It's not even June 21st, and Mother Nature has decided to gear up to make my life just a little worse between now and until I die.
Oh, and yes, the title is pretty much ripped from the line of the song Cruel Summer.
I may have been born in Hong Kong, but for the record (for about the 237th time), I was born there, but it doesn't make me any more tolerant to heat, even if it should have. Humid hot is the worst - the air is heavy and wet, you're all sticky and you're struggling for each breath. Mother Nature's chokehold just about suits this phenomenon, and she probably wrestles too. It isn't made anymore comfortable by the fact my room is just above the garage. Roof shingles are generally asphalt-y, and asphalt, being black-coloured, absorbs light, gets all hot, and I can probably see the wavy lines during high noon. The window faces the direction the wind blows, so I get no wind. That is, my window opens to the right. Conveniently, the wind blows from the west, which is obviously my right. Entertaining as it is, even if my room were converted into a meat locker, it'd still be warmer than any other room in the house, plus, heat rises. Damn physics, I've been had again by you.
This means I've always liked to relocate into the basement, or the family room (I'd call it a den, but it's far from one) until the sun sets. During the long, hot days of summer, sleeping on the couch is a luxury (particularily because I'm not married and have a wife force me down there for thinking/doing/being stupid). I do wish pillows had more sides though, because as soon as that side you're resting on is warm, you switch it over. But what happens when you have to switch it again? That "still cooling down" feeling.
And to touch on the subject again regarding women's summer ... appearance (for lack of a better word). It's been pointed time in, time out - they dress as if to be stared at, but any bit of staring results in either a slap to the face, a eye full of pepper spray, a combination of both, or in the extremely rare case, a Hadouken. Now, for some women, that's not too bad, for some others, looking one way means you look regardless, especially in ... closer quarters. Not that close, but it's quite hard to concentrate with the fairly revealing top and the short skirt/shorts, especially if she is sitting in front of you. But as I said, close, but not that close. But close enough.
Here's a start for the summer season. I wouldn't say I've made anything of myself yet (or ever), but I've done something for myself. I cleaned my room. This is because I have a spiffy, new 19" monitor. I cleaned my desk to make room for it, which led to cleaning most of the rest of my room. I emphasize clean beacause, first, it is not infact entirely clean. I do not refer to the location and presense of the unavoidable villain, dust, but rather because I simply ... haven't finished cleaning my room. It was going to be my Mother's Day gift, but it's still a work in progress, and only 6-year-olds use this for a Mother's Day gift. Don't ask what I got for my mother, because I didn't. Wait, did I just say that out loud? Crap.
Secondly, my room is not clean in another sense, because I follow the Law of Conservation of Mess. Yes, I'm taking a shot at you, physics. An eye for an eye. Though it's not as equal as it should be. The law of conservation of mass states no matter can be created or destroyed. So, the same applies for messes, or if you really want to make this a real scientific law, use the word "disorganizationalification", because it sounds more sciencey. I may clean my room, but as I do, someone's room is getting more "disorganizationalificated". So, if you see/have a half-clean room (or half-dirty), it might be because of me. You can't defy physics, but I just made it work in my favour.
Oh, and yes, the title is pretty much ripped from the line of the song Cruel Summer.
I may have been born in Hong Kong, but for the record (for about the 237th time), I was born there, but it doesn't make me any more tolerant to heat, even if it should have. Humid hot is the worst - the air is heavy and wet, you're all sticky and you're struggling for each breath. Mother Nature's chokehold just about suits this phenomenon, and she probably wrestles too. It isn't made anymore comfortable by the fact my room is just above the garage. Roof shingles are generally asphalt-y, and asphalt, being black-coloured, absorbs light, gets all hot, and I can probably see the wavy lines during high noon. The window faces the direction the wind blows, so I get no wind. That is, my window opens to the right. Conveniently, the wind blows from the west, which is obviously my right. Entertaining as it is, even if my room were converted into a meat locker, it'd still be warmer than any other room in the house, plus, heat rises. Damn physics, I've been had again by you.
This means I've always liked to relocate into the basement, or the family room (I'd call it a den, but it's far from one) until the sun sets. During the long, hot days of summer, sleeping on the couch is a luxury (particularily because I'm not married and have a wife force me down there for thinking/doing/being stupid). I do wish pillows had more sides though, because as soon as that side you're resting on is warm, you switch it over. But what happens when you have to switch it again? That "still cooling down" feeling.
And to touch on the subject again regarding women's summer ... appearance (for lack of a better word). It's been pointed time in, time out - they dress as if to be stared at, but any bit of staring results in either a slap to the face, a eye full of pepper spray, a combination of both, or in the extremely rare case, a Hadouken. Now, for some women, that's not too bad, for some others, looking one way means you look regardless, especially in ... closer quarters. Not that close, but it's quite hard to concentrate with the fairly revealing top and the short skirt/shorts, especially if she is sitting in front of you. But as I said, close, but not that close. But close enough.
Here's a start for the summer season. I wouldn't say I've made anything of myself yet (or ever), but I've done something for myself. I cleaned my room. This is because I have a spiffy, new 19" monitor. I cleaned my desk to make room for it, which led to cleaning most of the rest of my room. I emphasize clean beacause, first, it is not infact entirely clean. I do not refer to the location and presense of the unavoidable villain, dust, but rather because I simply ... haven't finished cleaning my room. It was going to be my Mother's Day gift, but it's still a work in progress, and only 6-year-olds use this for a Mother's Day gift. Don't ask what I got for my mother, because I didn't. Wait, did I just say that out loud? Crap.
Secondly, my room is not clean in another sense, because I follow the Law of Conservation of Mess. Yes, I'm taking a shot at you, physics. An eye for an eye. Though it's not as equal as it should be. The law of conservation of mass states no matter can be created or destroyed. So, the same applies for messes, or if you really want to make this a real scientific law, use the word "disorganizationalification", because it sounds more sciencey. I may clean my room, but as I do, someone's room is getting more "disorganizationalificated". So, if you see/have a half-clean room (or half-dirty), it might be because of me. You can't defy physics, but I just made it work in my favour.
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