It hit 109 degrees today. Tomorrow is supposed to be more of the same. I’m in the mountains, but a short 30-minute drive to the ocean usually solves that problem. Not this weekend. It even broke 100 at the beach.

We have a pool, but there’s only so much time you can spend in the water before it gets boring. I usually like to float around on a raft with a MacBook or iPad on my lap, but they’re not built for that sort of heat. After a while, they crap out.

Bottom line: For a good chunk of the Labor Day weekend, I’m going to be stuck inside or driving with the top up. That, to me, is a wasted weekend. I hate being indoors during summer. At least the nights are a little cooler, but still.

Look, I know what you’re thinking: The guy lives in California and all he can do is whine about a little heatwave. Houston’s flooded. How about a little perspective, dude?

You know, you’re right. I am whining. I hate that I’m whining. It’s so uncool. But here’s the thing. I only feel this way because I’m getting old and feeling my mortality.

That’s right folks; when you reach a certain age and everyone around you starts kicking the bucket, every day – hell, every moment – starts to feel precious. First your folks go. Then musicians and sports figures you grew up with. Finally, your peers start to drop one at a time. It can be downright depressing.

One thing’s for damn sure: You don’t want to waste what little time you have left indoors on a three-day weekend in the summer. Then again, the same thing goes for whining. You don’t want to waste your time and you certainly don’t want to act like a spoiled brat while you’re doing it. Nobody wants to be remembered that way.

I can just visualize my tombstone: He had a blast, but dude, the whining, so uncool.

Yup, getting old sucks, but so does whining about it … and the weather.

Now that I got that out of my system, the sun will be going down soon and it’s Friday night. I’ve got the Giants – Patriots game recorded from last night, today’s Yankees – Red Sox game as well and my wife is out for the evening. Time to party solo. I can already taste that first margarita. Guess the heat’s not so bad after all.

Happy Labor Day weekend, folks!!!

P.S. The wife came home early so we opened a nice rosé from Tavel, turned on the colored pool lights and floated around all night. It was beautiful. Moral of the story: Wining is way better than whining.

Image credit Gerard Lovett via Flickr

  • BigGameHunter

    When I was working summers and holidays for my father during my college years, I would be out late on those Friday nights. Come Saturday morning he would come into my bedroom and say “time to get up, boy”, and we would normally drive to his office together. However, after a particularly late Friday night (seemingly every Friday night), I would politely ask, “gee, can I just sleep a half hour more and meet you there”? To which he did two things . . . the first was to press his middle finger against his thumb and flick it at a bare foot that I had sticking out from the sheets . . . and the second was to say “do you realize that you already sleep one third of your life away”? That always made me think how precious life is. Maybe that’s why I am an insomniac to this very day, and, secondly, why I have decided to attack each day as though it was an adventure. I have found that each day can be just that, and have realized how sagatious he truly was.