Or: On a scale of 1 to Walking on Sunshine, how hot is it today?
Don’t it feel good?
It’s been getting really hot these days and lately, people are running out of excuses to explain the heat away. Where before, you’d hear someone tell you that hey, it’s summer already, so please stop talking about how hot it is will you, now there’s only people repeating whatever the weatherman told them this morning. They repeat the day’s forecast in a daze, and sometimes, in incredulous anger, like it’s such a huge offense to be this hot.
36 degrees Celsius. That’s almost as hot as a person.
I’m not sure who gave the sun permission to be as hot as a person, but they’d better stop talking to it altogether before we start finding out for certain why moving to Mercury in case the Earth dies isn’t such a hot idea.
I want to climb inside our refrigerator and live in it forever. Make like a Shaolin fighter-in-training and meditate beneath a waterfall. Take a dive in a bucket of ice and hope it never melts.
This reminds me of Spike Lee’s joint Do the Right Thing (at which point, someone gives up and finally asks: “But Spike… what is the right thing?”). In the movie, the hot weather is Chekhov’s gun waiting to be fired, and gets mentioned so many times, that it completely transcends its form and becomes a side character of its own. The heat gets to be so bad, that after being mentioned the entire movie, it explodes into the plot’s climax, and finally influences the people to start a riot.
Of course, with it being a Spike Lee joint, the rioters are mostly Afro-Americans, while the people they’re rioting against are mostly white cops. Somebody dies in the riot and it’s not the character that’s played by Spike Lee. Don’t be fooled, though. It’s actually a very good movie.
Makes me wonder what I’d do if this heat gets any worse, but so far, the only thing I know I’m capable of right now is rioting against social norms by refusing to get off my ass and find a job.
Miracles happen when you acknowledge the presence of climate change. Stupid people shake on the spot, feeling the blood in their brains boil in a sign of rebellion, unable to handle hearing something that makes sense. Leonardo DiCaprio wins an Oscar. Who knows what’ll happen to me now that I’ve name-dropped it here.
Will I finally get the job I’ve been waiting for for three months? Or will I finally become fluent enough in Korean to be able to sing along with all the K-Pop songs I’ve stored in my iPod? Maybe the universe can throw me a bone and make the Boston Celtics go past the first round this time?
Who knows. In the meantime, I’m not holding my breath. I’m not stupid. Of course, I won’t rely on climate change to grant me my three wishes. Mother Nature’s a fickle woman, after all. But maybe I’ll start looking up the rain dance while waiting. You know, just in case.