Trial by fire. My broiling heart in my efficiency flat still beats a bit, in concern over those boiling over in worse apartments in a Chicago tenancy, or on an ocean island instantly-burn-your-feet beach or dessert, or forced to endure ice baths just to keep cool — or simply be offered no way to maintain an ice-dripping body other than also read a non-cookbook at the library, or select not a big steak you can’t afford but a 73/27 burger from a freezer and slap it on your forehead. Just not too hard.
All these things are ones where you especially today either burn or go to vast lengths not to, in our global warming world. And these situations shall only become worse, and if you think not you are more a fool than that one who eagerly plunges themselves into the fire and open flame. And not restaurants by that name.
— Seven are your bloodied sins. Been listening to Moonchild too much. But read on to see connections. This rant to add to a rant starts with commentary/criticism but not literary, from he whose lengthy and (righteous?) rants himself against refs back in his playing days, before the plodding seniors tour, and now is an analyst, and these guys sometimes miss the analytical part, is surely destined for the gates of hell himself — and he just might melt them down.
Anywho, John McEnroe criticised a decision by a similar old man still on the regular tour, and seeking his 25th Grand Slam or some such title, to ask non-piteously for a day match in what in France has been day temps in the mid-30s, and that’s Celcius not F, rather than playing under the lights — even when it’s telecast back here in The States. This sinful request comes from when he will be facing in this hellfire heat a man by the surname of — I’m not making this up — Sinner. The depths of hell are, reportedly, asking St. Peter for help with the overflow of interview requests, before they freeze over. —
So I feel worse for such unfortunate souls than I do myself when it recently came to my inopportune time for my air conditioning to (almost) fully go out, and having my HUD managing squad to deal with to, well, deal with it. However this third time around this issue they were pretty easy about ordering a replacement. So I have it better than those living in situations where progressing climate change will not only just give sunburns, but full-scale death. For them, simple heat exhaustion can now lead to full-on heat stroke, upping the level of severity from midrange until near a ten, which can be deadly in places near the equator where it’s now often 130 in the shade but there is no shade, or a packed-in studio apartment with hardly a window midrange in a 20-floor highrise. Obviously, that first scenario, in the third world, should be our biggest concern if we are a righteous people. Those woven mats some people need to sleep on might burn from their very breath.) But if you even have to worry about heat stroke in the generally very capable USA, there is a problem. But we do have our ghettos, and our projects and also our homeless, and now that temps are seen passing 100 and 110 and even creeping toward 120, even here death can be around the corner. That old rusted-out A/C is more daunting than it used to be, as the other day we hit 93, the summer is barely starting, and Hudson Hospital said they had several calls from people with heat exhaustion, in part because our bodies are just not ready for it yet.
Back to my not quite as wearisome circumstance. The apartment is designed well, making use of each square foot efficiently, it has several full-room nice amenities, but hey, it is HUD housing, and old too boot, but what are you going to do, tear it down? The walls and windows are not well insulated, I suspect, the thermostat dials, all levelers on them, are widely inaccurate, the A/C band of air produced is only about three feet wide, and worst yet, what cool air there is simply cannot make it around the mid-apartment bend to the bedroom. When the outside temps climb a bit above 90, that makes my heat inside 76 to 79, even with the air conditioning cranked full-bore and various fans aflying, if you can believe an inaccurate thermostat that’s been set at 38 since January in an effort to regulate temperature, which is sometimes OK from what it blows but fluctuates randomly in Fahrenheit level. So hey, some good times. Not bad if you’re sunbathing, but .. When working the cane fields, backs blackening in the sun in our late 2020s. First floor, a bit cool. Third floor, look out. At least I have a second floor, as in a home. Gimme Shelter. But hey highrise makers, including Our Nation’s Illustrious Ultimate (Subpar Housing Or The Other Luxury Extreme?) Builder, with each floor you add you increase temps what, a full degree? As I kid I used to think it odd that it could actually get hot enough to kill someone, in what we typically heard about, a Chicago slum, even if elderly. But when in seventh grade I developed full-blown Tourette Syndrome, and needed to take medication — in fairness to current management and maintenance — I learned that Haldol and heat don’t mix, and Cogentin needs cool.
That’s why you take a bath that is cold. Or even icy.
As much so as you can stand. Go down degree by degree, inch by inch. Sink in slowly. Repeat. Suck in your gut, even the lower part, even for that moment that is your tolerance, as heat problems can affect the tummy too. Or wash your hair in cold water, at least getting the forehead area swacked. And I still harvest sorrow over the people who have been tortured, even by our own country, with ice baths, the real ones. Or to bring it back to a lighter note, like Al Bundy, selling flip-flops not sneakers, in that infamous scene with the world’s most creatively dysfunctional family from Married With Children, where they camped out not in the bleachers, but in the frozen foods on beach towels while wearing bikinis. (But I think they were kicked out for having expired EBT. So in the heat, buy up a couple dozen Banquet frozen dinners to cool off your (great big?) living room — while you still can,
Crazy coping methods. But desperate times .. But you could go to the library with strong A/C and just sit there trying to look like you’re doing something — say, novel idea, read a book or check out the three pages of local paper obits when the heat index nears, say, quadruple digits — until you start to feel conspicuous then slink away, go around the back way and come in the other door. And at The Home, a similar idea, in the party room is also OK. Big plants with leaves the size of genetically enhanced watermelons to hide behind.
On the night before I found out I was getting a new A/C unit, it was past midnight and my blessed thermostat still read 76. (I feel fortunate that staff acted fast on this, as I said, my third request in as many years, in the first two trying band aid fixes that turned out to be just that. They simply put, are under the gun to save the taxpayers, many of them millionaires and billionaires, money.) I started slurring my words and feeling wobbly, having trouble standing for significant periods, in addition to feeling very overheated and clammy and thirsty. I called the nurse help line and told the receptionist about my situation. You take what? Hal-tol. No Haldol. What, your name is Harold? I was told an actual nurse would call me back in about two hours. Thankfully, it was 20 minutes, and I was strongly advised that under no circumstances should I allow myself to go to sleep before coming in and getting checked out.
In the end, I was doing OK. But I grieve much moreso for those other people in our world, perhaps many millions, who are not so fortunate, including a lesser number right here in our own country, in our own city, and even maybe in my own building, as other A/C units here look pretty delipidated. But especially with this administration, there are ties around hands. And necks of those in the third world.