Save global warming for winter

John Merli
Published: June 19, 2008

PHOENIX

If the rain and humidity in Prince William got you down earlier this week, some of you may take comfort in knowing that I am becoming human toast under the cloudless skies of Arizona. Anyone got a
cloud for sale? Anyone? (As I write this, the meat thermometer says I’m now somewhere between rare and medium.) On Tuesday and Wednesday, the predicted high here was 113 degrees. A “cold front”
was supposed to come in later this week. We’re hoping for an Arctic-like 107 in the shade.

Oh, that’s another thing. There is no shade here. Apparently shade is for sissies and Arizonians pride themselves on being staunch anti-sissies in all things. It’s one reason they don’t have to wear
motorcycle helmets here. Better to crash on “The 101” highway at 83 MPH and crush your skull like an egg, than appear to be a sissy and live to ride another day.

And as for the infamous “but it’s a dry heat,” ha! I’ve found you can roast in dry heat almost as well as the humid stuff; you just don’t sweat as much before you slowly slide down on the pavement and
start to whither, and then slowly, painfully die a heat-induced death as giant vultures fly overhead, squawking loudly as they eye their next hot meal. (And that’s just walking into the supermarket every
day.) An hour ago I touched my hair and burned my thumb.

But there are better ways to injure yourself if you’re not paying attention. Merely parking your car in the direct desert sun for 20 minutes can turn it into a lethal weapon. (Be careful not to actually touch
the hood of the car because part of your hand might remain there. Forever.) The driver’s seat will stop smoldering after a few minutes, but the steering wheel will be even hotter. So when you see folks
around Arizona steering with their pinkies, it’s not elitism or femininity -— it’s only survival of the fingers.

I tell you this to make you feel maybe a bit better about the heat and swamp-like conditions we often endure in Northern Virginia. Of course, the rule-of-thumb around Prince William, by law, is that the
hottest day of the summer must be the Fourth of July. Oddly, this is perhaps the one day above all others of the summer when the greatest number of people are outdoors trying to enjoy themselves. And
in America, of course, there are very few more popular ways to enjoy ourselves than sizzling in the noon-day sun with slatherings of ultra-heavy sun blocker. While the lotion may protect our skin from
eventual skin cancer, it also provides a nice basting for when our skin begins to cook to the consistency of a Thanksgiving turkey.

On the hottest day of the year, about 6,000 of us will be at the Potomac Nationals game, of course, with its usual July 4th family picnic out in right field and its post-game fireworks. Typically, it’s about
130 degrees at game time, and if you’re unfortunate enough to actually have to play, it’s 160 degrees on the field itself. (Some of the younger players actually have been known to explode into flames in
the outfield.)

And if you’re sitting on the first-base side facing left field, you’ll be required to stare into the blinding sun for several innings where the IHOYFI (Insufferable Heat On Your Face Index) is pushing 144
degrees. By the time the sun finally sets halfway through the game, many of us in the stands will remain legally blind and see nothing but sunspots for several days. But we’ll still be able to tap on the
arm of the guy sitting next to us and say, “Hot enough for ya?”

Hot enough, and then some.

John Merli has been a Prince William County resident since 1984 and a Potomac News columnist since 1985. He has worked in the media for more than 30 years. E-mail him at .