Before the Heat

We interrupt our recent total absence of programming to bring you this brief, non-substantive announcement. Our pursuit of the Zero thus remains fatally compromised. Still, we persevere.

Here in the bloody maelstrom of fire, smoke, sun sun SUN, surf, sex and rotten teevee (I repeat myself) commonly known as "Los Angeles," we are about to have another heat wave. At least they've managed to get the worst of the recent fires under control before the Santa Anas arrive later today. See what's in store for us? Fanfuckingtastic.

I had just managed to pull my various faltering body parts into sufficiently recognizable human form to begin writing again. But the heat has had a very awful effect on me this summer. Let's hope this is the last of the very high temperatures, and that this episode will be mercifully brief. (The weather "forecasters" are already emitting noises that the heat may last until the weekend.)

I'll still try to do some writing this week, probably between 1 and 6 AM. When it gets this hot and given my health these days, all I can do between 1 PM and 10 or 11 at night is retire to a reclining position with a fan positioned to blow 90-plus degree air over my exhausted body. Moving hot air is very marginally preferable to hot air that just hangs over me. And the poor cats. Cyrano conks out on the bathroom floor, which is the coolest surface in the apartment. Wendy seeks refuge in the shadows under the bed. They join me on the bed as the sun goes down.

If the heat subsides toward the end of the week, I should be able to start publishing something then or over the weekend. So let it be written, so let it be done! (Yes, they make rotten movies here, too. And what was Anne Baxter thinking in that film, and why didn't C.B. stop her? Wait. They were probably thinking of the endless inspiration her performance would provide to generations of drag queens around the world. I unreservedly retract the criticism. Brava! If you don't know the film in question, shame, shame, shame.)

So, yes, I survive, kinda sorta. And as circumstances would have it, I have a lot to say about what's been going on. Christ, what a godawful mess. That would be bad enough, but it's the same mess over and over and over again. Which means I must continue the tribalism series (among other essays), to try to identify some of the reasons why so many people keep falling for the same exact shit time after time. (Fair warning: I fully intend to have an illegal amount of fun with the "progressive" movement. I am seriously considering the possibility that the "progressives" are, in fact, deviously clever political satirists. If they are serious and sincere in their recent behavior, that means only that they are significantly less self-aware, considerably more ignorant and more devoid of shame than the conservative movement of recent vintage. While I consider that explanation possible, it stretches my view of the elasticity of reality to the breaking point. Therefore, I find it much more credible that the progressives' behavior is intended to highlight, through wonderfully clever albeit extreme exaggeration and various other devices, the utter idiocy of those poseurs who pretend to challenge the status quo, when they actually embody and advance the status quo on every matter of moment. I would also point out that to view the progressives' performance as intentionally comedic and wittily targeted art is a far, far kinder interpretation of their otherwise embarrassingly, mortifyingly awful actions and attitudes. And after all, charity begins at blog. That is unquestionably one of the primary lessons of my copy of the Internetz Bible. The version of that bible in my possession is the standard one. I therefore contend that settles that.)

Pray for coolth. Let us reassemble several days hence. Please bring strong beverages. I can't imbibe the alcoholic ones any longer; they're bad for my heart saith the doctors, the unfeeling bastards. But at least I can smell the fumes as they waft toward me through the (hopefully) cooling air.

To the fans!