Wednesday, July 11, 2018

Damn, it's hot.

In case you hadn't heard, it's hot in Los Angeles.

How hot?

It's so hot, animals are looking for a brushfire just to find some relief.

It's so hot, you can fry an egg on the sidewalk. And you don't even have to take it out of the carton.

It's so hot, you could convince a Republican Senator there is global warming. Ok, let's not get crazy, those Russian-bought climate change denying twatweasels are beyond reproach.

In any case, it's one of those days that make me happy I sprung for the Trane 9000 Arctic Deluxe Series Z air conditioning units. Equipped with superconducting titanium coils and the hydroponic flick flacks for maximum cooleration, my house feels less like the windswept plains of the Serengetti and more like the meat locker of Applebees.

And make no mistake, I have none of the hesitant attitudes towards costly refreshing cool air that plagued my father.

You see we had air conditioning in the house I grew up in. We had air conditioning in the cars my parents drove. What we didn't have however was a father who was willing to crack open his wallet and let us see what would happen if we pushed the ON button.

Mind you, this wasn't the dry, slightly irritating heat of Southern California. I'm talking about the sweltering 100 plus degree, 100 plus humidity heat of upstate New York. The kind of heat that would melt spare tires in the trunk of the car. The kind of heat that would cause mercury to expand and break thermometers. The kind of heat that would make the Son of Sam believe he heard dogs talking to him.

If our dog could have talked he would have cornered my miserly father and said, "turn on the damn air conditioning!!!"

I'm not sure what all that thriftiness and self-flagellation bought my father, but I'm not having any of it.

It's 2 o'clock on a Saturday afternoon (I write these blogs in advance) and it's 97 degrees out. I'm gonna pour myself an icy pineapple/banana mojito and notch down the temperature to a comfortable 71 degrees.

Then I'm going to pass out on the couch and let that cold air keep blasting until I have to reach for a comfortable warm blanket.

And, I'm going to do it without feeling the slightest trace of guilt.

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