The heat, as singer/songwriter Glenn Frey once poignantly observed, is on. Day after day now of inhospitably high temperatures, 30s C and 90’s F, but it’s the whallop (that’s, like, a big dollop?) of humidity, stickily slathered across the city, that’s making things unbearable.
Our squat little pinguino still loyally conditions the air in our apartment, but in a tactful and rather non-confrontational manner (penguin-ish, to a T), steering well clear of the gruff, freon-oozin’ and temperature-stompin’ attitude which is the more vulgar custom of California’s air-con culture. No, Mr. Pinguino does not seem to cool the air at all, in fact, but instead hums and gurgles in such a way that suggests an air conditioner might be present, and therefore, ostensibly cooling things.
so, neat, it’s like a psycho-somatic or sub-conscious air conditioner. or maybe it’s just busted.
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