You can run, but why really?

"It's not the heat, it's the whining" my Dad said about the heat-wave on the phone last night. I laughed because I've always associated that phrase/saying with this guy, the person whom I attribute with coining the phrase, like a million years ago (although someone else probably said it first, who knows, but I've got rules about the proprietary nature of unique--if only to you--discoveries), so it was fun to hear it'd made it's way into the lexicon of the fifty-something aging hippie Buddhist crowd.

So yeah, the heat-wave. I ran into my neighbors in the hall this morning, which was a surprise as they are supposed to be in Montreal, Canada on a 'get the hell out of dodge because it's a hundred degrees and a hundred percent humidity' spur-of-the-moment mini vacation. "Back so soon?" I said. "Yeah," they said, "You won't believe it. They're having the same heat wave. In CANADA! And since the city is a million years old nobody has air conditioning. Well, with the exception of a few chain hotels, which were all booked up of course. It was a nightmare."

"Gee, tough break."

"I know. We thought, we can sweat our asses off in Brooklyn. For free. Without having to smell all those sweaty Frenchmen."

"Wait... I thought you two were going to Montreal FOR the sweaty Frenchmen."

"Not THAT sweaty, darling. There are limits."

Indeed. So remember, while you're whining about the sweltering temps in Northeastern America, it could be worse. You could have blown a shit-load of money for the privilege of a night in a hundred and fifty degree Canadian dance club filled to capacity with sweaty Frenchmen who refuse to let the temperatures interfere with their loose, continental bathing habits.

Puts that morning subway commute into perspective, don't it?

Posted by Antigeist at July 20, 2005 01:12 PM