Dateline: The Surface of the Sun

It's hot. But unlike Eugene Morris Jerome's observation in Biloxi Blues, it's not "Africa hot." It's flat-out reaching blast furnace levels. And it's only July 2. I'm thinking that by mid-August, kittens and senior citizens might just be bursting into flames while standing in the front yard or even sitting too close to a window in the living room.

And this isn't some gobbledy-gook global warming scenario. Subscribing to that particular school of thought, the earth is gradually getting warmer. A few degrees on average over the span of decades. No sir. Not in my neighborhood. There's nothing incremental about any of it. Somebody left the freaking oven door open and went on vacation.

Cook an egg on the sidewalk? Ha! I could broast a buffalo in the shade of my oak tree. A 20-pound bag of ice inside a cooler in an air conditioned vehicle has a life expectancy of about a minute six.

You know the old saying bantered about in the desert southwest when the temps creep into the triple digits, "Oh, but it's a dry heat"? Well, in my neck of the woods, it's a wet heat. 218% humidity is like a soggy wool quilt pulled from the broiler that envelopes you from the minute you step outside. Curled hair? Flat. Pressed clothes? Depressed. Squirrel in the tree? Well done with a warm gray center.

Do sweat glands ever wear out? Am I in danger of needing gland replacement surgery one day in the not-so-distant future? Will Blue Cross even cover something like that? These are the thoughts that cross my fever-addled mind as I stuggle to find ways to stay cool. But I'm beginning to think that's all but impossible these days. When you're sweating while floating in the swimming pool, you know things are spiraling out of control.

Some people might take it as a sign of the apocalypse. Personally, I think it's much worse that that. I think the human race has screwed things up so badly that we've ALL been damned to hell already. I think we're beyond saving. And our God, still being a loving God, is throwing this godforesaken heat our way to help us get acclimated to the eternal hellfire we're all doomed to endure. His final gift to us. It's like a little preview for our first day in the depths of the cauldron. As the fire and brimstone rage all around, and the flames of damnation lash at our backs, we can look around, shrug and say, "Well, at least it's a dry heat."