Heat and its discontents

The other night, the ceiling fan in my office broke. A blade just flew right off and shot straight into the corner of the room. Thankfully, no people or cats were decapitated or stabbed by the blade, just a bit freaked out.

However, the weatherman just predicted a record-breaking 98 degree day tomorrow. We don't have our air conditioners installed yet, so that will be a super fun after-dinner group activity tonight. Air conditioners are such mood killers, deprivers of fresh air and mandaters of drawn curtains for maximum efficiency. But unless I want to spend my summer naked and damp, surrounded by dead fish and panting cats, they're an unfortunate necessity in this city. I think there's a nonprofit program to provide poor families with window units for the summer. That's how bad it gets. Nasty, just nasty.

This also means going to the gym because, despite what I might think possible, it has been scientifically proven that I cannot get out of bed before 8 am to go running. In July in this town, runners get up at dawn. I just can't fathom. As much as I abhor carpeted environments populated by muscle-bound co-eds, their anorexic girlfriends, inane television programs, and horrible "rock" music, I can deal with it when the heat index is 105. I like running, not self-flagellation.

Last night J and I had a great dinner outside with friends - it may have been the last pleasantly cool night of the spring season. We ate yogurt-lemon-garlic-tumeric marinated chicken skewers, grilled mango, and cous cous. We drank magnificent ginger-infused mojitos. It was lovely, lovely.