Before I even start, let me assure those readers sweating it out in New Orleans, Austin, Mobile, lesser Florida, O-myfuckinggod-man, and other hot-ass environs that I understand my complaint about the heat here will let loose a snark storm. I am prepared for that. To those of you who would belittle my suffering, I say bring it, bitch.
I had to go make an award presentation in San Jose yesterday. The farther away one gets from civilization and the Golden Gate, the hotter it gets. San Jose, 60 miles south of here, was in the high 80s. Omigod, I was dying. Cue snark storm. I know plenty of you will not see 80 degrees again until a cold snap blows through in the autumn; I was once one of you. As I was trudging along (in a sport coat, mind you,) I kept reminding myself of my Gulf Coast youth and how I would have laughed at the idea that this was even warm.
But my life here has softened me and by the time I got to the presentation, I was sweaty, sticky and probably smelly. You know how fair-skinned older men have a distinctive aroma? I keep wondering, Is that me? Don’t answer that.
Plus the award was one we were making mostly because we needed to present it, not because someone particularly deserved to receive it. Sometimes in a political world the existence of the award is much more important that who actually gets it. Thus, I wound up trying to make a speech that did not expose the fact the criteria for the honor was mostly that the recipient was breathing and frequently wore shoes.
Fortunately, I was able to flee back here where nature keeps the airconditioning blasting outside. A little fog, a little cool ocean breeze and I am once again a happy poof. It’s important to occasionally be reminded why life here is so expensive. We’re paying for the climate.