And so it begins. Another summer in my lakefront Chicago sweatbox. How is it that in an age where I can watch pornography on my cellphone, my apartment remains air conditionless? It's not so bad after awhile. You get used to wearing a tank top when you sit down, so that the pleather furniture doesn't stick to you. I wish I could say this was my first "vintage" apartment, but I'm a cheap bastard and I'll swelter if it means saving a buck. The one table fan I have really helps keep the humidity at a consistent 100%. Suffice it to say, exteme summer temperatures keep indoor entertaining to a minimum. If I have to get near a hot stove, I prefer to do it naked.
