Category Archives: heat

On just before midnight

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The day was hot, very hot, sweaty hot, but now it’s dark everywhere, the lights are on and the witching hour is almost upon us. The heat of the day lingers in the bricks, eminates off of the concrete of the sidwalks, and still softens the tar of the streets. Midnight is still no refuge from the white hot sun of July. You might hide out in your air-conditioning, behind double-paned glass, closed curtains, but heat is what July has, even at this hour of the night. Many of us cannot console our sleep well enough in order to drop off, so we haunt the late night, watching old movies, reading books, drinking water, and taking cold showers in hopes that we might be cool enough to fall asleep. It’s a struggle. The darkness is a minor consolation–at least we don’t need sunscreen to sleep. The day winds down into the darkness, and the creatures of the night stir, ready to run in the thin night air, unafraid of the lingering heat of the day. There cries, shouts, sometimes pathetic, sometimes savage, which hang in the dark, inexplicable and haunting, disembodied and fragmentary, not words, really, but strange pre-historic wails and barks. The heat hangs on like a stray dog with no where to go. People sit on benches and chat, knowing that going home is much worse than staying out late.

On just before midnight

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The day was hot, very hot, sweaty hot, but now it’s dark everywhere, the lights are on and the witching hour is almost upon us. The heat of the day lingers in the bricks, eminates off of the concrete of the sidwalks, and still softens the tar of the streets. Midnight is still no refuge from the white hot sun of July. You might hide out in your air-conditioning, behind double-paned glass, closed curtains, but heat is what July has, even at this hour of the night. Many of us cannot console our sleep well enough in order to drop off, so we haunt the late night, watching old movies, reading books, drinking water, and taking cold showers in hopes that we might be cool enough to fall asleep. It’s a struggle. The darkness is a minor consolation–at least we don’t need sunscreen to sleep. The day winds down into the darkness, and the creatures of the night stir, ready to run in the thin night air, unafraid of the lingering heat of the day. There cries, shouts, sometimes pathetic, sometimes savage, which hang in the dark, inexplicable and haunting, disembodied and fragmentary, not words, really, but strange pre-historic wails and barks. The heat hangs on like a stray dog with no where to go. People sit on benches and chat, knowing that going home is much worse than staying out late.

On a hot summer night

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Last night I couldn’t get to sleep at all, to coin a phrase. It is summer, course, and this is what summer is about: not sleeping because it’s just too hot–the bed is hot, the room is stifling, and no matter what posture you adopt, it is uncomfortable. Your neck is sweaty and sticky. Your head pounds just enough to keep you awake. You roll onto your side, trying to find that perfect posture that will bring sleep. Nothing. The minutes tick by. Maybe you should get up and read for a bit? Maybe a cold shower? Maybe you should eat something? You ponder all of this and all of a sudden you realize you have been in bed for an hour and you are still awake. The summer insomnia of a hot July night has you in its grasp, and you are helpless to escape. Once you realize what is going on, you not only can’t get to sleep, you now know that you can’t get to sleep. You have become self-aware of the problem, and sleep has sailed away into the night, leaving you on the shore of consciousness with no hope of getting off of that beach anytime soon. You obsess with being awake, which, of course, just aggravates the situation. In the meantime, morning is getting closer and closer, the night is still hot and humid, and now you are the only one still awake except for a few night creatures who wake up after dark. The garbage truck comes by. A few partiers are finally returning home after a long night debauchery and dissidence. You should be asleep. You should be doing your best simulacra of death, but you can’t, and you catch of glimpse of Phoebus nudging up to the horizon.

On a hot summer night

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Last night I couldn’t get to sleep at all, to coin a phrase. It is summer, course, and this is what summer is about: not sleeping because it’s just too hot–the bed is hot, the room is stifling, and no matter what posture you adopt, it is uncomfortable. Your neck is sweaty and sticky. Your head pounds just enough to keep you awake. You roll onto your side, trying to find that perfect posture that will bring sleep. Nothing. The minutes tick by. Maybe you should get up and read for a bit? Maybe a cold shower? Maybe you should eat something? You ponder all of this and all of a sudden you realize you have been in bed for an hour and you are still awake. The summer insomnia of a hot July night has you in its grasp, and you are helpless to escape. Once you realize what is going on, you not only can’t get to sleep, you now know that you can’t get to sleep. You have become self-aware of the problem, and sleep has sailed away into the night, leaving you on the shore of consciousness with no hope of getting off of that beach anytime soon. You obsess with being awake, which, of course, just aggravates the situation. In the meantime, morning is getting closer and closer, the night is still hot and humid, and now you are the only one still awake except for a few night creatures who wake up after dark. The garbage truck comes by. A few partiers are finally returning home after a long night debauchery and dissidence. You should be asleep. You should be doing your best simulacra of death, but you can’t, and you catch of glimpse of Phoebus nudging up to the horizon.

On freezing weather

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In central Texas, we are all freezing to death. After weeks and weeks, months and months of scorching days and 100 degree days, we are floundering in a morass of cold, rainy, freezing rain days and nights. By Minnesota standards this is not cold weather, but if you compare the relative coldness compared to our normal temperatures, we are really hurting. Even last Wednesday we were still in our shirt sleeves, no coats or hats, no sweaters or gloves–it was almost 80F on that day. The next day, however, was another story as temperatures plunged sixty degrees into the upper twenties. Perhaps if the temperatures had slowly gone down, bit by bit, we might have gotten used to the changing temperatures, and it wouldn’t have felt so cold. Since then, we have been walking around bundled up like a bunch of errant Michelin Men, dressed in multiple layers, hunting for our seldom used hats and our dusty gloves. We lean into the bitter northwest wind as if this will make it hurt less. We pull back into our coats like scared turtles, trying to stay warm. Perhaps if the wind were less biting, or the damp air less frigid, then we might have a chance against the cold air. So we go about our daily duties, off to work, walking to class, cutting across campus to get a cup of coffee, pretending that we are not freezing to death. Perhaps the best way to get used to the cold is to spend some time out in it? Living in the blazing temperatures of central Texas exacts a high toll: we are no longer any good at dealing with a cold day. We are wimps.

On freezing weather

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In central Texas, we are all freezing to death. After weeks and weeks, months and months of scorching days and 100 degree days, we are floundering in a morass of cold, rainy, freezing rain days and nights. By Minnesota standards this is not cold weather, but if you compare the relative coldness compared to our normal temperatures, we are really hurting. Even last Wednesday we were still in our shirt sleeves, no coats or hats, no sweaters or gloves–it was almost 80F on that day. The next day, however, was another story as temperatures plunged sixty degrees into the upper twenties. Perhaps if the temperatures had slowly gone down, bit by bit, we might have gotten used to the changing temperatures, and it wouldn’t have felt so cold. Since then, we have been walking around bundled up like a bunch of errant Michelin Men, dressed in multiple layers, hunting for our seldom used hats and our dusty gloves. We lean into the bitter northwest wind as if this will make it hurt less. We pull back into our coats like scared turtles, trying to stay warm. Perhaps if the wind were less biting, or the damp air less frigid, then we might have a chance against the cold air. So we go about our daily duties, off to work, walking to class, cutting across campus to get a cup of coffee, pretending that we are not freezing to death. Perhaps the best way to get used to the cold is to spend some time out in it? Living in the blazing temperatures of central Texas exacts a high toll: we are no longer any good at dealing with a cold day. We are wimps.

On a hot day in central Texas

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I need to whine a little bit about the heat because, surprise, it was another hot day in central Texas today. To say simply that it was hot is to underestimate completely the phenomenon that is hot weather in Texas. By 9 a.m. one could already feel a very hot sun beating on one’s shoulders, and that blinding white light of endless sunshine was quickly invading the long shadows of the morning. One doesn’t know whether to put on more clothes to protect from the heat or wear less clothing in a futile attempt to stay cool. The point is that no matter what you do to try and stay cool, you will get hot if you must flee the cool comfort of your air-conditioning. Trying to stay cool in the heat is pointless, futile, torture. Just walking ten minutes to another building is a challenge because there is never enough shade. The heat is a lot like wearing an extra coat and you can’t take it off. No matter where you go, it follows you around, turning the inside of your car into an oven, burning the lawn to a crisp, reddening your skin, and making you feel tired and spiritless. If I wanted to live in a perpetual sauna, I would have one installed in my backyard. Instead, Mother Nature has installed a persistent high pressure dome over central Texas, driving the daily temperatures up to 100F almost every day. Now, there are people who like the heat and moved to central Texas to take advantage of this suburb of the sun, but I don’t get it. I know that some people have swallowed their fair share of winters, snow, cold, and ice, and don’t ever want to see another snow bank again and have taken refuge in central Texas, one of the hottest places in the United States outside of Florida and California. I think they are over-reacting, but then again, I find nothing attractive in this non-stop heat, sweat, and steam. Growing up in the cold, cool spaces of Minnesota, I put in my time with dead cold temperatures, icy roads and sidewalks, blinding snows, and endless gray days, but I think, and I know this is totally subjective, that the cold was a little less oppressive than the endless heat of August and September in central Texas. The heat makes even the simplest chores a lot of work. Even going for a walk, getting a little well-needed exercise, is almost impossible. Doing any kind of yardwork is almost impossible. Being outside for any length of time borders on dangerous. Perhaps it would be less oppressive if there was a break in the daily routine, but this time of year the weather is the same every day for about two months. It doesn’t rain, and it cools off very little at night and lows in the eighties are not uncommon, especially in August. The monotony of the daily heat is depressing, continuous, unending. I know I have a bad attitude about this, that dealing with the heat is just a state of mind, that a bit of heat is really not the end of the world, that sometime in October, the temperatures will go down and relief will come. In the meantime, this hot weather makes me feel out of sorts, grumpy, even. In the meantime, I can only dream about cool air, frosty mornings, errant snow showers, and cold rain.

On a hot day in central Texas

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I need to whine a little bit about the heat because, surprise, it was another hot day in central Texas today. To say simply that it was hot is to underestimate completely the phenomenon that is hot weather in Texas. By 9 a.m. one could already feel a very hot sun beating on one’s shoulders, and that blinding white light of endless sunshine was quickly invading the long shadows of the morning. One doesn’t know whether to put on more clothes to protect from the heat or wear less clothing in a futile attempt to stay cool. The point is that no matter what you do to try and stay cool, you will get hot if you must flee the cool comfort of your air-conditioning. Trying to stay cool in the heat is pointless, futile, torture. Just walking ten minutes to another building is a challenge because there is never enough shade. The heat is a lot like wearing an extra coat and you can’t take it off. No matter where you go, it follows you around, turning the inside of your car into an oven, burning the lawn to a crisp, reddening your skin, and making you feel tired and spiritless. If I wanted to live in a perpetual sauna, I would have one installed in my backyard. Instead, Mother Nature has installed a persistent high pressure dome over central Texas, driving the daily temperatures up to 100F almost every day. Now, there are people who like the heat and moved to central Texas to take advantage of this suburb of the sun, but I don’t get it. I know that some people have swallowed their fair share of winters, snow, cold, and ice, and don’t ever want to see another snow bank again and have taken refuge in central Texas, one of the hottest places in the United States outside of Florida and California. I think they are over-reacting, but then again, I find nothing attractive in this non-stop heat, sweat, and steam. Growing up in the cold, cool spaces of Minnesota, I put in my time with dead cold temperatures, icy roads and sidewalks, blinding snows, and endless gray days, but I think, and I know this is totally subjective, that the cold was a little less oppressive than the endless heat of August and September in central Texas. The heat makes even the simplest chores a lot of work. Even going for a walk, getting a little well-needed exercise, is almost impossible. Doing any kind of yardwork is almost impossible. Being outside for any length of time borders on dangerous. Perhaps it would be less oppressive if there was a break in the daily routine, but this time of year the weather is the same every day for about two months. It doesn’t rain, and it cools off very little at night and lows in the eighties are not uncommon, especially in August. The monotony of the daily heat is depressing, continuous, unending. I know I have a bad attitude about this, that dealing with the heat is just a state of mind, that a bit of heat is really not the end of the world, that sometime in October, the temperatures will go down and relief will come. In the meantime, this hot weather makes me feel out of sorts, grumpy, even. In the meantime, I can only dream about cool air, frosty mornings, errant snow showers, and cold rain.

On walking in the shade

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Summer, July, specifically, always reminds me of my eternal for shadow. The sun and I just don’t get along at all. Light snow and 27F and I’m happy. So today I’m out for my daily constitutional and it’s already pushing 90F really hard, there are no clouds in sight, and the early morning shade of the buildings is already in short supply. I move from tree to tree only the sidewalk, but the shade is quickly dwindling, and the white light of the sun beating down on the Castilian central mesa is brutal. At just around 2,030 feet of elevation, the air is just thin enough to let the sun fry you to a crisp if you let it. Since the average humidity is just under 30% on any given day in summer, the shade is a nice refuge from the sun–you feel warm, but you aren’t going to pass out from heat stroke either. You can even feel the breeze when you walk in the shade. The problem is, however, there isn’t enough shade to go around, and frequently the geometry between the angle of the sun and the orientation of the buildings is wrong, leaving you out in the sun. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no vampire, I can handle a little sun, but this is not the time of year to find out how much. Funny thing is that when you want a little heating from the sun–mid-January, let’s say–you can’t get it because of the low angle of the sun all day. The shade is the last refuge of the air-conditionally challenged. Sitting in the shade and drinking a nice, cold glass of lemonade is a fine thing do on a hot July day, but installing new sidewalk in the middle of the burning sunshine holds absolutely no interest for me. I saw lots of people working out in the sun this morning even before it was really hot, and none of them looked as if they were enjoying any of it. Things slow down in July precisely because there is not a enough shade to go around and everyone must share. The shade is lit by indirect light which means the bright whiteness of the day won’t hurt your eyes–colors are muted, shadows are deeper, a million shades of gray play off the multiple urban surfaces of the city. To sit in the shade on a hot summer day and do nothing but relax is a pleasure which must be experienced rather than narrated. When you have already been sweating, your mouth is dry, your head is hurting, you feel hot, and the shade is nowhere to be seen, summer seems incredibly cruel. I’ve been through cold, ice, and snow, biting winds, and bitter cold temperatures, but I’ve never felt worse than when I’ve had to work in the blazing sun with no respite in sight, sweat streaming down my face, running everywhere. There is something about the bright light, the heat, that hurts my soul, that makes me feel bad, that makes me want to stay inside, to forget my daily constitutional. Yet, walking outside is such an important part of good health, both mental and physical, that I must face my worst enemy and venture out into the sun, the light, the heat. Yes, I wear a hat, sunscreen, and that helps alleviate the heat, but it doesn’t make it go away. Only the earth, tilted on its axis, moving blindly around the sun, changing the angle of the sun, gives me any relief, but in the meantime, I will continue to walk in the shade.

On walking in the shade

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Summer, July, specifically, always reminds me of my eternal for shadow. The sun and I just don’t get along at all. Light snow and 27F and I’m happy. So today I’m out for my daily constitutional and it’s already pushing 90F really hard, there are no clouds in sight, and the early morning shade of the buildings is already in short supply. I move from tree to tree only the sidewalk, but the shade is quickly dwindling, and the white light of the sun beating down on the Castilian central mesa is brutal. At just around 2,030 feet of elevation, the air is just thin enough to let the sun fry you to a crisp if you let it. Since the average humidity is just under 30% on any given day in summer, the shade is a nice refuge from the sun–you feel warm, but you aren’t going to pass out from heat stroke either. You can even feel the breeze when you walk in the shade. The problem is, however, there isn’t enough shade to go around, and frequently the geometry between the angle of the sun and the orientation of the buildings is wrong, leaving you out in the sun. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no vampire, I can handle a little sun, but this is not the time of year to find out how much. Funny thing is that when you want a little heating from the sun–mid-January, let’s say–you can’t get it because of the low angle of the sun all day. The shade is the last refuge of the air-conditionally challenged. Sitting in the shade and drinking a nice, cold glass of lemonade is a fine thing do on a hot July day, but installing new sidewalk in the middle of the burning sunshine holds absolutely no interest for me. I saw lots of people working out in the sun this morning even before it was really hot, and none of them looked as if they were enjoying any of it. Things slow down in July precisely because there is not a enough shade to go around and everyone must share. The shade is lit by indirect light which means the bright whiteness of the day won’t hurt your eyes–colors are muted, shadows are deeper, a million shades of gray play off the multiple urban surfaces of the city. To sit in the shade on a hot summer day and do nothing but relax is a pleasure which must be experienced rather than narrated. When you have already been sweating, your mouth is dry, your head is hurting, you feel hot, and the shade is nowhere to be seen, summer seems incredibly cruel. I’ve been through cold, ice, and snow, biting winds, and bitter cold temperatures, but I’ve never felt worse than when I’ve had to work in the blazing sun with no respite in sight, sweat streaming down my face, running everywhere. There is something about the bright light, the heat, that hurts my soul, that makes me feel bad, that makes me want to stay inside, to forget my daily constitutional. Yet, walking outside is such an important part of good health, both mental and physical, that I must face my worst enemy and venture out into the sun, the light, the heat. Yes, I wear a hat, sunscreen, and that helps alleviate the heat, but it doesn’t make it go away. Only the earth, tilted on its axis, moving blindly around the sun, changing the angle of the sun, gives me any relief, but in the meantime, I will continue to walk in the shade.