Rollin' With Heat

So yesterday, Super Bowl Sunday, we got our first taste of what the desert can really do. After rolling out of bed at the crack of 11, Tiffany and I decided that today was going to be super-productive, as compared to our normal productiveness of "brushing our teeth" and "drinking two pots of coffee". We unloaded the rest of Tiffany's stuff from her car (only took a week!), installed a curtain over the portal between the kitchen and the bathroom. This is important because the smoke detector is located right there, and after setting it off three times in one day and possibly giving the cat hearing damage we decided short of ripping the thing from the ceiling a swanky and functional hanging would do the trick. We then headed up the road two blocks and blasted the grime of 2,400 miles of America off our respective cars at a hoppin' coin-operated car wash. It could have been that it was Sunday, but every single booth was filled with at least two cars in line. And yes, the majority of them were pimped out Hyundais with some Mexican with a shaved head polishing his sweet baby-blue ride with the plastic spinners, blasting stereotypical Mexican musica with the accordion taking center stage and some mustachioed singer sweating and crying in equal amounts, caterwauling into the mic about his corazon running away with his favorite queso or some shit.

What I noticed while outdoors and washing our cars was how dehydrated I felt. I chalked it up to the flagon of wine and case of beers we drank last night, and resolved to drink many glasses of water soon. But ever after returning home and throwing back some H2-oh yeah, it occurred to me that it was HOT AS HADES out. I couldn't even stand on certain parts of the porch and it wasn't 2 p.m. yet. It was Feb. 4th and 87 degrees outside, drier than British comedy and sucking moisture directly out of my eyeballs. And people keep telling us that this is cold weather. Hooo, well at least it's a dry heat, right?

So about the Super Bowl: that game belonged to the Bears for about 13 seconds, and those were all when Devin Hester was doing what he does best - breaking other guys' ankles - on the opening kick off. I love this guy. He was smiling and watching himself on the big screen during the last twenty yards. He's a rookie! If he does nothing else but return kicks he'll still be remembered after he retires. Notice how the Colts never kicked to him again? At first they kicked to the opposite side of the field, but as they realized how god-awful the Bears offense was and began kicking it straight at the fattest guy, even if he was only 15 yards away, because they knew Rex Grossman would find some way to turn the ball over or just go three-and-out. And even though Grossman played for the Gators, I still would've liked to see the Manning face. I guess I'll just have to wait until Eli is playing again.