It's been hotter than blue blazes in my apartment the last few days--or, as my father would say, "hot enough to boil an owl." Why does he say this? you ask. Excellent question, I answer.
The point is, it's hot. The air conditioning system has gone on the fritz, you see, and with temperatures here in Chicago hovering around 90, all I want to do when I'm home is dim the lights, take off all my clothes, open every window, and wait for a cool breeze to pass through like absolution.
This reminds me of a quote from Philip Roth's "Goodbye, Columbus," but I'm not going to look it up for you because it's way too hot to go looking stuff up. I don't even want to have sex, you guys. Cheyenne Jackson himself could saunter into my apartment right now and be like, "I would like to have sex with you"--and, yes, I would go through with it, but only to avoid hurting his feelings (I see no need to abandon manners, heat stroke or no).
I keep thinking, what did they do in the olden days, before air conditioners were invented? I mean, no wonder they never smiled in photographs and were racist. They were cranky from the heat! If someone took a photograph of me right now, I wouldn't be smiling either. And you know what else? A little piece of me is starting to dislike the Dutch.
Do you see what a lack of conditioned air is doing to me? I can't live like this!
My short review of Annoyance Productions' Sodomites!! A Musical of Biblical Proportions is in this week's Chicago Reader.