By Garret Leiva
Herald editor
If Mr. Obvious utters the words 'hot enough for ya?' feel free to pummel him with the Old Farmer's Almanac — preferably a hardbound edition.
Truth be told, I debated writing this column because I didn't want to break a sweat thinking too hard. Then I realized that I could blame my normal deliriousness on the heat index. And I could start sentences with conjunctions and end in prepositions because syntax goes out the window when multiple box fans go in.
All apologies to Strunk and White, but it's too hot for semantics.
This past week we have weathered constantly changing climate conditions. Some mornings you awake to sweltering and before you can jump into the shower it's already oppressive. Just toweling off makes you perspire. Sticky weather best describes the state of one's underwear after walking out to the mailbox.
As oven metaphors go, we've been broiled, baked and — like Aunt Gertrude's meatloaf — overcooked.
Which brings me to a nauseating statement: I kind of like it. Sure I complain, but a minuscule masochistic part of me enjoys the heat. Blame it on family ties to Cuba or a gene disorder from eating red dye #7 as a kid. Sick as it sounds, I'll step out of my air conditioned work environment for a quick stifling heat break.
Now I'm sure any roofer would trade me places, but I sort of miss those miserable summer jobs of my youth. Wearing long sleeves to put up hay, tar-stained blue jeans from patching roads and a greasy apron courtesy of cod splashing in the deep fryer. Each of these hot jobs left an indelible mark — and in some cases, scar tissue.
Of course it's easy to wax nostalgic when the office central air is chugging away at 100,000 BTUs.
Perhaps it's time to head out into Dante's dewpoint inferno and let the July humidity hit me full force; either that or a hardbound edition of the Old Farmer's Almanac.
Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or email gleiva@gtherald.com