I left this crappy ass summer weather back in Baton Rouge

I left this crappy ass summer weather back in Baton Rouge in 1985. So, can someone please tell me how it found me way up here in Asheville, North Carolina? Seriously. I moved to the mountains with expectations of cool summers and nasty cold winters that I don't particularly care for. And I was right.

Until about 7 years ago. Never even had any kind of AC until sometime this decade. It's a one-room unit that cools the front of the house, leaving the back rooms shut, with maybe the ceiling fan just kind of moving the hot air around just enough to make you think you're not completely in Dante's Inferno. But, it has hit me big time this summer that the Baton Rouge heat I once loved, then detested, has found me. I want it to go back the hell home. Asheville is as far north as I have ever lived. There is no southern hospitality in my household towards Summer 2010.

Right now, it is 2 pm, Friday. Clouds are thundering off in the west. Small growls at first, growing into rumbles, then on into downright thunder. The leaves are turning upside down, confirming some wet stuff is going to come pouring down as if it were being dumped directly into a gully. About a half hour from now, the sun will peak through, steam will rise from the streets, and temperatures and humidity will make my head hurt. I will soon seriously think about sticking my head in the refrigerator for at least five minutes, electric bill be damned.

I will be folding up paper towels and placing them in my armpits, held in place by my shirt, hoping they won't fall out and land in the lap of one of my editors.

Oh ... sorry ... I just flashed back to the newsroom where I began my journalistic path in Baton Rouge, the Capitol newspaper, the paper that had once followed Huey P. Long's every step. I started as a typist. It was my job to retype and correct stories sent over some huge electronic typewriter. That's right. I had to RETYPE it. No such thing as email or internet. It was all one huge word processor. AP style was burned into my brain. Then, I became a newsroom aide who got to wander all over the building, meeting and conversing with big wigs, sitting on the roof, overlooking the Mighty Mississippi for a few stolen moments, and enjoying my talks with those considered lower on the totem pole. However, they were the people who actually made sure the newspaper hit the streets before daybreak. I learned it all from the best. But, I digress.

My point is ... if this summer is not proof of global warming .... well, excuse me. I'm going to check and make sure the rain barrel is set to catch the regularly scheduled Asheville afternoon thunderstorm.