heat make ernie crazy
Most people in the San Francisco Bay Area, especially those people living near the coast like I do, don’t have air conditioners. My parents house never had an air conditioner. Our apartment doesn’t have an air conditioner.
“We don’t need air conditioner,” my father would say. “We have ocean!” And for the most part, that’s true. Thanks to the Pacific ocean and the notorious San Francisco fog, we have 68 degree days, whether it be the week of Christmas or August. “It only hot four days a year,” my dad would say.
Today is one of those four days a year. It’s fucking HOT here. It’s probably somewhere in the mid-90’s today. And because my apartment faces west, directly facing the afternoon sun, my apartment has absorbed the heat; it’s probably a good 95 degrees in here, while it’s a good twenty degrees cooler outside (as of 11pm).
Now everyone pretty much everywhere else in the country is rolling their eyes. It’s 95 in Arizona in December! In Las Vegas, it’s 110 degrees, and that’s at three in the morning! In Florida, 90 degrees is a cold spell! And at least it’s a DRY heat.
But I’m in Berkeley. We have no coping mechanisms to deal with the extreme heat. We have no air conditioner. Let me remind everyone that I live on the third floor, and heat rises. The heat generated from the laptop I’m typing this entry from is getting on my damn nerves. Oh yeah, and we’re in California, so naturally we’re going to be a bunch big, whiny, liberal, tree-hugging San Francisco crybabies afraid of a little rise in temperature.
Fuck you. It’s fucking hot here. This sodomizing tree-hugger needs another glass of ice water and a cold shower.
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