“In heated rooms, he often felt the outlines of his body, the border between him and the external world, grow disturbingly fuzzy.” — Ryu Murakami, Piercing, 2007
Some like it hot. Count me among the some who do not. Like the computers, gadgets, and other warm-wired bits of machinery with which I surround myself, I generate my own heat, thank you very much. Keep us cool, and we perform to the maximum of our abilities. As soon as the temperature rises beyond comfort, however, we start making mistakes and finding various ways to complain about our situation.
And unlike my electronic friends, I sweat. Ugh!
Even though I’ve only caught glimpses of Diana throughout the day, I feel her presence by the elevated level at which the thermostat’s been set. 75 degrees? We may as well be shacking up with moisture farmers on the arid dunes of Tatooine! Shall there be no sweet relief? A cool breeze or a friendly finger of frost to caress my melting cheek?
Well, I suppose I could take this hoodie off…
I have no idea how an Imperial stormtrooper could lug around all that body armor on planets where the thermostat is well above 75 degrees; I guess some of them just learn to dance it off (as you’ll see in the vlog).