I got on a kick last night, since I might be traveling to the UK, I figured I would look for some London-town blogs. Kick the tires, see if it’ll run.
I buried some links in upcoming scopes, but I kept muttering-laughing to myself as I was reading, lots of bitching about the heat. It hit 100, roughly 33 Celsius, I think. Think that’s hot? I suppose, though, there’s a cultural thing going on, and I would assume it’s something a native Texan just doesn’t get.
Sunday night, I did a single load of laundry, laundry for the last week or so. Bed linen was the big order of the event as it was full of cat fur. Poor fat cat is still shedding. Three pairs of shorts, one t-shirt, two Hawaiian shirts.
That was it. For ten days.
There was one other shirt I missed, see, when I leave, I’ll grab shirt, but I don’t actually wear the shirt, I mean, I’ve got one shirt here that I have yet to wear. I’ve used to mop sweat from my brow, I’ve used it to keep one shoulder from getting too much sun, and I’ve wrapped that shirt around water bottles, cups of coffee, and large cups filled with ice and coke. Haven’t actually worn in it its intended way.
It gets hot and I wear less clothing. If I thought I could really get away with wearing just a loincloth, I’m sure I would. That’s how to beat the heat. Plus a cold, spring-fed creek nearby helps.
100 degrees is a tad warm, but at least around here? It’s a wet heat. I know, last week? 107 degrees and I did 7 miles in middle of the afternoon.
What’s that quote? “Only madmen and Englishmen go out in the midday sun”?
Pizza for Breakfast – musical interlude
The cat dines on sumptuous cat food, but me? I’ve been reduced to leftover pizza. Courtesy of a Virgo. Times are tough. Shortly after the Sunday morning entry posted, I was up and milling around, and there was the coolest crack of thunder. Then rain. I went back to sleep with a martial beat of rain on a trailer’s roof.
“I love the sound of rain on a tin roof…” (Kevin Fowler, 100% Texan, “Beer, Bait & Ammo.”)
By the time Sunday morning dawned, at a respectable 11 in the morning, vestiges of the rain were gone. Even the puddles were baked away.
Which is funny, as Ma Wetzel wants me to join her in England in September, and I wonder if I can make an obscure musical allusion here? Know the line? (It is a good album, too!)
“To be in England…”
Just my luck, though, it’s not on the Amazon sample.
Pizza for breakfast and a few 100 degree days will do that to you.
Ah, crap. Full Moon Monday, Moon’s in Aquarius, Sun’s in Leo. On a Monday. Much hilarity will ensue. (Many bad words omitted.)
“The Queen of Spades is friend of mine
The Queen of Hearts is bitch.
Some day when I clean up my mind
I’ll find out which is which.”
(Gram Parson’s Anthology, “Ooh Las Vegas.”)
> Don’t know whether there was a link between the two things: your latest
> journal asked if “this web page makes my butt look fat” and the kitty cam
> image I just saw of you stretching.
>
> The answer is, no, your butt doesn’t look fat.
>
> Maybe it’s small for Texas standards?
Coincidnece, I’m sure, of unrivaled proportions.
Gratuitous Barton Springs Pool picture, late Sunday afternoon:
