Why are so many people choosing the state of Arizona as their next home? Most don’t know before arrival that they are actually moving to a state of Isolation. At first, they will assume that the neighbors have kept their distance out of consideration, allowing the newcomers to settle in. After a short time, most people will then make an effort to introduce themselves to the neighbors – if and when they are lucky enough to catch them during the 14.9 seconds their garage door is open. A year or more will pass before the transplants realize that no one wants to say hi and that this is a normal part of living here.

I don’t understand this mentality, though. I am at a loss as to why anyone would want to be so isolated. I question myself weekly, at times daily, why I am still living here. Anywhere else I go, people are friendly and ready to strike up a conversation, well, except for Las Vegas, that is. Come to think of it, I’ve not had many a conversation in Death Valley either. Maybe this is an issue of living in a desert.

With our near-barren landscape, we adopt a barren community mentality where just as cacti are spread apart and silent so then too will be the human inhabitants. Of course, this isn’t a rule but a fairly accurate generalization.

Wide swaths of the Valley of the Sun live under a cloak of silent transparency. Behind the gated entries lie our stealthier citizenry. These Arizonans can be spotted at dusk while visiting various establishments, still brandishing their invisibility-inducing dark glasses and human contact-repelling cell phones that, in combination, build an impenetrable fortress allowing for maximum anonymity. As quickly as they dart into the reality of space-time that is viewable by mere mortals, they are just as quickly gone and well-protected and hidden from prying eyes in their gated villas.

Clandestinely, the middle class who have yet to perfect their covert skills of movement without being seen are but amateurs at times forgetting to close their garage door or remove sunglasses at dusk, lose their cell phones, and, worst of all – live in homes on open streets where anyone might drive or walk right up and intrude.

As for the poor, hah, no skills whatsoever! They will answer questions from lost travelers, and ask how you are doing at dinner; heck, they have been witnessed to say good morning to strangers. I suppose ignorance goes with being poor, for if these unassuming, less fortunate amongst us had an ounce of sense, they would don the darkest glasses and, at a minimum, give the rest of us a talk-to-the-hand wave and quickly flicker out of existence into the vastness of the lonely desert.

We live here in Phoenix as moles. We have crawled into our little holes, and no one sees us, and we don’t even bother to come out at night. Our freeways are empty at 9:00 p.m. Monday or Saturday as the minimal nightlife and people venturing out of their caves is nearly an unknown quantity here.

Something is broken here: the heat, the sun, maybe the glare reflecting off half a million swimming pools causes some type of flare which is bouncing off what remains of the ozone layer, and evil waves are washing our brains, making us insipid, non-communicative shells of human beings who must escape the malevolent force which silences us to our neighbors.

Does a city require snow, blizzards, rain, hail, wind, tornadoes, earthquakes, or hurricanes for people to come together, befriend one another, and act like neighbors sharing in the culturing of a spirit to make the place they live in a happy, friendly, open, and caring community? Or are we dried up and shriveled inside from the heat that bears down on us two-legged raisins?