Suzy Says

I’m feeling quite virtuous, which is so unusual for me that I feel compelled to report it. And I feel virtuous even though I have just demolished half a tiny bag of orange spice almonds. Damn Real Foods for putting them right by the check-out, especially because all I was buying was virtuous laundry soap and dish soap, all biodegradeable, no animal products, or testing, etc. Like I said, virtuous.

I have a load of laundry in as I write, and I have also wrapped all of John’s birthday presents. For those who don’t know, it’s April 12, or 1 week away. So go buy something, or e-mail him at bazuemague@yahoo.com (don’t ask).

It’s overcast and depressing today, so I walked (partially virtuous) to North Beach with the intention of taking the 45 bus from Washington Square. I just missed one, and sat down on one of the green benches to await the arrival of the next one. There’s usually fun people-watching there, and you can almost always count on a dog or two, but no dogs today. And it looked like there was a heap of black clothes on the grass on the Moose’s side of the square.

The bus took more than 10 minutes to arrive, which equals one hour in Suzy time, so I was getting really bored and starting to look for a cab when the heap of clothes started moving. It was an elderly gentleman who got up, dusted off his hat, which had a little red feather in it, collected his briefcase, which he must have been using for a pillow, and his cane, and started walking slowly toward the cathedral, looking like Martin Landau as Bela Lugosi in the genius movie Ed Wood (why isn’t that on DVD?), and just as heart-wrenching.

But it made me think: would I have been sympathetic to him if he hadn’t had the accoutrements of cane, briefcase and hat? I probably would have dismissed him as one of the many homeless and/or crazy people who meander the streets. A sobering thought. Feeling less virtuous at this point.

On my way down Polk Street, I saw that La Place du Soleil had a charming and touching tribute to the Queen Mother in their window. It was a picture of her in her coronation robes and crown, in a pretty gold frame and surmounted with a black chiffon bow. I think she would have approved, especially of the little dog sleeping peacefully in front of the photo.

Love/Hate for Friday, April 5, 2002

Heat

I hate being overheated. Hatehatehate. I especially hate sweating. In fact, I personally believe there’s only one good reason to sweat, and it ain’t exercise. At least, not in a gym.

When I lived on the east coast, I used to start dreading summer in February. The summers were hot, humid, and bug-filled. I’d start sweating just getting dressed in the morning, and when I stepped out the door to go to work, it was like a hot, wet blanket had been lifted out of the washer and draped over me. I never felt clean, or comfortable.

After one stifling summer too many, I started renting an air conditioner for the summer. It was an excEt arrangement. The appliance company would come out and install it in May or so, and then take it away again in October, and I didn’t have to come up with all the money to buy my own. And I was able to actually sleep on summer nights instead of tossing and turning with a sweaty sheet over me. Added bonus: the window was closed so the bugs had to stay in their own homes. If you do have to live in a climate which treats you like a TV dinner, going from the deep freeze to the oven, invest in air conditioning, either rent it or buy it. You’ll wonder how you ever did without it.

But when it’s too hot, you can be completely naked and still be too hot, and completely miserable. And it’s very unusual to be naked in most areas of daily life, so even if being naked did help, it wouldn’t make much difference. Your hair will either frizz out or go completely flat, depending on its nature. Your hands and feet will swell with indignation at being forced to endure such absurd extremes of temperature. You’ll sweat everywhere, making you damp, uncomfortable, and eventually, with the addition of oxygen, stinky. Your make-up will slide off your face as if by magic, since your face will be oily and sweaty, and it will begin to sprout zits, no matter what your age.

So is it all that surprising that people go crazy during heat waves and start killing their fellow man or other acts of violence? According to this article in the Guardian, the murder rate in New York City jumped by 75% during the heat wave of 1988, and all of England’s major riots have occurred in the summer. You don’t hear of people going nuts during a cold snap, or at least, if they do, it’s not because of the weather.