(OK, one thing I need to get straight before we go any further: I write these things ahead of deadline, so what follows is based on weather conditions that existed anytime from a few days to a couple of weeks ago, depending on when you read it. I tell you this in case something happens to void everything I say and make you think I’m a complete boob. I’m not. I’m an incomplete one. Anyway, here goes …)

As I write this we are in the middle of what I call a false spring. The temperatures are warm, and not just for January. It’s jacket weather. Birds are singing. The sun is out. I hear reports of insects showing themselves again.
And it stinks.

I realize this sets me aside from the norm, or at least the norm of my friends and acquaintances (only a couple of whom are named Norm, and very few of whom can actually be considered normal), but I actually like winter and I feel cheated that we haven’t had more of it this year.

I’m not talking blizzards. I’m not even talking snow enough to warrant school closings (sorry, kids). But a few measly inches – let’s say just enough to warrant firing up the snow blower – would not hurt us. And that’s what I’d like to see. 

It’s especially acute now that my seed catalogs have begun arriving. 
I have to admit that I find seed catalogs to be absolutely irresistible – most years. I love looking at the photos of Hollywood-perfect fruits and vegetables and imagining a bounty like that growing in my own backyard garden – most years.

But this year the experience has left me a little flat, and I think it’s because the weather is too nice. For seed catalogs to really do their jobs, for them to really plant the ridiculous notion that you, too, can grow picture perfect tomatoes and unblemished cucumbers, there has to be snow on the ground and a thermometer reading below freezing. You must have the blank canvas of a bleak midwinter landscape upon which to paint your midsummer horticultural fantasy. 

The point is I’m just not enjoying my seed catalogs as much as I usually do, and I think the reason is there hasn’t been enough snow this winter. In seed catalogs it’s always the height of the harvest season, and as you read it serves a sort of homing beacon during the long, dark – and yes, snowy – winter.

Now, I realize there’s a flip side to all this. Weather people on TV, for example. They’re just about intolerable when there’s snow falling. And I notice here in the city that the numbers of people who don’t know how to drive on snow seem to be increasing. This is a problem when you live in the place where the snow removal is so lousy.

But still, I’d like a little more snow before winter ends. I have a big pile of seed catalogs to get through, after all, and it’s just not the same without some real winter weather to read by.

(Unless, of course, it has snowed between the time I wrote this and the time you’re reading it, in which case never mind and I’ll get back to you after I order some carrot seed.)
Redmond is an author, journalist, humorist and speaker. Write him at mike@mikeredmondonline.com. For information on speaking fees and availability, visit www.spotlightwww.com.

So here we are, entering award season. I hope you’ve stocked up on popcorn for all those long nights in front of the television watching George Clooney make acceptance speeches.
We’ve already had the “Golden Globals.” That leaves the “Tonis,” “Enemies,” “Grandmas,” “Oscarmayers,” “Empty-vee Movies” and six or seven other awards shows to go.
I must admit the whole awards show thing leaves me a little … well, mystified. I just don’t understand why people are so fascinated by them and make such a big deal out of watching actors and directors and musicians and producers congratulate each other.

Probably this goes back to the time I attended an Oscar party, which required me to stand around someone’s living room wearing a tuxedo – in Indianapolis, which you may have noticed is neither New York nor Los Angeles and therefore pretty far from the action, awardswise – eating snacks and listening to people drone on and on about “film.” 
Big clue there, for me anyway. In my experience, people who drone on about “film” or, heaven forfend, “cinema,” are almost always bores. I much prefer to hang out with those who do as I do and go to the movies.
Not that I do it often. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen one of the big-time award contender movies this year. Not to mention films or cinemas.

But back to the party. You may wonder why I was there. Simple. There were women there, and I had been persuaded that nothing is more attractive to a woman than a man in a tuxedo. As it turned out, I was misinformed. They were talking about Cary Grant in a tuxedo, not Mike Redmond in one. 
I never felt sillier in all my life, standing there in a waiter uniform watching my fellow guests swan about as if they were Hollywood insiders eating cocktail weenie pigs in blankets. I realize it was all in fun, but it seemed kind of excessively pretend, a big game of dress-up, and for what? To watch a TV show about movies. 

I’m also no fan of music awards. This goes back to the time when I was a music critic for a newspaper that no longer exists, The Indianapolis News. Often, people who disagreed with my assessment of a concert or a record (boy, there’s a blast from the past – remember records?) would try to prove me wrong by trotting out the artist’s stash of awards, as if that meant anything. 

All an award means is that someone or something is extremely popular at a certain point in time – it says nothing about whether they’re actually any good. And remember, this is show business, so it doesn’t hurt if a lot of profit accompanies that popularity. Let us never forget, boys and girls, that the biggest musical frauds of the 20th century – and that is saying a lot – won a Granny award. Milli Vanilli, anyone?
So off we careen into another season of statuettes and red carpets and glamour and overdressed people standing around living rooms in Indianapolis pretending that in some way, this matters. 

Me? I’m keeping the tuxedo in the closet and biding my time until this all blows over. Then it’ll be opening day and the baseball season will begin and we can all get back to normal. Or at least back to what passes for normal around here. 

Redmond is an author, journalist, humorist and speaker. Write him at mike@mikeredmondonline.com. For information on speaking fees and availability, visit www.spotlightwww.com.