They gush excitedly, "soaring humidity…. heat index…. record temperature… triple digits!"
They gush from their graphically-enhanced backgrounds in the air-conditioned studio, with their Colgate smiles and their blowouts and their perfectly poufy coiffs.
They gush in their primary-color crisp suits or ties, nodding out of synch with their emotions.
But, I wonder, do TV anchorpeople live in our world?
Do they feel the oppressive and closed heat of a thousand suns?
Can they really hum along animatedly with Martha and the Vandellas?
Do they really mean to smile when they get their "serious anchorperson expression" and list off all the true horrors that a record hot day brings along– namely, dead old people; dead poor people; dead babies; and dying people who do not drink enough water or are forced to sit out unguarded in this heat?
_________
This heat, which can sometimes feel just plain wonderful on the skin, can also hit the nostrils with the same tender and rotting breath of a compost pile.
The dying atmosphere that rises above us piles itself high and squishes us under mercilessly.  Everything that is touched by this heat has no choice but to rot or to be a little spoiled.  This is no lustrous, crisp heat.  This is a dung-heap steam that encompasses all, much like death itself.
But for some reason, it does feel good.  A little like the realization that, no matter how we face this heat, we all fart, belch, rot and die.  All together, in this heat.

18 Jul This entry was published on July 18, 2006 at 10:22 am and is filed under DC Dukkha, Inner Lotus Blooms. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.