It is July 1, 2013 and it’s going to be 108° by mid-afternoon. What a great day to get out of bed, get dressed and then wait around to sweat.
Fuck the heat!
I guess there are some things that you can only learn one way - much like catching bees with your bare hands. Surviving the summer heat of California’s great Central Valley is one of those things. I’m one of the lucky few who get the entire week surrounding Independence Day off from work. A whole week! I used to make plans to “get things done around the house” or play a few rounds of golf or even have people over for a barbeque. But now, when I think about doing anything at all during this annual observance of hell, I just climb out of bed in the morning and laugh inside, remembering exactly how 108 fucking degrees feels.
What a great day to be Day Drunk.
An afternoon of drinking in the quiet, cool comfort of a smoky neighborhood bar is the supreme remedy during the sweltering season.
I’m drawn, preternaturally, to Mick’s Traditional Irish Pub.
There is no Mick and the place is far from being a traditional Irish pub. Apparently Mick sold theplace back in the late 1960s and it has changed hands several times since then. It’s more like a road house now and caters to young hipsters on Thursday thru Sunday nights. But this is Monday afternoon, and there is only me, the bartender and two old men in the entire place.
We watch ESPN highlights, play Liars Dice, argue about anything, and we drink.
It’s not quite one o’clock and I’m on my fifth rum & coke, which followed about six Guinness. The air conditioning is running at optimum performance and I’m starting to get that peaceful-easy-packed-in-cotton feeling that I was searching for. As a matter of fact, I’m dressed in a tee-shirt, shorts and flip-flops and am starting to get a little chilly.