Month: July 2017

It’s not hot out by average standards, but it is warm, and let me tell you that warmth is just about the worst state. I mean, sure we’re warm if things are going well, but man, what a bad feeling. Warm air, warm face. And it goes all the way back to childhood. The warm months were ambiguous. No direction, oppressive warmth. It was Dale Gribble who said, “We’ll grow oranges in Alaska,” and it just really boils my potato to think of a world where there is no cold in the summer except in the farthest reaches. It’s a real bummer and you know, I’ll go there. I’ll go to the farthest reaches.

Sitting in front of this fan is about the only relief until I go out in a few minutes to run some errands and catch a movie. I’ll sweat a lot and that makes me think of something I wrote a while ago called “Sweat.” I started this post before I remembered that older blog post and, yikes. I’m cringing at a few bits. But anyway, it was hot then and I wrote some patronizing words about a woman I’ve forgotten about, wrote about body hair, and mentioned Frank O’Connor in a shameless “I read, look at me” moment.

Now I reference King of the Hill and I think I’d rather remember King of the Hill than Frank O’Connor when it’s warm. Something funny and light.

It’s not hot out by average standards, but it is warm, and let me tell you that warmth is just about the worst state. I mean, sure we’re warm if things are going well, but man, what a bad feeling. Warm air, warm face. And it goes all the way back to childhood. The warm months were ambiguous. No direction, oppressive warmth. It was Dale Gribble who said, “We’ll grow oranges in Alaska,” and it just really boils my potato to think of a world where there is no cold in the summer except in the farthest reaches. It’s a real bummer and you know, I’ll go there. I’ll go to the farthest reaches.

Sitting in front of this fan is about the only relief until I go out in a few minutes to run some errands and catch a movie. I’ll sweat a lot and that makes me think of something I wrote a while ago called “Sweat.” I started this post before I remembered that older blog post and, yikes. I’m cringing at a few bits. But anyway, it was hot then and I wrote some patronizing words about a woman I’ve forgotten about, wrote about body hair, and mentioned Frank O’Connor in a shameless “I read, look at me” moment.

Now I reference King of the Hill and I think I’d rather remember King of the Hill than Frank O’Connor when it’s warm. Something funny and light.