My house is old. My house does not have central air. It does not have cable and it does not have a toaster oven and sometimes I'm not even sure it has a working doorbell. My house is old. My house's age comes into the limelight once a year, during the summer months. My family doesn't sit and smile about the memories we've had in this old house or wonder what the times were like when it was built. We don't stare at the walls and think about what they could say to us if they could talk, or wonder what wisdom they could share, or tell us of all the history they've seen. No. Instead, my family sits and bitches about the goddamn age of the house and the lousy old heating system and the fact that its age prevents us from having central air relatively cheaply. Why do we do this?
BECAUSE IT'S FUCKING HOT.
I don't know how all of your summers are going, but around here it's boring and really freaking hot. I mean, it's not the worst time of my life, I have had a pretty good summer so far. But most of it is just me sitting in my room being hot and using my computer. I've gotten some good music this summer and done some fun things. Things I can't remember nor care to tell you about. Look, it's hot and I'm losing interest in typing quick. Go check Rocket Grande or D3 or Pitchfork or something and leave me alone. I'm going to go melt now.
