The Wet, Warm Towel of Life

If I was a Martian and landed on Earth in the middle of Times Square today, I would logically conclude that New York City residents are among the smelliest, stankiest creatures on this big blue ball we call Earth. I'm not a Martian (I was born in New York), so it's sort of irrelevant, but lord have mercy this city's packed with a multitude of odiferous denizens.

Needless to say, the main thing on everyone's mind these days isn't getting work done, it isn't finding solace in the beds of the opposite sex, and it isn't going out and getting plastered -- it's all about stayin' cool, baby! The only winners here this summer are Con Ed and any and every salesman that pushes some piece of shit A/C unit on some poor unsuspecting schmuck. Next year, the whole process will begin yet again. In the meantime, I've got 14,000 BTU's of cool, crisp love circulating around Chateau de Boogie, and it's a mere 69.8 degrees herein as I type this out. Tomorrow, it will be around 86 by 9:30AM and it's due to hit 105 if the heat index is mixed in. The heat index is one of those phrases, by the way, created by some TV weatherman who plays second fiddle to on-screen cartoon depictions of the sun, clouds, rain and Mary Lou Retton. And again, come October we'll be bitching about the rain or the weather or al-Qaeda and we'll have to re-learn the "heat index" phrase come May yet again.

So in the meantime, aside from being glad that Kaia's mostly comfy at home and not in a hospital bed, I'm going through the motions -- getting as much work done as possible, avoiding the weather (when possible), staying cool (when possible) and keeping an eye on the long-term plans. I have calls to make, errands to do, people to see and some writing to do -- but when it's this hot, all I seem to be capable of handling is coming in, having some food, kicking back and then finding my other half via telephone. Since she's slammed at work as well, it's hard for either of us to relax, but we're trying. Slowly but surely, we're trying...that, and we're looking forward to Labor Day Weekend, September, October, and, finally, Novemberish. This will be the second consecutive Thanksgiving I'll have no problem knowing for what I should be thankful.

So tomorrow -- once I climb out of bed, shower, and prepare to face the boiling pavement and the waves of heat on the sidewalks -- I'll emerge from my apartment, like I did today, and fight through the wet warm towel that engulfs me each time I leave my place.

And it's only Wednesday.

Shit.