Fla. forecast- a cold sense of humor

Anyone who has lived in Florida knows the sad truth: The main reason to stay here for any length of time is to feel superior to friends in colder climates.

I'm convinced that's the reason the local 24-hour news channel in the Tampa Bay area takes every opportunity to lead off its "Beyond the Bay" segments with some snowstorm up north. And if the low temperature here drops below the 50s, it rates news coverage akin to Pearl Harbor.

A couple of weeks ago, there was a story on the fact that mail carriers started on their daily routes as usual one morning, even though the time-and-temperature message boards at local banks showed 31 degrees at the time. (There was video of that as proof!) Even the mailman interviewed looked confused about why anyone would be doing the story.

It was my second-favorite "cold-weather" story after one I saw in Fort Lauderdale four years ago, when the cameraman zoomed in on soup and coffee being served in outdoor cafes because there was steam coming off of them. Lordy! The locals must have thought the world was coming to an end! Saturday was Gasparilla in downtown Tampa -- basically a much smaller, much shorter, much more sober version of Mardi Gras. Some officials estimated the crowd was 30 percent smaller than last year because of the cold -- the high was 71 degrees.

Some of our neighbors have been using their fireplaces lately -- I can smell the Duraflame log smoke in the air. Floridian friends who visit our apartment always comment on our fireplace. "Ooooo!" they say. "A fireplace! Have you used it yet?" No, I haven't used it. I never will. I have some candles in there, and I light them sometimes when I feel like practicing what I know of feng shui.

But I grew up in a house warmed with wood heat using a blower attachment on a fireplace. My sisters and I unloaded wood off a truck and stacked it beside the house. We took turns bringing it inside. I was in charge of cleaning out the ash, which resulted in more than one burned spot on the cheap rug in front of the fireplace and at least one outdoor trash fire.

My goal is just to keep the house warm enough to keep our new betta, Seabiscuit, alive and well. The one we had in Missouri, Trigger, died one winter. I just know it's because The Other Half wouldn't let me crank the heat above 65 degrees.

Besides, it never stays cold for very long. Mr. Half and I went to the beach Friday morning, carefully lathering SPF 30 sunscreen on our faces.

He came out fine. My face got red anyway, after just an hour in the sun. If the number after SPF means the multiple of sun protection you have - for instance, 30 times your normal resistance to sunburn - what does it mean that I got burned wearing SPF 30? If I hadn't been wearing any sunscreen, would my face have spontaneously combusted after, say, five minutes on the beach? I might as well be a vampire.

Of course, once you get burned, everyone feels compelled to mention how you "got some color on your face." I guess that sounds better than saying, "It's hilarious how your white-blond, Dick Gephardt eyebrows stand out against your bright red face. Hey! With that glow, you should consider guiding Santa's sleigh next Christmas." I'm not sure what's next, besides SPF 45. Boy, do I miss the days of trying to get a sunburn so it would "fade into a nice tan." Then we had to start worrying about skin cancer. Stupid melanoma! Maybe it is best to stay inside by a nice, toasty fire.

Heidi Hall is a former managing editor of the Southeast Missourian. She now lives in St. Petersburg, Fla.