The tyranny of air conditioning
A typical August heat wave, which has steamed the state for the last week, finally broke today. I’m not sure what the high was, but the lows tonight are forecast in the 50s.
Ahhh. And this is only a prelude to what will be normal this fall.
Not only did the heat subside, but I have been freed from the tyranny of air conditioning. My windows are open, a cool breeze is gently pushing at my blinds, and I intend to let the symphony of crickets lull me to sleep.
Since I moved home, this is only the second or third time my parents have turned off the air. I think that’s typical. No one I know enjoys Iowa’s stifling steam cooker heat, but no one I know hates it more than my dad, the man controlling the thermostat.
Dad’s aversion to heat is deeply engrained from experience. As a kid, pops slept in his underwear in the living room during the summers, huddled in front of a tiny fan with his brothers. The thing he hated most about Vietnam, beside the war, was the heat. (Most Vietnam veterans will say their first impression of the country, at the very moment they stepped off the plane, was the intense heat.) As a member of the IC Street’s Department crew, he has to endure the brunt of the summer heat while pouring concrete, cleaning basins, and doing whatever else they do in the summer. (The city requires him and his fellow workers to wear jeans no matter how hot it is. It’s a safety precaution, but it no doubt sucks during the summer.) He has been severely dehydrated twice, and a doctor told him a third time would be fatal.
His heat hatred probably has its genetic and character roots, as well. The man is a furnace. He will wear shorts in February when it’s 20º. Plus, he never sits. He’s always rushing here or there, doing something, working on something, sweating like a butcher. When the outside temperature hits 80º — or lower if the humidity is high — he turns the air on.
(And that’s usually not enough. Wherever he’s at in the house, doing whatever it is he’s doing, a fan is turned on high and aimed at him.)
Though I was fortunate enough to grow up with central air, I inherited dad’s contempt for heat. I, too, am a human furnace that needs constant cooling. But as much as I enjoy the comforts of air conditioning when it’s unbearably hot — especially having lived without it for three summers in California — it annoys me.
With the air on and all the windows closed, the house feels more like a climate controlled corporate office off the beltway in Minneapolis. The air becomes stagnant and pregnant with (probably carcinogenic) air freshening chemicals. (For some reason, my mom has air fresheners planted all over the house.) The basement, where my room is, becomes as cold as a meat locker. All the cold air from upstairs settles to the basement, which is already the coolest part of the house. While the temperature upstairs may be held steady at 75º, downstairs it’s probably 65º — with the vents closed. My room becomes an icebox. A few weeks ago, while playing NCAA before going to bed, I was so chilled I wrapped myself in a comforter. After being cooped up inside for a few hours, it’s nice to walk out into the blazing heat and thaw out.
As I said, air conditioning is nice…but it’s so unnatural. Of course the heat sucks, but it’s not unbearable; it’s not impossible to live without air. (In Iowa it’s not. In places like Barstow, Palm Springs, and Las Vegas, however, I think it is a necessity.) Leave the windows open (unless you live on the ground level and leave), turn on a fan, and sleep without any covers. You sweat constantly, but that’s your body’s natural defense against heat; it’s your natural air conditioning. After a while you get used to it, but you still pine for perfect days like this: no humidity, adequate warmth, and a gentle breeze. (Days like this are among the reasons I moved back.)
Air conditioning is great in moderation, but cruel and oppressive when used to excess.
Ahhh. And this is only a prelude to what will be normal this fall.
Not only did the heat subside, but I have been freed from the tyranny of air conditioning. My windows are open, a cool breeze is gently pushing at my blinds, and I intend to let the symphony of crickets lull me to sleep.
Since I moved home, this is only the second or third time my parents have turned off the air. I think that’s typical. No one I know enjoys Iowa’s stifling steam cooker heat, but no one I know hates it more than my dad, the man controlling the thermostat.
Dad’s aversion to heat is deeply engrained from experience. As a kid, pops slept in his underwear in the living room during the summers, huddled in front of a tiny fan with his brothers. The thing he hated most about Vietnam, beside the war, was the heat. (Most Vietnam veterans will say their first impression of the country, at the very moment they stepped off the plane, was the intense heat.) As a member of the IC Street’s Department crew, he has to endure the brunt of the summer heat while pouring concrete, cleaning basins, and doing whatever else they do in the summer. (The city requires him and his fellow workers to wear jeans no matter how hot it is. It’s a safety precaution, but it no doubt sucks during the summer.) He has been severely dehydrated twice, and a doctor told him a third time would be fatal.
His heat hatred probably has its genetic and character roots, as well. The man is a furnace. He will wear shorts in February when it’s 20º. Plus, he never sits. He’s always rushing here or there, doing something, working on something, sweating like a butcher. When the outside temperature hits 80º — or lower if the humidity is high — he turns the air on.
(And that’s usually not enough. Wherever he’s at in the house, doing whatever it is he’s doing, a fan is turned on high and aimed at him.)
Though I was fortunate enough to grow up with central air, I inherited dad’s contempt for heat. I, too, am a human furnace that needs constant cooling. But as much as I enjoy the comforts of air conditioning when it’s unbearably hot — especially having lived without it for three summers in California — it annoys me.
With the air on and all the windows closed, the house feels more like a climate controlled corporate office off the beltway in Minneapolis. The air becomes stagnant and pregnant with (probably carcinogenic) air freshening chemicals. (For some reason, my mom has air fresheners planted all over the house.) The basement, where my room is, becomes as cold as a meat locker. All the cold air from upstairs settles to the basement, which is already the coolest part of the house. While the temperature upstairs may be held steady at 75º, downstairs it’s probably 65º — with the vents closed. My room becomes an icebox. A few weeks ago, while playing NCAA before going to bed, I was so chilled I wrapped myself in a comforter. After being cooped up inside for a few hours, it’s nice to walk out into the blazing heat and thaw out.
As I said, air conditioning is nice…but it’s so unnatural. Of course the heat sucks, but it’s not unbearable; it’s not impossible to live without air. (In Iowa it’s not. In places like Barstow, Palm Springs, and Las Vegas, however, I think it is a necessity.) Leave the windows open (unless you live on the ground level and leave), turn on a fan, and sleep without any covers. You sweat constantly, but that’s your body’s natural defense against heat; it’s your natural air conditioning. After a while you get used to it, but you still pine for perfect days like this: no humidity, adequate warmth, and a gentle breeze. (Days like this are among the reasons I moved back.)
Air conditioning is great in moderation, but cruel and oppressive when used to excess.
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