Holy Hannah, it was hot as Hell today. (I would have preferred to have said "it was hot as Hades today," but, sadly, I know enough about mythology to know that Hades was not a lake of fire like Perdition.) On the plus side, it was finally hot enough to convince the girls to turn on the AC. I cannot fathom their resistance. Sure, it costs money, but what the hell is the point of working if not to earn enough money to be comfortable in your own home?

"No pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater than central air."

Last night (Tuesday), we went to Top of the Park and watched the free screening of Signs. It was the first time we've ever gone out as an apartment. As invariably happens when all three of us are together for long enough, they started complaining about Lifeguard Girl, their former roommate from whom I am subletting. So much hostility; I suppose, by way of contrast, I simply try not to mention the horrors of 1213.

Wow, only a month until my brithday. I'll be 24. After that, only a year until I'm 25, a quarter of a century old. Jesus. A quarter of a fucking century. I'm on death's doorstep and I haven't even done anything yet. See, here's the thing: I'm only going to live to be sixty. I figure sixty is long enough to have a life, a wife, and watch my kids grow up, but young enough to retain bladder control. (Or at least the limited degree of bladder control I currently enjoy.) Thus far, I have only two regrets about dying so "young": a) I shall not live to see the thousandth anniversary of the Norman Conquest, in 2066, and b) I will probably (I sincerely hope) miss Jon Mace's funeral, which should be a great time, judging by all the activities he has planned. The chief advantage is that I won't have to watch my friends die off one by one (or all at once in some kind of horrible mass extinction). But this raises the moral dilema of what to do about the Bald Mountain. I couldn't stand to watch him die; it would kill me. But, what would my death do to him?

Well, in any event, I've only got thirty-six years to make something of myself, win Lindsay, and make my enemies rue they day they crossed me. Rue, I tell you, ruuuuuuueeee!