Holy freaking shit, it's hot
It's not just hot; it's get-under-your-skin-and-fry-your-internal-organs hot.

It's not news, of course, that it gets really hot in Texas. But the heat in the Very Large Metropolitan Area is a different kind of heat. It sears you on its way down from the sky; then it bounces off the concrete and strafes your face. A little relief breeze may blow, but it's blocked by a building. The sun shines off the back window of the car in front of you, stealing your vision as you move 7 mph down the freeway. Every vent on your dashboard is trained on your face as you lay off Norm A/C and replace him with the supposedly more powerful Max A/C. The temperature gauge on your dashboard creeps to just left of the "H;" you hope to God you can shake the traffic and get the car up to speed in time to blow some relief in through the grille before everything under your hood vanishes in a cloud of steam. It's too hot to drink beer at the ballgame; the Beer Man is abandoned in favor of the Bottled Water Man. You set the thermostat at 75 degrees so the air conditioner can run all day just to keep the house at 79. If the air conditioner breaks down, you'll pay the man anything to fix it. You'll give him your house, your car, $1,340 and buy him dinner for a year if he'll just fix it now. If the air conditioner breaks down on Sunday, be prepared to throw in your spouse and one of your kids.

We learned about summer in Texas quickly. Our first full summer here was the summer of 2000; it was the hottest summer in 20 years. It didn't rain for almost 90 days. The Sunday before Labor Day, the temperature tied the all-time record high of 111. The Wife was eight months pregnant at the time. I can imagine nothing less pleasant.

Air quality in the Very Large Metropolitan Area is bad. "Ozone alerts" are issued; if a "Level Orange" or "Level Red" alert is issued, we're asked to leave our cars at home and ride public transportation or carpool. Yeah, right. Ozone alerts are largely ignored. We'd much rather look through our tinted glass during the traffic jam and wonder if the sky is always that funny brown color.

In keeping with the Texan tendency to do everything to excess, we don't just air-condition our public buildings. We turn them into walk-in refrigerators. You come in from outside, where it's 101, and you're immediately blasted with a 51-degree dose of Freon. It's a wonder thunderstorms don't form at the entrance to the mall.

I'd continue, but my brain is melted. Must find another bottle of water.