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Second day of motorcycle school, 100 degrees, all day on asphalt, long sleeves, gloves, head cover, learning how to transcend the nine boxes altogether. Or at least not hit them. The sun owes me money. He refuses to pay my air conditioner repair bill. Oh yeah, and he's been here the last few weeks with gifts of brown lawns and dusty air. Today he told me that he'll step it up a notch and contribute triple digit heat tomorrow. I told him I didn't want his contributions, just the money. The sun owes you nothing.
It gives more solar energy than we could spend or waste like the dinosaur fuel, if we would only use it...

...even if sometimes it's too hot for me to practise the violin.

I would gladly share some of the heat with poor violinists in alaska.

Oh calm down, Tobias.

Hey Michael, speaking of sun, George would like to thank you and Jacquelyn for the box of moon pies: "They hit my atomic spot."

Oh my God... I'd shoot myself if I couldn't see the sun for so long. But then again, I would have ALREADY shot myself during the winter when it's dark all the time even without rain. Blah. These are the John Cusack days, as I like to call them. There's a bit in all of us that likes to revel in the dreary spells.