Charlie Hatton About This
About Me
Email Me

Charlie Hatton
Brookline, MA

All Quotes


Howdy, friendly reading person!
I'm on a bit of a hiatus right now, but only to work on other projects -- one incredibly exciting example being the newly-released kids' science book series Things That Make You Go Yuck!
If you're a science and/or silliness fan, give it a gander! See you soon!

Who Turned the Weather Up to ‘Broil’?

I think I know what it is, folks. It’s simply too damned hot to write. That must be it.

Summer in New England has all the subtlety of a ‘desperate housewife’ at a poolboys’ convention. There’s rarely a springtime to speak of in this part of the world, and this year is no different. A week ago, we were wearing parkas and mukluks, freezing our nads off and feeling like someone had been jamming a popsicle up our collective ass for the past six months. Now, it’s eighty degrees by sunrise, and I sweat when I breathe. ‘April showers’, we hardly knew ye.

(Oh, and speaking of popsicles up the ass, just a quick public service FYI to the married gents out there: If, at any time in your marriage, your wife turns to you in bed and growls,

Yeah, we’ll I’m not an Eskimo, got it?

…then you’ve made a tactical error somewhere along the way. It’s gonna cost you. Don’t argue; just buy the flowers. It’s much easier. Trust me.)

Now generally, I don’t do a lot of complaining about the weather. The way I see it, that’s what we’re keeping all those millions of old farts around for. If we wanted to sit around and watch the Weather Channel for six hours a day, and debate the meteorological implications of the latest low front moving in, then we could just euthenize the hell out of the geezers, and save ourselves the stewed prune money.

But, of course, we don’t want that. We’re not monsters — mainly — and we certainly have better things to do with our lives than read barometers and feed grandpa into the wood chipper. Plus, somebody has to eat those fucking prunes, and it’s not gonna be me. There’s ‘regular’, and then there’s ‘Vesuvial’. No, thanks.

(Kids, it’s a volcano. Vesuvius? You with me? Pompeii? Buried in ash, all that jazz? Eh, never mind. Pretend I said, ‘Mout Saint Helensian’, if that helps. Or ‘Krakatoal’, maybe — but if you didn’t get ‘Vesuvial’, then that’s probably doing you no good, either.)

Anyway, where the hell was I? Oh, right — the weather.

So, I’m not a big weather hound. But I can’t stand being hot. And, this being New England, there’s damned little air conditioning available. Oh, sure, they install it in the offices and restaurants and such. And it’s a damned good thing — right now, the only thing getting me up on a weekday to schlep into the office is the thought of a nicely chilled cubicle, where I can slouch and nap at a cozy sixty-eight degrees. It’s heavenly.

At the house, though… not so much. We’ve got a window unit in the bedroom, sure, but it’s little help. I’m pretty sure it’s older than I am, for one. I’m surprised it doesn’t have a hand-crank to start the damned thing. And the — oh, I don’t know… seven BTUs or so that it puts out are usually sucked into the hundred-year-old walls before they reach our sweaty, clammy selves. You’ve pretty much got to sit on the unit to get any relief from it.

(But then, that’s pretty much the way most ‘units’ work, eh, kids? Hiyooh!

Yeah. Never let it be said that I won’t take an easy one-liner, once in a while. All this story-telling bullshit is hard, dammit.)

Now, we’ve thought about having a system installed — but there are three problems with that. First, it’s expensive as hell. And there’s always that little voice in the back of your head, reminding you of your responsibilities and priorities, keeping you on the right track. And it’s true, I suppose — why dump a bunch of cash into air conditioning, when there’s still beer and strippers and porn to pay for? Thank you, little voice. You’ve shown me the way, once again.

Then, there’s the issue of needing someone else to install such a system. Contractors in New England generally seem to exist to tease people like us:

Oh, sure — we’ll come look at the job… never!

Yes sir, absolutely we’ll send along our estimate… psych!

No problem, we can stay under your budget… for about an hour!

Creamy onion Christ dip on a cucumber, just give me a damned wedgie and get it over with, ya bastards. Stop hazing me, and do the frigging work!

But no. It’s a game of some sort, and you’ve got to play it, or it’s no soup for you! Or, in this case, no non-sweaty ass crack for you! Which is worse than no soup, believe me. Maybe still better than soup down the ass crack, but it’s not good.

Of course, the biggest barrier to getting yummy A/C for the house is my wife. Not that she’s an unreasonable gal, or anything like that. Christ, she’s still married to me, if that tells you anything about her superhuman tolerance for bullshit. But she gets cold rather easily. So she hates the winters here. She’s constantly chilly, wrapped up in a blanket while it snows and howls and frosts outside — it’s very cute, in a sad, pitiful way.

(Yeah, I told her that once. I woke up that night with her perched over me, aiming to do god-knows-what with the business end of a popsicle. Turns out I’m not an Eskimo, either. Yowie.)

So as far as I can tell, she actually likes the miserable heat that we suffer here for… well, okay, only about six weeks a year, actually. But dammit, those are intolerable weeks! Unless your preferred temperature is eighty fricking degrees — hers is; just ask her — then it’s a humid little slice of hell.

But I’m not quite sure what she’d do to me, right on the heels of winter, if I had it my way. If it were up to me, we’d have a central A/C unit pumping sweet chilly goodness into every room in the house, twenty-four seven. We’d walk in from work, and see our breath in the foyer. We could build snowmen in the living room, break icicles off in the kitchen — maybe we’d even go sledding down the basement stairs. But she’d never go for it. Six months of winter is enough, apparently. And that’s fine — but do we have to have six months of Hades the rest of the year? Does ‘sixty degrees’ have a twenty-degree restraining order around it, or what?

Eh, fuck it. I’m too hot to bitch about this any more. I’m gonna go take a cold shower to cool off. Not that kind of a ‘cold shower’, mind you. I’m mostly too hot to think about that sort of thing, either. On the other hand, that time I mentioned, when she had the popsicle? I’ll never look at a fudge creamsicle quite the same way again. Brrrrrrrr!

Permalink  |  3 Comments

3 Responses to “Who Turned the Weather Up to ‘Broil’?”

  1. zoot says:

    Charlie! I’m worse off than you! It’s been so hot in my non-a/c apartment, that my candles……..MELTED. And they weren’t even on fire.

    I’ll be posting proof on my blog soon.

  2. #Debi says:

    I got “Vesuvial”, but I think I like “Krakatoal” better. The sound of it seems to go better with your particular metaphor–say it slooooowly…..

  3. Kate says:

    ‘there’s still beer and strippers and porn to pay for? Thank you, little voice.’

    *sigh* I’d like to think that I’m that little voice for you Charlie, but alas, it probably isn’t so since we don’t even know each other! But seriously everyone… pay pay and tip your nude entertainers well!

    Most people don’t know that most of us have to pay the clubs to work there. No,no… they don’t usually pay us… we pay them! Plus… most of us have to pay the club a portion of what we make in a given night too!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

HomeAboutArchiveBestShopEmail © 2003-15 Charlie Hatton All Rights Reserved
Me on Film 'n' Stage:
  Drinkstorm Studios

Me on Science (silly):
  Secondhand SCIENCE

Me on Science (real):
  Meta Science News

Me on ZuG (RIP):
  Zolton's FB Pranks
  Zolton Does Amazon

Favorite Posts:
30 Facts: Alton Brown
A Commute Dreary
A Hallmark Moment
Blue's Clues Explained
Eight Your 5-Hole?
El Classo de Espanol
Good News for Goofballs
Grammar, Charlie-Style
Grammar, Revisitated
How I Feel About Hippos
How I Feel About Pinatas
How I Feel About Pirates
Life Is Like...
Life Is Also Like...
Smartass 101
Twelve Simple Rules
Unreal Reality Shows
V-Day for Dummies
Wheel of Misfortune
Zolton, Interview Demon

Me, Elsewhere

Standup Comedy Clips

Selected Clips:
  09/10/05: Com. Studio
  04/30/05: Goodfellaz
  04/09/05: Com. Studio
  01/28/05: Com. Studio
  12/11/04: Emerald Isle
  09/06/04: Connection

Boston Comedy Clubs

 My 100 Things Posts

Selected Things:
  #6: My Stitches
  #7: My Name
  #11: My Spelling Bee
  #35: My Spring Break
  #36: My Skydives
  #53: My Memory
  #55: My Quote
  #78: My Pencil
  #91: My Family
  #100: My Poor Knee

More Features:

List of Lists
33 Faces of Me
Punchline Fever
Simpsons Quotes
Quantum Terminology

...Bleeding Obvious
By Ken Levine
Defective Yeti
Divorced Dad of Two
Gallivanting Monkey
Junk Drawer
Life... Weirder
Little. Red. Boat.
Mighty Geek
Scott's Tip of the Day
Something Authorly
Unlikely Explanations

Full Archive

Category Archives:

(Stupid) Computers
A Doofus Is Me
Articles 'n' Zines
Audience Participation
Awkward Conversations
Bits About Blogging
Bitter Old Man Rants
Blasts from My Past
Cars 'n' Drivers
Dog Drivel
Foodstuff Fluff
Fun with Words!
Grooming Gaffes
Just Life
Loopy Lists
Making Fun of Jerks
Marketing Weenies
Married and a Moron
Miscellaneous Nonsense
Potty Talk / Yes, I'm a Pig
Sleep, and Lack Thereof
Tales from the Stage
Tasty Beverages
The Happy Homeowner
TV & Movies & Games, O My!
Vacations 'n' Holidays
Weird for the Sake of Weird
Whither the Weather
Wicked Pissah Bahstan
Wide World o' Sports
Work, Work, Work

Alas Smith and Jones
Berkeley Breathed
Bill Hicks
Dave Barry
Dexter's Laboratory
Douglas Adams
Evening at the Improv
Fawlty Towers
George Alec Effinger
Jake Johannsen
Married... With Children
Monty Python
Nick Bakay
Peter King
Ren and Stimpy
Rob Neyer
Sluggy Freelance
The Simpsons
The State

Plugs, Shameless
100 Best Humor Blogs | Healthy Moms Magazine



Feeds and More
Subscribe via FeedBurner


RSS 2.0
Site Hosting:
Solid Solutions

Powered by:

Title Banner Photo:
Shirley Harshenin

Creative Commons License
  This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons License

Performancing Metrics

Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

Valid XHTML 1.0

Valid CSS!

© 2003-15 Charlie Hatton
All Rights Reserved