So leave it to Oscar Wilde to quip, "Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative." He also is suspicious, "Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that they mean something else." Well, Oscar, tell me--is it hot enough for ya?!
Right now in Cleveland the heat is the main line beat. Sitting at a stoplight on Shaker Boulevard wishing the guy in front of me would pull up so I can nose into the shade. Obsessively watching the in-dash thermometer climb to 100. Unimaginative? Oh there's all kind of wild longings boiling in my overheated brain.
Maybe my insurance covers installation of a self-hydrating Camel's hump...maybe Freezee Pops come in packs of 200...maybe global warming is real. Thanks Al.
The denizens of Dante's Inferno be damned--you got nothin' on what we're facing in this pulsating & pounding mixture of run-amok rays and hot tater tot daze.
The only option? Affirm the heat. Believe in the roast. It's going to bake and broil outside your air-conditioned luxury, but eventually you'll have to face the fry.
You will sweat and proclaim it's never been so hot. And you will mention the temperature to your friends or neighbors or strangers when melted road tar sticks to your feet. You see dear Oscar, my dandy Irish Poet, it's not about idle conversation lacking imagination, or hiding nefarious intentions, it's about declaring exactly on the spot, "WOW IT'S HOT!!"