Did I mention that it's hot out there?

I'm lucky. Really lucky. Where I live is about as nice a climate as you can be in: Orange County, California, about two miles from the Pacific Coast. That means we never get fogged in, but we're always blessed by cool Pacific air. Pity the souls who live in Houston, Atlanta or even my birthplace of Minneapolis. (My personal vision of Hell is Minneapolis in February - with mosquitoes.) For some reason though, over the weekend, it was hot. In the high 90s. And for a spoiled little twit such as myself, that was bad. Of course, it could be worse. Ask the denizens of Houston, New Orleans or Mobile, who swelter through impossibly long summers.

Then there's my previous place of residence in Woodland Hills, in the western end of the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles. It hit 110 (farenheit) the other day. And it was humid. And very smoggy. That's ridiculous. I gotta run, but I'll leave you with this one: when I lived there, my hobby in the September heat was watching people spontaneously burst into flames.

Spontaneous human combustion. What a concept.