It's really stupid hot here. I know, I know, it's probably hot where you are, but I don't live where you do, so I don't have to walk to the store in your heat or try to sleep in your heat, or anything. I'm sympathetic, but I've got my own heat to worry about.
And my brain doesn't work all that well in the heat. I had all sorts of ideas about what to blog about today but all of them required some effort and going out in the heat and I just don't love you all that much. But don't worry...I love you all more than whoever came up with the idea of the heat index. I love you all lots more than I love that asshole. What possible reason could I want to know that even though the thermometer reads 100º, it actually feels like 237º. This information does not contribute to my mental or physical well being.
Brownstone houses are difficult to effectively air-condition. Doing it really well means drilling holes, running ducting where it was never envisioned, replacing all of your windows...and probably walls too. Honestly, the most effective way to air-condition a brownstone is to tear it down, buy the big-ass air-conditioner, and build a new house around it.
Like many NYers, we make do with a portable unit. We've got one with an intake and an exhaust hose that run to the window and then the unit sits in the room looking like one of those little refrigerators you had in your college dorm and sounding like the deck of an aircraft carrier during flight operations. (And even with the TV turned up loud enough to hear over the air-conditioner, I could still hear the asshole tow-truck driver who decided to idle his truck across the street from us for an hour yesterday...while he took a nap.)
The air-conditioner has valiantly worked its little ass of and says it's gotten the temperature down to 81º, which feels absolutely luxurious compared to what it's like outside.
What's it like outside? Here's a little story from The NY Times City Room. Two things about this story...I love the image of a USA Today photographer stopping to take pictures of a NY Times reporter doing a silly story. And, this is exactly the type of thing I would have tried and then blogged about today...if only I loved you all more.