No-No! It's the humidity, I tell you!

Something that happens on the coolish west coast everywhere from the Alaska Panhandle right through to San Francisco, at least, is the confusion that erupts in the populace whenever a few sunny days happen upon us.

At the moment we are in about the fifth day of "hot" weather. Hot here means it has gotten up to maybe 80 Fahrenheit. And, by the third day of such weather, somebody will proclaim:

"Oh -- it's so hot. Looking forward to cooling down a bit. Just makes it difficult to sleep."

And, the newspapers will refer to what is happening thusly: "This is now the third day of the current heatwave, and there is no end in sight. Forest fire hazard is way up, and municipal officials urge everybody to not waste water and to sprinkle lawns on designated days."

Come on, folks, I think. This isn't hot. This is warm. Sometimes people will proclaim "hot" when it is actually only "warm-ish." I have heard people from these parts exclaim in wonderment, if we have returned from a vacation in the islands. "You went to Hawaii in the summer? Isn't it horribly hot?" I reply that it isn't really very hot at all in the summer. Maybe around 90 at high noon, and there are always trade winds blowing, so it's very pleasant. "Well," they will reply in astonishment. "Ninety seems pretty hot to me. I know I wouldn't like it."

But, it's not hot -- or maybe it's just me. Maybe it's because I have been to actual hot places. I once drove out of San Diego on an August day (San Diego is not particularly hot, by the way), wanting to go out into the Mojave Desert, making the shores of the Salton Sea our ultimate destination. We drove many miles in our nice air conditioned rental Buick. Eventually, east of Julian CA. We drove down a very long hill, and by the bottom we were in the desert proper. I found it fascinating as we drove along, because it was so different from the wet, west coast. After a few miles my wife said: "Let's stop a while and get out and walk around." This was early in the afternoon and the sun was pounding down. Good plan, thought I, and pulled into a designated rest stop.

Of course, I had forgotten the car was air conditioned. I opened the door. It was like I had opened a portal to the gates of hell. A blast of torridness poured into the car. Yes, dear friends, it was hot. It was unbelievably hot. It was Sahara hot. We didn't take too much of a walk, I assure you. Watching the news that evening back in San Diego, we found it was around 125 where we were.

On such a day, in such a place, one would be justified in wanting to seek relief from the heat.

Meanwhile, our heat wave is continuing. I just checked the thermometer. It's 70 F (or, for Canadian bloggers who pretend they're comfortable with metric, 22 C). Somewhere in this town, at just this minute, somebody is complaining about the heat.