of the year, Florida acts as a geographical chafing dish for humans who are sick of New York’s bullshit.
Speaking of which, Florida also offers another form of shelter – from the Empire State’s voracious tax collectors. If you spend 181 days of the year there, you can keep 9.5% of the income you would otherwise contribute to NY State and City coffers. Perhaps Realtor Burchill ought to paper the city with “Escape Taxes: Discover Florida” flyers on or around April 15.
Or maybe, when Tax Day rolls around, she could just re-post the one about winter. Because, at that point, my daughter will still be a month away from defrosting.
THE END
(but keep reading the important promotional stuff below!)
CHICAGO! Come out to see me and former Chicago mob lawyer Paul Farahvar on Sunday, March 9 at Zanies. I love this room and cannot wait to make my debut on its historic stage. Tell your friends, your family, and Da Bears. TICKETS AVAILABLE HERE.
This week on Reasonably Happy, I spoke with former White House Communications Director and Founder of SkyBridge Capital, Anthony Scaramucci. He shared some great insights about the money/happiness paradox, the value of public failure, and unfiltered assessment of Donald J. Trump.
Paul- 40 and raining for two days in Atlanta, Not missing anything here. If you decide to get a place in Fla. let me know and we will bring the 40 game golf group for a visit .