Thursday, Jun. 26, 2003
Dear Diary:

We had one of those dramatic thundershowers last night so today instead of being as hot as the sixth circle of hell, it has dropped to the balmy temperatures normally seen in the first circle of hell.

Perspective. Life is all about perspective.

Sadly, even this improvement does have a down side. It's true what they say about infernos: it's not the heat, it's the humidity. Since it's insanely humid here, it's still insanely uncomfortable.

The good news is that it's too wet for me to work on the fire escape (or to paint our front steps or deck which are my next projects on the dreaded Summer To Do List). Fortunately, by the time the sun swings around to the west side of the house to dry them out, it will be too hot to paint.

Oh. Wait. Did I say that was good news? What I meant to say is that I am simply desolate over the fact that today I can't do any painting. No. Really. I mean it. I may be forced to dig out my big inner tube and go float out in my cool, spring fed pond with the frogs. For hours and hours.

You can well imagine my distress.

Actually, floating out in my cool, spring fed pond is not everything it's cracked up to be. Frogs are extremely judgmental creatures. They float along side you, nothing but the tops of their heads and eyes above the water, and stare at you in the most critical way imaginable. You can almost see the little thought balloons over their heads:

"Hey, lady, you ever heard to triceps exercises? With upper arms like those you must be part flying squirrel."

"Hey, lady, with flaccid abs like those you don't need the inner tube--you're carrying your own inner tube with ya."

Amphibians are the Olympians of the sarcasm world.

Yesterday, during the hottest hours of the day, I drove down to my gym and did my workout. I was the only person there. Can you imagine? I mean, there it was, 95 plus degrees out, something like 98.22 per cent humidity and Nobody Else Had Thought To Go To The Gym.

What are the odds?

I'm thinking about going back this afternoon. They keep my gym air-conditioned to temperatures seldom seen outside of tundra regions. It was actually far more pleasant to be running on the elliptical machine there than it would have been to be, oh, say, gasping for breath while scraping rust off a fire escape.

Frankly, if my locker was just a teensy bit bigger, a little less, uh, olfactory challenged, and not in another country, I would seriously consider moving into it for the next month or so.

At least there nothing needs to be painted, eh?

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 321.1 miles (516.7 kilometers) Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck. Half way smoochTen percent there rubber duck.
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers

Going Nowhere Collaboration

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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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