Maybe you saw this little item about 2012 being the hottest year ever — by far — in the history of the United States:
2012 was the warmest year on record in the contiguous United States, according to scientists with The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration….The average temperature for 2012 was 55.3 degrees Fahrenheit, 3.2 degrees above normal and a full degree higher than the previous warmest year recorded — 1998 — NOAA said in its report Tuesday. All 48 states in the contiguous U.S. had above-average annual temperatures last year, including 19 that broke annual records, from Connecticut through Utah. — nbcnews
Onward and upward! I bet out there in the torrid mid-west, where barbecue is big, some enterprising foodies are developing recipes for Roasted White People. Turns out all that fat they’ve been packing on over the last 20 years makes ‘em juicy. Gives a whole new meaning to “finger-lickin’ good.”
All this wonderful warm weather gives me an idea –maybe next July Guido and I will pass up on our trip to Key West in favor of this celebration:
After a yearlong investigation by a team of climate scientists, the World Meteorological Organization, the climate agency of the United Nations… made official what anyone who has soldiered through a Death Valley summer afternoon here could attest to. There is no place hotter in the world. A 134-degree reading registered on July 10, 1913, at Greenland Ranch here is now the official world record…..[R]esort owners say they are girding for a crush of heat-seeking visitors come next summer. There is even talk of having an official 100-year celebration of the record-setting measurement next July. — NYTimes
We’d miss the humidity, of course. Triple-digit temperatures just aren’t the same without matching humidity. But the blistering sun sounds refreshing, especially this time of year when the air in the house gets that locked-in chill, and the floors feel like ice under bare hooves.
I was in Arizona only once, and briefly: riding passenger in a Ford F-150 from south Florida to San Diego. We were pulling a 35 foot boat: I imagine that looked kind of strange in the desert. Two middle-aged guys and a chocolate lab, for whom we made a pit stop near Yuma.
It was already mid-October. There was a definite chill in the air when we set out that morning from west Texas, but in Yuma it was quite warm and comfortable, and the sun was impressive. After the dog watered the sand I took my turn in the gas station’s rest room. There was a big stenciled sign on the metal door: CAUTION: SURFACE IS HOT. It was. REAL hot. Fry-an-egg hot. In October!
That was a fun trip. We started drinking beer right after breakfast, smoked bad cigars the whole way across the map, and drank tequila and rum at night. My human companion snacked non-stop on Cuban pork rinds — said they were the best he’d ever had and would miss them in San Diego, where only Mexican brands were available. He had a stomach condition that allowed him to eat virtually anything in huge quantities and never gain an ounce, the result of serious surgery that impaired his body’s capacity to process and retain much food. I suppose he shat a lot. I didn’t ask, and I never noticed. The dog ate better. He shat abundantly. I noticed.
The driver has since divorced his wife, sold his house and truck, handed over his beautiful Blackman fishing boat and dog to his son, and relocated with a new wife to Hawaii, where they have two Golden Retrievers. So there’s no excuse to drive to San Diego again, stopping over at Death Valley. Maybe we’ll find another excuse.
I wonder if we can find a room without air conditioning.