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I often say I moved her from Florida to get out of the fucking heat. Today, it was 25 degrees hotter here than where I used to live in Florida. Oh bitter irony. I did remember from my years in these situations back home and Florida that the only way to deal with this kind of heat is to decide that it's not going to bother you.

On a separate note, I begin to despair for the fantasy series that I used to love so much (I like relatively mindless fluff as much as I like staggering works of genius that are produced by not necessarily Dave Eggers). George R.R. Martin seems to get pissier and pissier about when his next book is going to come out. Robert Jordan has managed to contract some amazingly bizarre disease. And fucking J.K. Rowling is apparently engaged in a battle with the fans over the destiny of her characters.

Remind me never to start reading anything that looks like it might become a series until the series is either all wrapped up or the author fucking dies.