Hot Hot Heat

Busted. No, my night job as an exotic dancer in a gay night club called The Tool Box is still a tightly guarded secret. I mean the status of the central air unit in our house. As in, we need to buy a whole new one. Damn. Luckily, it's my folks' unit, I just use it. Or used to.

We don't realize how dependent most of us middle class and above people have become on our controlled indoor climates. Just ask the Dub. She grew up in a house that is constantly kept at 70 degrees. Any (READ: Normal) temperature above that makes her uncomfortable, even though she's equally sensitive to low temperatures. Come to think of it, I'm not sure she's ever not been too cold or too hot the whole time I've known her.

I don't mean to throw my dear, sweet future wife under the bus (okay, but I still did), but I think her situation illustrates how it is possible for us to lose touch with our normal, preset equilibrium. Take another issue I've been dealing with lately, lower back pain. Granted, I'm experiencing this pain because I'm working on my Olympic lifts, but anatomically, we're not built to sit down. Sitting down places undue stress on the hips and lower back. The natural idle position for bipeds like us is a squatting position, as in "your balls are showing."

On another note, now that classes have started back up, I'm adjusting well to yet again being the know-it-all go-getter in my classes, at least for the first few weeks. I do find it amazing how reluctant people in grad school are to step up and take leadership of projects. The fact that I'm being forced to be that guy is nothing short of appalling.

A little image to go with my last post...