Satan’s Butthole



It’s gonna be warm today. And that means a couple of things.


1. My ass is gonna be in that pool.


2. Mister will surely say something about the heat being as hot as satan’s butthole. (I tend to compare the heat to that found around satan’s ball sack, but hey – that’s just me.)


So when I spotted the detail of the artwork shown above while touring the Guillermo del Toro exhibit at LACMA, I knew I had to snap a pic for Mister. When I showed it to him, I think he was quite pleased.


The things we do for love…

Little Fonzies



The other day I was out and about and trying to stay alive. There was a heat on, and it was stifling. That wasn’t a problem, however, as I was mentally prepared for it. The challenge was dealing with other people who were clearly not prepared for the heat. Those folks were downright dangerous. They aimed their cars at me in parking lots. They swerved all over the danged place on city streets. I didn’t endure any verbal altercations, but I kept my wits about me, just in case. And for the record, I truly believe the hazardous situations I faced were indeed caused by the heat. I didn’t get the feeling that people were out there, being vindictive or confrontational. It seemed like folks were just unable to keep their heads in the game. That the heat took away their basic abilities to function. At least that’s how I saw it.


Later, while talking with a friend about the circus that is American politics, we spoke of how hate-filled some folks are these days. And I realized that when I’ve witnessed people getting riled up about the upcoming elections, I’ve watched their faces contort while their voices grow louder and angrier. And I don’t believe any of those people have a clue about how their physical transformations make them appear. I’ll just say this: it ain’t good. Hate ages you, from the inside. And all the face cream in the world can’t fix that.


And then I started thinking about how, no matter what the cause of our ugly behavior (be it heat or hate), I sure do wish we could get a clue and take a cue from Jules, Samuel L. Jackson’s character in Quentin Tarantino’s “Pulp Fiction” –


Jules: Nobody’s gonna hurt anybody. We’re all gonna be like three little Fonzies here. And what’s Fonzie like?… Come on, Yolanda, what’s Fonzie like?!
Yolanda: Cool?
Jules: What?
Yolanda: Cool.
Jules: Correctamundo. And that’s what we’re gonna be. We’re gonna be cool.


Of course, Jules isn’t exactly a prime role model, so maybe I’m wrong on this one. But I stand by my hope that calmer heads will prevail. Cooler heads, too. Hate won’t get us anywhere, friends. And heat will just wear us out. Let’s do our best to rise above. There are already too many people clogged up in the muck and mire of ugliness. And there aren’t nearly enough Little Fonzies.


I vote for Little Fonzie. Word.

Wary of Heat – Partly Melty



Okay. After very little sleep Monday night, and waking too early yesterday morning, I found myself dragging. Sleeping in a broken a/c, hot box of a house will do that. When I did get up yesterday, I immediately opened doors and windows in an attempt to let some cool morning air in. The inside temperature had gotten down to 84 degrees overnight, and after a few hours of morning air, the house dropped to 82 degrees yesterday.


And then I drove myself to an appointment and while everyone around me wrapped themselves in sweaters and light jackets (due to the office’s meat-locker temperatures), I sat there in my tank top and relished every second. It was as if I was trying to store the cold for later. I knew it wouldn’t work, but when you’ve got the vapors, you’re willing to try just about anything.


In the afternoon, I went home and found the needed part for the A/C repair waiting for me on the doorstep. I chug-a-lugged some water, put on a big hat, gathered all my tools in a bag and up the ladder I went. It was about 92 degrees outside, but it felt like 112 on the roof. Not wanting to dawdle, I got to work.


Did I also mention I was not wanting to electrocute myself? Because I wasn’t. Wanting that, I mean. In fact, I was so careful and taking such good care, that I hardly noticed the pool of sweat that was forming all around me as I worked. And when I hit a roadblock and needed to go to the hardware store, I didn’t think. I just went. Once there, I started to realize that folks were staring at me. And not in a good way. I can guaran-damn-tee I was the sweatiest white girl at the ghetto Home Depot and it wasn’t pretty. But I didn’t care. I was on a mission. And as soon as I’d acquired what I’d come for, I headed home. There, I chug-a-lugged more water then again climbed the ladder to the roof. This time I finished the job. And when I threw the breaker for the conditioned air machine, it didn’t trip. It didn’t sound like it was on, either. So I climbed the ladder a final time, to see if I could hear the running of the unit. I could, but barely. That’s when I realized that as of late, when I overheat, my ears clog. It’s been happening, but I hadn’t put it together. But I digress. Back inside, the a/c was on and the air output was cool. It worked. I had done it.


As of this writing, I am back in the land of cool, controlled air. (Dear lord – let’s keep it that way, um-kay?) Because I’m a wuss, it will probably take me a full day to recover from the last 30 hours of heat. Which is fine. My ears haven’t yet popped, but they will. Eventually. And I hope to get some solid sleep over the next couple of days. And to not melt. To paraphrase The Hulk, don’t make me melty. You wouldn’t like me when I’m melty. I know I don’t like me much during those times, even if I make for strange, sweaty entertainment at the Home Depot.


Wherever you are, I hope you’re reasonably comfortable and well. And I hope you’re able to maintain that. I super hope that for myself, too.

Wary of Heat



When I was a kid, living with my great-grandparents, conditioned air was nowhere to be found. There wasn’t so much as a window unit in the bedroom where 6 of us slept (no lie). In the heat of summer, Papa would place a fan in the front window of that room, but that was it. If we went to bed on a hot summer night, where the temperature was 98 degrees in the shade, you better believe it was 98 or more in that room.


And yet we survived. Never once did I like those particular nights, but they didn’t kill me. And before anyone in the peanut gallery pipes up, let me tell you – they did not make me stronger. Those nights served only to make me more wary of heat. And wary I am. Living where I live now, in Los Angeles, I roll with it. Because honestly – what else is a gal gonna do?


I like L.A. I like California. But it’s no secret that I’d prefer to live some place cooler. I’ve just never been a fan of heat. The desert is beautiful, but I don’t want to live there. And forget hot, humid places. I can hardly breathe in those climates. No – if it were up to me, we’d live above the 40th parallel north. Maybe way above it. But I digress…


Usually, my well-known frugality is ignored when it comes to paying the DWP for conditioned air. If I need to cut back on other things just to pay that A/C bill, I will. And I don’t even blink when writing that check. But sometimes, like now, I don’t get to write that check. For this is one of those times when the conditioned air machine is on the fritz, friends. Hopefully it will be repaired later tonight. But that’s tonight. Today we’re forecast to hit 95 degrees, which we also hit yesterday. Got sweat?


It isn’t the worst thing, the heat. But it sure ain’t good. Factor in the suck-the-life-out-of-me effect it has and, well…


I do have the pool. And I can always leave and go some place where the conditioned air is working. So there are options. Keeping those thoughts in my back pocket may very well serve to save my sanity.


In the meantime, I plan to shift my intentions around and tackle some very sedentary tasks. Things I can do while sitting on the cool, tile floor. Things like art projects or filing papers. I also plan to work on my attitude about the whole danged scene. It’s far too tempting to melt into depression over stuff like this. And I don’t want my mental state to be determined by the temperature of the air around me. I want to face the situation like a danged grown-up and get on with it.


All that being said, there is a very real chance I’ll curl up on the cool, tile floor and feel sorry for myself. I’m just being honest here. Fingers crossed, I’ll do better.

Butt in Pool



Too – hot. Must – get – butt – in – pool…

L.A. Beer Week



We are smack dab in the middle of L.A. Beer Week and boy are my arms tired. Not that I just flew in or anything. Just kidding. That’s the kind of joke I tell when I’m all happy and hopped up on beer. Which I’m not, though I was on Saturday during the Kick-off Event in Downtown L.A.



There were well over 100 brewers in attendance and Mister and I intended to do our hospitable best to visit almost if not all of them. It was a hot day, and we were feeling it. We took the train downtown, so that neither of us would have to stay sober and drive. And by neither of us, I mean me. Because y’all, 99.9% of the time, I am the designated driver. So hallelujah! I got to imbibe.



And imbibe I did. I made a beeline for the Almanac Beer Company tent, as they’re one of my favorite producers of sour beer. I was not disappointed, and may have gone back for another taste. Or two.



Mister had read about Ladyface Ale and that was another of our first stops. It was also another tent we hit more than once. Their Flamberge was amazing and I absolutely adored it. Truth be told, there were loads of excellent local brewers in attendance and we did our best to try them all. Even though Mister took photos of the beer taps we enjoyed the most, I only managed to mentally hang on to a few examples. I should blame the beer, but I don’t. Instead, I blame the heat.



Let me say again that it was hot. H.A.W.T. Both of us had slathered on the sun screen and we felt fairly prepared. I was drinking water and snacking here and there…



…so the beer wasn’t knocking me out or anything. But by the time our friends Cher and The Professor arrived at the event, I was fairly sated. But sometimes you’ve got to dig deep and show up for your mates. That’s how I felt anyway, so I kept on tasting. And watering. And snacking.



Another thing I did was treat the event as a true tasting, as in when I’d had enough of a particular sample (or simply didn’t care for it), I dumped my portion into one of the many swill buckets stationed around the scene. Honestly, I didn’t think much of that action until The Professor saw me doing it and nearly had a conniption fit. I’m fairly certain he suffered a small stroke when he witnessed perfectly good beer being thrown away.



After four hours of fabulous beer, it was time to go home. Cher and The Professor gave us a lift to the train station, then started their drive south. Mister and I boarded the train and talked about the day. Mister was working on figuring out how much we’d actually had to drink over the course of the event. For me, he guesstimated about a half-gallon. For himself, he doubled that. I told him he was crazy, because if I drank a half-gallon of beer I’d be so many sheets to the wind, I could be Martha Stewart’s linen closet.



Once we reached home, I started to think a bit differently. It was barely 5 o’clock and we were both struggling to stay awake. Even though we’d used sunscreen, the sun had broken through that barrier and had toasted various parts of our non-SPF-ed bodies. Too tired to cook, we ordered a pizza and put our feet up.



I was pretty pleased with L.A. Beer Week’s kick-off event. We had some amazing beers. The crowd was friendly and happy. All in all, it was a fabulous day. I can’t hardly wait for next year’s tasting.


Be Still, My Bleating Heart



So. By the time the temperature had risen to 107 degrees yesterday (and still hadn’t topped out for the day), I had entered a sort of lull. It happened without fanfare and I didn’t know I was in it until I was – that’s right – in it.


Somehow, by the grace of every known god, the conditioned air kept pumping. Neighborhoods near and far were experiencing outages, and for the life of me, I don’t know what those folks did to keep it together. I had all sorts of plans, just in case we lost power, but I didn’t have to turn to any of them. Instead, I told myself to be still. To work in as sedentary a mode as possible. And so I did.


And then the lull happened. I was drinking water like a fish and doing my very best to stay mindful of any and all exertion. But that’s the power of heat. You can be as still as all get-out and heat can still lull you. By the time it hit me, mid-afternoon, I pretty much just tuckered out and fell asleep. Like I said, the air kept flowing, so I stayed alive, no matter what occurred. I imagine folks without options just fall asleep and that’s it. As in the Big It. Sounds ghastly and it breaks my heart to read about folks who die from excessive heat. On my end, I checked in on a few folks and made sure we were being smart about everything. As far as I know, all of us rode out the day.


Today’s supposed to bring a bit of relief. High in the 90s. That may sound bad to some, but it won’t be Satan’s-Butthole-hot, so I’ll take it. Lordy, lordy.

Summer, Summer, Summer



Today is the first official day of summer. More like the first day of simmer. I don’t know what it’s like in your neck of the world, but here in the armpit, we’re expecting 100+ degree temperatures (a hundred and eleventy, to be precise-ish), along with a rash of bat-shit crazy behavior.


It happens. Heat makes some folks do nut-job things. Just the other day, the first hot day in a while, the heat led some crazy old dude to walk down our street with an axe. None of us knew the old dude, but we all recognized an axe. And we all went inside and locked our doors. Dag.


As we move into the heat of simmer summer, let’s take care of ourselves and each other. Let’s remember to wear sunscreen and hats. And for the love of pete, hydrate, will ya? I know it’s uncomfortable, but that’s no reason to lose our minds and do things we’ll regret once we’ve cooled down. Even in the heat – let’s try to stay cool. Okay?

Scratch That



I thought last weekend, being the true final weekend of summer, was the end of pool time. Well scratch that.


See – when I think I understand the weather, it goes and flips things around and stymies me to no end. Take this week, for example. Here we are, a few days into autumn, and Los Angeles has hit mid-90s temperatures all week. Not only that, but it isn’t cooling down much at night. That, friends, makes for a mighty inviting pool.


So Mister and I are indulging ourselves – getting in a last blast of float time. Even with The Crud, I’ve taken to the waters to help me feel a little less fever-y. That cool pool is doing the trick. And it’s almost October, for cry-eye. That weather is such a show-off.




It’s been hot here. H-A-W-T hot. And that, friends, does not make for a proper segue into autumn.


But I can’t really do a danged thang about that, so I’m going to make like an ostrich and put my head in the sand, and pretend it isn’t hot outside. (And yes – I know that whole ostrich-head-in-the-sand thing is a myth, so please don’t try to school me. Thank you.)


The temperatures may be suggesting otherwise, but autumn is here, nonetheless. The morning light is changing, and the evening sunset is bowing sooner and sooner each day. My internal shift has occurred as well, and that is controlled by nature and not by the weather. And if all that isn’t enough, I now have a change-of-season sore throat. Right on schedule.


Still – I’m excited for autumn! I’m excited for change! I’m excited for life! Hallelujah!