Saturday, July 9, 2011
10 More Creative Ways to Beat the Texas Heat
1. Never leave the house.
For me, this one’s a no-brainer, since I don’t like leaving my Fortress of Solitude anyway, unless forced at gunpoint or there’s a really good sale at Pier 1. If you close all the curtains, you won’t see the heat-stricken birds dropping out of the sky, and if you keep the TV or stereo on, you won’t hear all the plants on the patio committing hari-kari because they are tired of drooping all the time and waiting for you to remember to water them.
2. Take it out on your significant other.
Of course, it’s not your partner’s fault that the sidewalks are melting. But you know that at some point during the day they are going to say something that sets you off, and since you’re already mad about your underwear being vacu-sealed to your crack, the resulting argument is going to be more explosive than normal. Be proactive. Attack first, getting out all the really good zingers before your partner has enough time to react and adequately counterpoint.
As a bonus side effect, your now-disgruntled partner may stomp out of the room. This is a good thing, at least for now. The fewer body-heat-churning humans in a given space, the better. You probably won’t get any slap-and-tickle for a few days, but it’s really too hot for that anyway, right? You can bang a gong in the Fall.
3. Watch “Titanic”.
Fast-forward past the boo-boo with the berg and the rude rich people that took all the good orchestra seats in the lifeboats. See all those folks floating in the water, clinging to things like toilet seats and croquet mallets? Those folks are really cold. As in dying because of it. Don’t you feel a little better now? Wouldn’t you rather be over-exerting your antiperspirant than bobbing about while your eyeballs freeze, and that annoying band keeps playing even though you know damn well they aren’t going to get paid overtime? Thought so.
4. Take advantage of your neighbor’s penchant for the latest gadgets.
You know the neighbor I’m talking about. The one who is outside right now, watering his lawn with that extra-fancy sprinkler thingy that squirts powerful water in 47 different directions. March over to his yard, snatch up the sprinkler contraption, and shove it down your pants. I assure you it will be quite refreshing and fun, assuming the jets hit all the good places and not the delicate spots.
If your neighbor expresses some form of dismay over your actions, don’t worry about it. A good friend supports you no matter what, and if he can’t find the decency to do that, then he can just move. But you should fight for custody of the sprinkler, which he probably won’t even want after you’re done.
5. Live in the freezer.
This is much easier, naturally, if you have one of those big-ass lean-over-and-reach-in coffin-shaped extravaganzas. But it can still be accomplished by climbing into the top section of your refrigerator. A little cramped, maybe, but eventually soothing. In either case, though, be prepared for irritating friends and relatives ripping open the door, looking for a rump roast, right as you are trying to take a shower or watch a Seinfeld rerun. People are always barging in without knocking, the bastards.
6. Attend a Tea Party planning session.
That’s gotta be one of the coldest rooms in the country, right? Bet they don’t even have to turn the AC on.
7. Work in a meat-packing warehouse.
Watch out for those hooks on the conveyor thing, though. That’s one E-ticket ride that’s not worth standing in line for. And if you’re a vegetarian, to maintain your integrity, you’ll have to work in the refrigeration section of a tofu processing plant. The sight of all that colorless jiggling may put you off after a while, but at least you’re not sweating.
8. Finally go off the deep end.
You’ve been halfway to Crazyville for a while now. Why not check off those last few miles and check in to a sanitarium? If you lose your mind, then you aren’t going to be aware of it being overheated or not. Yes, there will be some minor irritations, like restricted travel and a steady diet of pudding, and you can no longer play with sharp things or sign documents. But there’s a very big plus: You can finally say exactly what you want to say to people without consequence or the changing of legal wills.
I’d be fond of this option even if I didn’t live in Texas.
9. Drink excessively.
As in alcohol, not hydrating sports drinks or celebrity-endorsed vitamin water that is really from somebody’s garden hose in Chicken Scratch, Nebraska. Fire water is what does the trick. Comfortably numb. You won’t care that your body hasn’t been fully dry since April. Or about anything, really. Yay!
10. Leave the state.
Although this sounds similar to #8, we’re talking about an actual physical adjustment here, not a mental one. Throw all your important crap in the car, flip off your bad-egg neighbor and his toys, and drive to a state where people can identify white stuff falling from the sky and you will have an actual reason to wear the parka that has not been out of your closet since 1987.
Don’t bother to pack the less-important stuff. Hire someone for that. Let other people suffer in the triple-digit heat and claw at their faces because it hasn’t rained in three years. You’re going to a happy place. Breathe. Relax. Exfoliate.
And if you’ve been tippling the fire water, make sure you head in the right direction…