It Sho Am Hot!

If August is the "dog days of Summer", then I can assure you that Mother Nature has released the hounds. It is crazy hot here today. If I may quote Matthew Broderick in Biloxi Blues, and why couldn't I, "it's Africa hot." While I have never been to the "dark continent" I can appreciate the sentiment. Since I'm throwing out all kinds of weather related cliches, let me also add this little nugget, "it's not the heat, it's the humidity." I concur.

Not only is the temperature somewhere in the mid nineties, the humidity is about 600 percent. "That's impossible" you may say. I say shut up and prove me wrong. I opened my door this morning and instead of being in my picturesque back yard, I was in a sauna. I'm serious, there were hairy old men in towels and everything. A Russian was ladling water onto my pink flamingos to create more steam. I felt like I walked into a wall of sweat. It's miserable.

"Daughter" doesn't want to venture outside any more today. I took her to band practice and we ran some errands, and now she's down in the basement, sitting in the dark, in a loose caftan trying to lower her body temperature. I feel I should regale her with tales of my own over heated childhood. We didn't get air conditioning at my parents house until I was about ten. Summer in Chicago is a horrible time of year as far as humidity goes. The heat is bad too. I spent my formative years sweating like Rosie O'Donnell at a pie eating contest. My brothers and I would lay in our beds melting into the mattresses, creating our own shrouds of Turin, on a nightly basis. Finally, whether by chance, or sheer force of will, I developed powerful allergies and the doctor told my parents it was either cool the house artificially, or endure non-stop mucus for three months. Miraculously they chose cool air. It was always a chore to get my mom to actually turn on the A/C, since running it meant a higher bill. Unfortunately, for a long time I too gave into budgetary restrictions, then one day I realized that I was too old, soft and worked too hard to suffer. Now my house is like a meat locker. I keep all the blinds closed, and the air cool. It's like I live in a cave, but that's fine with me.

I promised "Wife" that I would smoke some meat for dinner tonight. That will entail three hours outside. I guess all the sweat will be good for my youthful complexion. I wonder what the neighbors will think of the sight of me in a Speedo, and a sombrero, sitting on a fifty pound block of ice while I tend to my slow cooked meat. That last part sounded dirty, but you know what i mean. Stay cool. Later....Brian