July 1

It’s been a rough couple of weeks in the home town. First off, it’s hot. HOT, like stay at work until 8:30 because it’s air conditioned, and it’s still above 90 in my apartment when I go home. This is how hot it is: The water in the toilet is so much cooler than the air around it that the toilet is sweating, causing a constant patter of drips onto the badly-patchwork-carpeted bathroom floor, which is undoubtedly making the wood beneath it rot, increasing the likelihood that at some point my toilet will fall through the floor into the apartment of the gun-collecting crazy guy downstairs. I put piles of newspapers around to soak up the dripping, but they have to be changed every few hours. Early in the week I thought the toilet was actually leaking, and I was digging around trying to find the leak, when I realized that the toilet water was just that much cooler than my apartment. I would be more cooled off dousing in toilet water than sitting in front of my fan. I sat on the side of the tub, watching the toilet sweat, and realized I had hit a new low of patheticness.

Second off, lots of travel—which is good—but then, lots of stuff piling up that’s not getting done. Bad. And there’s a generally pervasive pissiness around my office, and around the town, and it’s seeping into my black little heart.

But I think it’s turning around. Last night I went to buy a new wastebasket and some small trays to collect the commode runoff, and on the way home I was wondering why this town has no real ice cream stands, just custard. Why IS that? Every two-bit one-horse town around Peoria has a walk-up ice cream stand, and we don’t? What’s wrong with this town! But then, when I rounded the last corner to home, an ice cream truck was parked on the corner. Hooray! We’ve never had an ice cream truck come through the neighborhood before. I’ve never ever had ice cream truck ice cream. And here it was! Waiting for me! The truck had drawn quite a crowd, and neighbors I’d never seen in four years of living here heeded the call. The truck—a “Cousin Softee” truck--was run by a nice Russian man and his daughter. It was very Perfect Strangers—straightlaced Mr. Softee and his wacky immigrant cousin, Cousin Softee! The truck tinkled out that music-box style ice cream truck music, starting with such nondescript classics as “It’s a Small World” and “Home on the Range,” followed by a lengthy series of Christmas carols. Lightning bugs lazed by while the neighbors sat on the curbs, ice cream dripping down their arms, singing “Jingle Bells” in the 95-degree heat.

We’re supposed to have a couple of days of cooler weather, before it gets really hot again for the Fourth. It’ll be nice not to be insulted by the happy chilly toilet water for a while. I sense grand things coming! Fearlessness and margaritas! A briefly clean apartment! Not being a British colony! Good times. Happy Fourth of July to you! Go see some fireworks, now.