Thermodynamics

The heat is on.

Or rather, in ... in me, to be specific.

In a risky move to fly in the face of an earlier Blog claim where I said I

Billy Crystal played "Miracle Max"to perfection.
No clue as to whether he too was as
hot as me, under all that latex.

wouldn't blather on about medical issues after covering them almost to death ("He's only MOSTLY dead!",  to quote Billy Crystal as Miracle Max from The Princess Bride), I'm going to mention an odd tangent / side effect from
the BKAs I underwent (Below Knee Amputations) a few years ago.

I seem to be ... hotter now.

Sadly, that doesn't mean I'm more appealing to the ladies. No, I mean ... I'm hotter. As in, a big steamy sweaty pile of superheating molecules. Yeah, I know ... here I go again, bringing the sexy!

They told me this might happen ...

"They" being the nurses and physios who blitzed me with advice and ideas and grandiose plans for me doing exercises while I was still a drug-addled, befuddled mess in the hospital ward bed.

Among all the things they said (and I immediately forgot), I somehow remembered them telling me (following my 2nd leg being removed): "You will now be burning as much as 400% more energy when you do simple things like standing and walking around."

My first thought was: "Cool! Now I can get the same effects and benefits of running a 10 K just by wobbling around the kitchen getting a beer from the fridge!"

Sadly I was to learn that was not QUITE the case. What it really meant was, my energy would drain heaps faster while trying to do basic things ... like wobbling to the fridge on a beer quest.

Then I noticed, in my amusing and ungainly attempts at moving from point A to Fridge and back, how much warmer I got while engaged in doing this. Then I noticed I was warmer all the time, even just sitting still.

The Human Torch could
ignite himself at will, shoot flames
at villains, and even fly.
So far the best I can manage
is soaking a t-shirt down
like I've been standing in
the rain, with malaria,
in just under 10 seconds.

Being a superhero / comic book fan, I of course immediately thought I might be developing a super power, maybe like Johnny Storm – aka The Human Torch of Fantastic Four fame.

Wrong again ... unless you call sweating like a feverish hog on acid in a sauna a "super power",  this was not to be. About the only plus factors to being ceaselessly warm (even warmer than I usually was before all this medical mayhem ensued) are: (1) I only had the heat on in the house once this past "winter"; (2) I wear shorts exclusively now, inside and out; (3) I never wore a jacket once all "winter".

On the down side, I'm uncomfortably warm at what passes for room temperature here in Wellington. And surprisingly, I'm usually in some sort of room – or taxi cab, or city bus. But more on that in a moment.

I bought a digital thermometer for my desk at work some time back, with the intention of measuring the temperature in the room to compare to a thermometer reading of MY temperature ... back in the days when a hike in my body temp usually meant I was succumbing to infection yet again. So I needed to know: was it me, or the lizard-people fucking around with the thermostat again?

I still use the thermometer on my desk ... only now it just demonstrates that 22º C (72º F) – which is

That would be me there, in a typical day at the office.
Someone has the thermostat set for "desert effect". Either
we're growing cacti, or raising iguanas.

pretty much universally agreed as a comfortable room temperature for most humans – feels to me like a session in a supernova sauna down in Dante's Inferno. The wonky rat-bastard and badly designed air-con at work usually sees the temp hitting 24º by 11 am most days ... so the effect that has on me? Well, it usually feels like I'm in Tahiti, wearing a parka (zipped up, hood on), and eating my dad's famous Nine Alarm 'Habanero Hoedown' Facemelting Chili.

With no beer to wash it down with. Which is INHUMAN. At the very least they could let me rig up a draft tap on my desk. Next to the fan.

So yes – the other item I have on my desk, next to the digital thermometer, is an electric fan. This fan runs all day, aimed right at me, blowing the stuffy hot dusty office atrocity they consider "air" around me. This at least makes it somewhat tolerably comfortable, providing I don't move much, or drink too many cups of hot coffee. Or think warm thoughts. Or stare too long at that one girl down the hall there ...

What makes it even more absurd (and finally, here's the rumpus): many people in my office are sitting around, directly under heat vents, with multiple layers on, wearing outside jackets, touques (beanies) and gloves.

Seriously.

Yissss, my precious younglings. Go
forth into the world, and always
sit under heat lamps when you can!

How frickin' hot does it have to BE, people? Were you raised by lizards?!

Like any psuedo-superhero, I seem to come by a higher metabolic / thermodynamic "resting" setting genetically. My dad is always warm, too. Not quite to my newfound resting level of Vesuvius On A Bad Day. But he's warmer than most.

This is not traditional ice fishing garb. But you know, any
excuse for offering a photo of bikini-clad babes for my
friends to ogle while they pretend to read my Blog.

We used to go ice fishing when I was a kid. I'd have a layer less on than most kids my age. But my dad was a remarkable vision of superhuman abilities, in just one thin layer of long-johns, and a skidoo suit – but that suit would be half-unzipped and not really containing any body heat.

He wouldn't be wearing a touque. He'd fish bare-handed, too (no mitts) ... and often he'd scoop the newly-forming ice out of the augered hole (so the hole wouldn't freeze over and cut the line) with his bare hands.



I feel like I could do that now with just a light spring jacket on.

My dad also used to joke that he was so warm all the time, he'd sweat while he was swimming. I get that now. Not a joke. It's REAL, people!

This is more like what most people would wear while
ice fishing – maximum warmth for the minimal movement
involved with the game of ice fishing. Also, you would
NOT be surrounded by babes – even warmly-dressed babes.
Because as we dudes know, women find any weather that's
below 25º C,  cloudy, or even a bit breezy"freezing".
No matter what they're wearing.
So no. No babes for you, ice-fisher-boy.
The best you can hope for is MAYBE one other pal
willing to go out there on the ice and drink with you
while you attempt to catch fish on a frozen lake.

Lately too I've noticed with some bemusement that folks in Wellington view me as some odd absurdity, as I mosey around in short sleeved shirts on "winter" days here.

While it may be true that if I stood around outside all day in just a short-sleeved shirt and shorts, I would eventually maybe feel just a wee bit uncomfortably cold – but, it occurred to me at some point last year, after leg #2 went the way of the Dodo, that I'm never outside for much longer than 5 minutes during a normal weekly work day, during "winter".

I go outside my house in the morning and catch a taxi down to the closest bus stop (superhuman powers of sweat notwithstanding, I'm not quite up to walking such distances – yet). Total time being out in the elements: 1-2 minutes waiting for the cab. Then I'm inside said cab, where most drivers have the heat set at Let's celebrate my equatorial homeland! levels, AND are wearing a winter-type jacket, gloves, and beanie. So for that short (yet hot and sweaty) cab ride, I roll my window halfway down.

The standard attire for bus drivers in Wellington. This
is accompanied by a baseline heat setting of somewhere
between "steam bath" and "rim of a jungle volcano".

Then it's maybe a 5 minute (max) wait at the bus stop. This allows me to cool down a bit from the steam-room-like taxi ride ... but then of course it's on to the bus. Where most drivers are either Pacific Islanders, or women, or both. This means (1) the heat is cranked to walking-on-hot-coals-barefoot degrees, and, (2) said driver is also clad in what appears to be an furry astronaut suit for warmth.

While most bus rides in a 'normal' seat are a sticky, lurid, humid affair, I've learned NOT to sit on the seats that have the heaters directly under them. It's hot enough in a regular bus seat ... but if I sit on one of those with a heater under it, my jimmies are well roasted by the time I get to work.

Upon de-bussing, I'm only outside for another 15 to 20 seconds max, as I beeline for the coffee shop ... and then once suitably laden with warm caffeine and a muffin, I'm up the (hot) elevator enroute to my Sahara-like terrarium of an office.

So that's a winter's day for me – no need of any extra jacket or sweater for any time I'm outdoors ...  I occasionally even venture out for short strolls (15 minutes round trip) at lunch to "kill something and eat it" (well, OK, buy something pre-made and eat it).

On summer days, I do spend more time outside during the week. Mostly it's during longer breaks at lunch

A few of my workmates taking lunch in a dank, dark and dingy
office corner – the sort that don't go outside at lunch. You can
also see where Peter Jackson got the idea for some of his LOTR 'extras'.

and at coffee breaks ("morning and afternoon tea", as it's called here). I do this for two reasons: (1) It's really nice out, and if I'm in the shade, fresh air really rocks the casbah, compared to the recycled, stale, dusty, inert gas being passed off as air in the office, and (2) women of an eye-pleasing nature are outside strolling around. This is a much-preferred visual vista, when compared to the alternative – the sullen slouches, lumpy layabouts and traumatic trolls in my office. (OK, there are some nice, and nice looking, people in my office ... but when it's warm and sunny out, these attractive and nice people go outside at lunch, too. That leaves just the fugly and sullen types taking their sustenance inside. There must be something about daylight and fresh air on troll skin that isn't good for them).

So to wrap this up ... yes, much of my existence now is spent in quest of a cool place with fresh air and pleasing views to cast my gaze upon. (Which narrows it down to ... pub patios, with an umbrella to block the sun. And brisk table service).

No super powers seem forthcoming, sadly ...

... unless I can somehow figure out a way to extend my inherent thermodynamic powers to cooking things just by holding on to them ... or by making coffee by staring at the kettle from across the room ... or maybe something to do with ... drinking?

Oh hey, what do you know!!

This is even a Canadian concept!
Right up my alley!

And, of course, I'm still

Oh and if / when you tear your eyes away from the snowy bikini babes up there, be sure to have a gander at my pal Don's latest adventures over at Brew-ha-ha.

Seems he's been out gambling, to augment his drinking fun! Or is it the other way around ...

... and down the road at 'Shwa Stories, my other scribbling pal Glenn is eyeing up some cinematic shenanigans in Oshawa.

Until next time, if I can manage to stop sweating like a typhoid victim working on a forge in the jungles of Argentina at noon, I'm forever on the lookout for all things absurd.