Secret Pop

Sep 6, 2004

Onomatopoietic Groaning Sound

However did it get so hot? I had only just been singing the praises of this Los Angeles summer season for not having demoralized and debilitated me as last year's did. I had just been remarking that it sure has been nice out and that I haven't really even needed the swamp cooler my parents bought me for my birthday. I had just been shooting my mouth off all over town like a bona fide know-nothing, unaware of the power of jinxes, lauding the ecosystem for being so welcoming and temperate. I know people are dying and losing everything in the world in Florida, but when I see Dan Rather getting flapped around by that sideways rain, I can't help but think to myself, "It's probably cooler there than it is here."

My little canine angel is snug in bed. I used my grill for the first time since buying it sometime early last year. There was enough food for everyone on my block. But I am stingy and had no desire to invite them. Too high a riff raff quotient. I like to control the guest list. And I like to keep the good beer for myself. I drove up from San Diego this afternoon, aware as I did, that I was in the confirmed square category, as it seemed that everyone else was headed in the opposite direction. Woe to all on the southbound 5. It was like an RV parade. I was grateful that the traffic was not terribly challenging for me, especially since -- even with my air conditioning on at full blast (and this is air conditioning I recently spent hundreds upon hundreds of dollars suping up) -- I was very, very warm. This is the sort of weather that melts your lipstick in your handbag, even when you're careful to keep your handbag in the shade. This is the sort of weather that forces you to just accept that you will feel sweaty and unappealing and that a shower will be your only salvation. This is the sort of weather that makes you say, "Ick. Don't touch me."

I've got nothing to fear but fear itself. Which gives me the willies.

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