The Turkey has been slacking. It’s the weather here, I think.
Gotta be something. Hell, I love to write and I love to inspire controversy. I haven’t been doing much of either lately.
In the immortal words of Governator Arnold Schwartzenegger, “I’ll be back!” Well, in a little while, anyway.
For those of you who have not experienced the Central Florida summer firsthand, let me give you the forecast for today, tonight, and tomorrow, ad infinitum. Morning sunniness, giving way to afternoon thunderstorms (some of which are violent tornado spawners, replete with hail in excess of one-inch (25 mm) diameter) between 3:30 and 7 PM (just in time to screw up rush hour). High in the mid-90s (that’s around 35C to those who use modern temperature scales). Overnight lows in the upper 70s (mid-20s for you of the metric crowd*). Relative humidity 80%, replenished daily by the thunderstorms. That’s the forecast from mid-May to mid-October, our Central Florida summer.
Enough to curl your hair, ain’t it?
As I write this, AccuWeather says that the “Real Feel” is 102F (in metric terms, that’s friggin’ hot!).
Although the 2004 hurricanes remain a thoroughly unpleasant and not too distant memory, by mid-July each year Central Floridians long for a break in the weather pattern, even welcoming tropical cyclones for variety. While no one wishes for the destructiveness of the nefarious troika of Charley, Frances, and Jeanne, a named (albeit not Saffir-Simpson categorized) tropical storm serves to create a buzz for a while, clean some dead wood off the trees, and bring a crisp freshness to the air for a day or two. ????? ????? A side benefit of a tropical storm incursion is in replenishing the drought stricken and development depleted Florida aquifer with 10 or 12 inches ( 25 – 30 cm) of rain on storm day, which also serves to extinguish various and sundry vestigial wildfires started during the dry season.
Major storms are the only break in the summer monotony for Central Floridians. ????? ????? ?? bet365 Otherwise, it is business as usual, which means slow business or no business, a veritable May to October siesta.
Indeed, the writing business is slow here in Turkeyland. It is hard to be creative when you must endure the constant harangue of the air conditioner bitching to you that it intends to go on strike if it is continually pressed into oppressive service in violation of the Fair Labor Standards Act. Why does my air conditioner object to a 168-hour work week? Sweat shop, indeed! Perhaps Barack Obama can figure out how to return it to a 35-hour week while increasing its pay and giving it free filters (paid for by some “rich” person making ,000 per year) for the rest of its life. ????? ??? ????? ?? ??????? He seems to be good at that and his diatribe is convincing to the masses. But I digress. (Notice how I worked irrational Obamamania in here so subtly. This could be a portent of future Turkey rants — hell, I can promise that it will be.)
This Turkey will be taking another heat escape vacation next weekend and the following week. This time, it will take me and my favorite mother hen, Jenny, to the mountains of North Carolina. Upon my return, and after shoveling the inevitable shitload of stuff that arrives in my absence, I’ll be ready to resume my odoriferous fuming, including the Official Turkey Poop Prediction for the forthcoming Penn State football season, an Official Nittany Turkey endorsement of a presidential candidate (or perhaps, of no presidential candidate), and a few words about why our health care system sucks so bad and why increased socialization of it will put the final nail in its coffin. I just want to give you something to look forward to while I break my metallic neck hiking in the mountains.
So, please stay tuned.
*The metric system is officially mandated in every country except the United States of America, Liberia, and Myannmar. Despite acts aimed at adoption of the worldwide system passed by Congress in 1975 and 1988, and a similarly intended executive order by President George H. W. Bush in 1991, the metricalization of the U.S. was finally torpedoed by Congress in the waning days of the Clinton Administration in 2000. We were all set to go metric, but then the usual political machinations involving the desire to please everyone in return for their votes got in the way, thus ensuring that we would remain in the ranks of the backwater tin-pot so-called republics which lack the wherewithal or the conviction to complete the changeover. It seems that we as a nation are no longer capabable of swallowing a bitter pill that will make us better in the long run.
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The Redhead says
On the day of this post, The Redhead joined her running group for a couple of miles. We took it slow–even though it was 6pm, it was 92 degrees under a blazing sun and no breeze. When we could we grabbed little pockets of shade. After a little over mile one I had to start taking frequent walk breaks. As I’ve been coming back from a two month layoff due to an injury, my fitness is not up to my half marathoning standard. I sent my pals on ahead because I knew if I kept going I would be in danger of heat exhaustion or worse. I was able to cool down and run a little to get back to the start where my fellow runners gather around the all-important water cooler. Ah, did that taste good. Will I run again in the heat? Yes. But training in Florida summers can be deadly–you’ve got to be careful. And as the Turkey knows, sometimes you just get caught in the heat and you do what you have to do to get cool and rehydrated.
Popsicle anyone?
The Redhead.
The Nittany Turkey says
The Turkey knows. Heat exhaustion was responsible for one of my two near death experiences in the Little/Big Econ State Forest (soon to be renamed the Charles H. Bronson State Forest, for purely egotistical political reasons, but I digress). The mercury shot out the top of the thermometer that day, reaching 102F, and God only knows what the “RealFeel” was. The humidity was high, so it had to be up there around 120 or so. No wind was blowing. I was in the forest, desperately trying to find shade between the open meadows I had to traverse, as I stopped sweating (with the humidity high and ambient temperature greater than body temperature, that happens). My body was directing blood away from vital organs to go to the human radiator, the capillaries close to the skin, in a desperate attempt to cool itself down. My vision began to narrow and fleetingly black out. I was lightheaded and my muscles felt weak. I lay down on some pine needles for a little rest, thinking this is what people think they’re doing when they die in the desert. I had plenty of water and was staying hydrated, but it didn’t help. I was out at high noon and there was no hiding from that sun. I lay there for a good fifteen minutes and when I got up I felt no better than I had before I rested. It was a struggle to walk the remaining mile back to the Jeep.
When I got home, I went to my bedroom, cranked the air conditioner down as low as it would go, turned on the ceiling fan, stripped and prostrated myself, trying to cool down. I couldn’t. It took me about 12 hours before I felt I was back to normal.
So, don’t fool around with heat.
The other near death experience in the LBESF (soon to be named the CHBSF)? That was a near drowning, which is another story for another time.
—TNT