Think Cold

There's nothing like summer in New York City when it starts smelling like hot garbage and rancid body odor, when news reporters begin covering stories about pets and old people dropping like flies from the heat, and when everyone starts to perspire like I've been since in April.

With a heat wave smothering most of this country starting this week, temperatures will be approaching 100 in several states, including New York. I can't help but think of that Twilight Zone 'Midnight Sun' episode- the one about the two women stuck in an apartment, sweating it out waiting for their fateful end as the Earth, thrown off its orbit, approaches closer and closer to the Sun. It's a story about survival, desperation, the apocalypse, and sweat.

I sweat...alot. Whether it's biking, running, climbing stairs, walking, or breathing, I've been known to emit more water through my skin's pores than any other human I've ever encountered. So when I see others experience in 95 degree temperatures what I normally experience at 65 degrees, I have to admit, I get a certain level of satisfaction- as if to say 'welcome to my world.' A point to clarify: although I claim to have superhuman perspiration, body odor doesn't seem to run a proportional course in my physiological make up. Serendipitously, I don't stink nearly as much as I sweat.

I first became aware of my 'porous' condition one hot summer day in second grade. Upon hearing the lunch bell sound calling for the end of recess, I found myself exhausted from an intense game of Tag. While lining up to return to our classroom, a classmate noticed that the top of my shirt collar (my school required boys to wear the St. Agnes special- blue shirt, navy tie, grey slacks), had turned a gradient of mixed colors. Apparently my sweat combined with the sun had caused the shirt collar and tie to bleed colors- not unlike a rainbow. Creative little pricks as second graders are, moments later someone else noticed it as well, and like an epiphany, someone else deemed me 'Rainbow Brite' in front of the rest of my classmates...a moment of embarrassment that is forever etched in my mind. Luckily the name didn't stick, partially because I made sure I never exerted myself to the point of sweating during recess ever again.

I've learned since that day on the playground how to use this condition to my advantage; I've learned that a sweaty body in contact sports like basketball, football, and wrestling can play to one's advantage, proving to be a formidable challenge to defend against.

I've also learned to manage around it as well; on job interviews, I frequently carry a few paper towels in my pocket to control me schwetty hands, and on my wedding day I even had extra tuxedo shirts on hand as backup during the reception, in case the outdoor festivities became too hot to handle that August day.

It's hard out here for a sweaty pimp.