Last night I bought an air conditioner, after two nights of stifling heat and one rejected invitation for L to stay over. I found a decent air conditioner for about ninety bucks at Le Home Depot, and I decided to catch a cab home. A cabbie stopped, but he called out the window to find out where I was going before he would pull over. What the hell? My New York Survival Aggression reared its ugly head as I snarled, "Tenth and Sixth. You taking it, or what?" I was surprised at myself, but I blame the effects of the heat. Putting the damned thing in place was an ordeal, requiring me to shove the fridge and oven away from the wall, where I discovered a warren of power strips and extension cords. I simplified things somewhat, but now I have a fridge, oven, and AC all connected to one power strip leading back to the outlet. I am a little concerned by this, but I figure I'll only use two at a time and I'll be all right. Several times I almost dropped the air conditioner into the bottomless shaft of my building. And my lingering question is: Will the pigeon shit that is quickly accumulating on my AC somehow makes it way into the environment of my apartment? And would that have any detrimental effects on me? I googled this, but couldn't really find anything.
Anyways, the week has been good. Stifling days make for pleasant evenings. The reading on Monday went very well - a smaller crowd, but everybody was into it. A few people came out to see me, and I was grateful for that. I ended up reading last, and I did this piece on Little League and playing softball with my friend's Olympic coworkers. I had pecked it out over the weekend for the "Sports Night" theme, and I tried to write it in the vein of one of the New Yorker's "Personal Histories," which I love. I wasn't sure how it would go over, but it got a really good response and I felt great about everything in the world.
However, last night I confronted a problem that has been creeping up on me like - well, like a mold on your feet. ATHLETE'S FOOT. I went on WebMD.com, a site I will not even link to due to the miserable compulsion I feel to go there and identify new ailments from which I suffer, and I learned all about this condition and why I'm such a bad person for getting it in the first place. After two weeks of ointments I should be all cleaned up. In the meantime, I'm deciding if burning all my footwear, rugs and bedding is enough, or if I need to immolate myself alongside them. Today, the first full day of treatment, my feet feel like they are on the rotisserie, because I am thinking of them a lot. And the empathy and support I would expect from friends and family is nowhere to be found, instead I suffer the usual derision and indignities. Well, good for me for at least getting "Athlete's Foot" - maybe someday I could get "Jock Itch," too. Or maybe even "Stud Burn," except that's just plain ol' herpes. No thanks, WebMD.