Thursday, October 24, 2019


It got hot today. Over ninety Fahrenheit. One of the few days we've turned on the air-conditioning (at work), unlike the Deep South where Mary, one of my fellow pipe smokers, lives. She and several of her Deep Southern friends and kin discovered that their aircons were on the fritz back in April or March, and their discomfiture was palpable from across the country.


The Deep South where they live has a subtropical climate with long, hot and humid summers, and short, almost non-existent winters. Temperatures in the South average about 81°F in March. The only thing that alleviates the tedium of sweating your privates off is, apparently, the ghastly weather during hurricane season; from May to January.

Our hot weather here in San Francisco will last a few days.
Theirs is well nigh endless.

I'm imagining women in mini skirts twelve months of the year, and men in Speedos. Well, not Mary's husband -- there have been photos on Facebook pages and social media showing him fully dressed, nicely too. Plus I don't think they make minskirts in her size, in case you were wondering, and both of them have a good sense of style -- but from Central Arkansas all the way to Miami, people are badly dressed. Minimal amounts of fabric.
Daisy Duke pants on the men at best.

Skin the hairy beach-apes and make coats out of their pelts!

Okay, sorry, the heat is getting to me. My apartment is still hot as blazes, and it's affecting the other person living here too. She's more talkative than usual. And she had a horrid day. This heat is going to last till Sunday, and most of SF lacks airconditioning, because we don't normally need it.
We don't have hurricanes.

"My blood is too thick for the Carolinas, I have never been able to properly explain myself in that climate."

Good thing it's only a few days. Several weeks of this and San Franciscans would loose it. All those Speedos and miniskirts hurt our souls, we're too uptight for warm weather.
I myself am wearing slacks, a denim shirt, plus clean underwear right now, but if my apartment mate weren't around, I would be slouching around in raggedy boxers, bare chested. And totally white trashing it.

It's ninety degrees in Atlanta and Tupelo at present.

Oh wait, looking at the wrong map.

That's Manila.

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