Five cities that’ll never see me again

1. Boston. Before I learned to despise the Red Sox I went to a game at Fenway Park. Or tried to. A cold downpour interfered. Turned out to be quite the harbinger.

Hard to imagine a more provincial big city. I pulled over at a gas station to replace my windshield wipers (since it rained every minute of every day). Some aging townie, hearing my accent, told me a new set of blades would cost $85. It was then I realized moving to Boston had been my biggest mistake. Five days and five dozen rude jackasses later, I cut my losses, never to return.

(Ironically this blog’s most loyal follower hails from the Boston area — no offense, Norma. I guess Beantown’s not all bad.)

2. Orlando. If Mitt Romney was a city he’d be Orlando. The world’s largest outdoor mall is also home to the suburb Disney built: Celebration, Fla. “Where are you from?” “Celebration!” Give me Hell, Pa. any day.

3. Charlotte. When I think Charlotte I think banks and NASCAR. How interesting. Strangely people who live there think it’s the greatest place on Earth, which leads me to assume Charlotteans spend their vacations in Boston and Orlando.

4. Phoenix. If Orlando was in the desert it would be Phoenix. But it’s only a four hour drive to the Grand Canyon, so it’s got that going for it.

5. Seattle. It was actually sunny the weekend I was there, which made everyone in Seattle downright giddy — too much so. Mood swings annoy me almost as much as aging hippies throwing Frisbees. Plus, I don’t drink coffee and I detest Soundgarden.

Dishonorable mention: Las Vegas (Orlando with gambling), Houston (combines the worst elements of Atlanta, located in Texas), Miami (great if you’re a cheesy exhibitionist, underachieving NBA star or pissed-off retiree).

To be fair I’ve never been to Fallujah.