The cure: Hot Hot Hot!

It is so hot. How many Nevadans and tourists have dragged those words out with anger and pain? I heard that Julia Roberts couldn't hack the good old Las Vegas temps while she filmed The Mexican here with Brad Pitt. I imagine she looked like a Cruela Devile turned from white and black stripes to red and pink with frizzy crimped out hair. She kept the bloodshot electric red eyes from the Disney movie 101 Dalmatians. Definitely a classic.

 I went swimming in the pool yesterday and I think I was sweating in the water. I get out only to dry off and get wet again from my own pores. What really stinks is that I love using my MacBook and internet, but I only get wifi outside on the balcony. So here I am flying my silver titanium book in the air trying to catch invisible waves. And did I mention it is hot? I should start myself on one of those nightly minute plans they use for cell phone customers. Use after 7 PM on nights and weekends are a bonus. Problem is, it is damn hot at night too. At least it is dry heat. I can't imagine sweating all the time. How did nomads deal with this? And travelers in Egypt and the Arabian deserts? It makes sense to cover your skin, and sunglasses are cool. Maybe cheese cloth would suffice for those without glasses. I bet this is how the burka became a demanding style. It is just so sweltering hot!  This puts into perspective jobs around the world throughout time. How hot were the boiler rooms in the Titanic? And how about building Hoover Dam in the summer? And of course your local fireman in Nevada. How hot is it in those suits of non-porous material? And would I survive if I were a lion or bear with an undercoat? And worst of all, fires of burning oil spitting smoke and impossible to retard. Who puts those out?

Now I'm not trying to complain. I would much rather take the heat than the cold. Freezing temperatures and petite little girls don't mix, especially if you have never subjected yourself to winter in St. Petersburg or even Idaho. They make cool gadgets for wimps like me. My mom ordered battery powered socks that you need to charge every three hours. Personally, I like my own body heat to do the job and the water-bra holds it in just like a wetsuit. But what kinds of gizmos do they make for those suffering insane heat-stroke temperatures? The beer cap. A fan that clips to your hat and sprays you with water in the face. Golf carts with zipper enclosures to keep the AC in. How lame. By now humans were supposed to invent a pill to regulate this mess. Or a back to the future jacket with AC built in it. Alright I admit it. I am weak. A runt compared to the generations of cavemen and women. Maybe what I need is more heat to set the world right again, like it was in the beginning. But, it is too late and so I must admit that we subject ourselves and give in to new technologies. So I can always blame those before me and then myself, and then those after me as well.

Summer recipe time

So my new fabulous place has one drawback. There is no oven, and a toaster oven doesn't come even remotely close. It is quite a shame too, since I can leave the air conditioning on all day at 70 degrees without paying an extra cent for utilities. That is all covered in the HOA dues for the resort. In the past using the oven was prohibited often in 100 degree weather. I have had quite a transitional phase this year so far trying new dishes that are either straight up cold, microwavable (yuck) and stove top. Thank goodness Steven got the hibachi grill to light up today for a short grilling session, otherwise I would be surfing the web for easy quick ways to eat. I'm fed up with pasta. Eating pasta each week and then boycotting it is probably what it's like for someone on a diet strictly sticking to fresh salads and veggies. You might think you are suffering, but really spoilage of the brain and belly is taking over. All I know is I miss my oven, I depended on my oven, and I dream of installing a homemade stone brick oven somehow and somewhere even if I have to go stack dried cow-pies, pine cones and firewood out in a dirt pit. If I had some clay I would use it as a kiln part time. I have beautiful flours that have turned into my morning oatmeal, which is rather sad to look at but healthy to eat. I tried making simple scones and tortillas, but Steven refuses to eat a whole wheat crust made by my novice hands. He will die a soldiers life, not a guinea pigs. So if I can't find cooking classes this summer my last resort will be to abuse someone else's kitchen. I have recipe books ready, a focused mentality, and plenty of places to hop from. Which house to abuse first? School is out for the summer. Strike one. In-laws house is hot enough to fry yourself. Strike two. Saul is moving across town this week. Strike three. Some people should be allowed more than three strikes. Perhaps I should not limit myself to an oven alone. This must mean it is time to use my right side of the brain and start over again, fresh.