120° Degrees in the Shade

That's the weekend forecast and I'm trying to figure out a strategy that will keep the house relatively cool without hearing a boom from the electric meter going supersonic: should I set the thermostat at 35° cooler than outside (like anyone can stand an 85°-house?) or be cool at the risk of an aged 5-ton roof-mounted refrigeration unit succumbing to overexposure, which could be a $10,000 day.

Maybe I should aim lawn sprinklers at shingles on the half of the roof that faces West.

I know from guys messing with a laser thermometer, once, that it was 112° in the shade and when they pointed their gadget at the concrete, out in the sunshine, the readout registered 148°.

I sure won't be frying my eggs on the sidewalk because, just like pancakes, pebbles, ants and grasshopper turds don't do much for my teeth or appetite, and anyone worth his gourmet sea salt knows the wrong texture...well... it can just ruin a dish.

Poor folks, old folks and smart folks usually turn off their A/C and flee to the mall, but I fear food courts more than legal ones, and my car upholstery would explode in their lot while my wealthier neighbors back home in North Vista would be sapping all the neighborhood's power with their homes at a comfy 72°.

Brown-outs (electric company, not my skivvies) occur on days like this, so I think I'll set the sprinklers and hunker down at home throwing darts at the face of Al "I Invented the Internet and Global Warming" Gore, prepared to empty the refrigerator, scoop up the pooch, and--only as a last 'resort'--head for the closest Motel 3 if God's bake sails though here like a Blue Diamond match skipping along a brass zipper in a room full of propane.