I’m in the mood for a blanket statement today:
Seattle residents are a sensitive people.
We’re currently smack in the middle of a beautiful summer and I am hearing from a lot of people how hot it is compared to previous years. There are countless Facebook posts of stuffy apartments and escaping one’s home to the heavily cooled movie theaters or supermarkets for relief. Now, it’s not really super hot (I don’t believe we’ve broke the 100°F barrier yet), but for a city where most dwellings are built without A/C, one could understand the dilemmas of trying to sleep in this kindergarten version of Hell.
Growing up in Iowa, it was routine to apply cold wash clothes to your face and arms every July and August and sleep in front of a rusted-out old fan. The summers there were both hot and humid offering the worst set of twins from Mother Nature’s menstrual cycle. I will admit that I secretly used to enjoy the first 20 seconds of getting into a parked car in the middle of the afternoon on a scorching day; the heat would envelop you just like the lava of Mount Doom took Gollum in The Lord of the Rings – slurping you up in one swallow. In some sick way, I would think, “This must be what blueberry muffins feel like in the oven.” Of course, after 20 seconds I was clamoring for the air conditioning buttons because who wants to sit in an instant bath of one’s own sweat?
Since moving to Seattle years ago, I have often roughed it – sweltering through the brutal night while my concrete building radiated all the solar heat it had collected that day. Fortunately, this year some angels from Everett loaned me a portable air conditioner so that I can strip down to my boxer briefs and pile the blankets on my body at night. It is a true gift to be able to sleep in a frost-fingered cave (a magma chamber previously known as my apartment). I’ve christened the A/C unit – Metatron – after the mighty Guardian of the Tree of Life (as written in the Zohar).
Metatron seems to function best at 67°F.
Lexicon Ninja 