It is entirely too hot these days. I don't know what can be done about it but it seems to me that someone somewhere ought to get off their lazy chunk and fix the problem. Maybe there's a wire that needs to be hooked up, or a tube that's come loose. All I know is that it's too hot.

Heat is relative, of course; ask any two people on the street what temperature it is and like as not they will both beat you to death with polo mallets. This is just the sort of thing that we as a country and indeed as a planet need to avoid if we're ever going to tackle the problem of things being unseasonably warm. I mean, people with croquet mallets are one thing, but polo is an entirely different sport. I don't know whether the two were once one, but they are certainly now too, and there's no getting around that no matter how much you whine and curse. Frankly the whole thing is just ridiculous, grown men and women prancing around whining and cursing just because two perfectly civilized sports happen to share similar implements of destruction. It's enough to make one doubt the existence of the Almighty.

Well, Almighty or not, one thing is clear and that is that we must all band together in these times of trial and woe otherwise we'll fall easy prey to polo-mallet-wielding maniacs the world over. It's not enough to want to express solidarity; you've got to express it. It's that way with a lot of things: love, joy, having Bingo, creating a completely revolutionary source of cold fusion, and so on. If we didn't express things regularly, I maintain that we'd quite quickly go quietly insane, forever doomed to walk the halls of some lonesome mental institution, probably muttering to ourselves. That's all well and good for some people, but others of us must stay sane so we can deal with the problems facing the world today, one of which is the fact that it has been and remains entirely too hot of late.

And don't you forget it.

Where do people get off telling me to have a nice day? Do they think I'm incapable of having a nice day without their permission? Actually, the whole thing smacks of extortion; have a nice day since I told you, but if you don't behave, I won't tell you anymore. Just what are these people trying to pull? I might have a very nice day without once hearing that I should, and now with these people all I can do is wonder whether or not my nice day was legitimate or whether I was simply living in a fantasy world.

Besides, what is it that makes a day nice anyway? Certainly not the weather, since I could care less about the weather. Perhaps more prosaic people might believe that it has less to do with exterior circumstances and more to do with inner feelings. That's a load of garbage, since they have no business prying into my inner feelings. Sure, my feelings may be easy to read for some, but that shouldn't make them common knowledge.

It often doesn't even occur to people that my feelings are for me alone. They want me to share them, like that's possible. How can I share my feelings when I'm not even metaphysically sure I have them in the first place? Logically, there are no feelings to share, from their point of view, because if I can't be sure they exist, people other than me really are out on a limb as far as my inner life is concerned.

It might be more interesting for them to ask me to share their feelings, but really, who wants to share other people's quite-possibly-suspect-reality-wise feelings anyway? Most people have feelings that anyone with half a brain could have, and they get along just fine, which is good since if we didn't get along just fine with our feelings we'd be in even more bizarre hot water, psychologically speaking. I know my brain and I get along really well, unless we argue, and then we usually make up quickly afterwards, so I'm not worried. You might want to be though, since I bet your brain is just dying for attention and will start to employ attention-getting behaviors any time now.

Can we really pay attention to our brains anyway? Realistically, our brains are what we pay attention with. It's like trying to haul water in a pail made of water; it's all water, so the pail doesn't really enter into it. I guess it's less like that than one might like to believe, but at the same time, it's more like that then I'm prepared to admit. If water can't hold water, then how can our brains conceive of themselves? It's like talking to our mouths, or seeing our eyes. Reflections, that's all.

It makes one wonder just what constitutes reality and what reflects it. Am I a reflection of myself, or is my reflection reality? If that doesn't blow your mind, then maybe you need to take it out to dinner and buy it the lobster. Sea-going cockroaches are the perfect way to say, "I'm sorry for trying to blow you, dear." I'm sure that most of you in the audience never thought you'd have to say that to yourselves, now did you?

In conclusion, ladies and gentlemen, get the British out of Kenya. If that's not a stirring battle-cry behind which we can all march, I don't know what is. I don't know what many things are, but I'm not letting that stop me from having a nice day. Nor should you, unless you happen to be British. Or an historian. Or a reflection.

Now, some people think that entries in blahgs should have titles. I myself lean toward this philosophy, since it's important to be able to figure out what the subject matter of an article is, and this is where the title comes in.

You might have noticed, however, that there are no titles here. Why is that? Well, because frankly nothing I'm writing deserves titular recognition.

So, I was thinking today. Not surprising, since I think a lot. Well, not a lot, but quite often, unless I've got something better to do. Wouldn't it be easier if we didn't have to think, or rather if we thought all the time, rather than simply running through life like we've got somewhere to be five minutes ago?

But that actually wasn't what I was thinking. I was thinking about computer security. I think about this a lot, especially when I'm visiting sites like, oh, I don't know, Blogger.com. Why is it that I have to basically go into my security settings and say, "Here, take my computer now, please, have masses of nasty raunchy unprotected internet-computer-sex with it now," because I want to use a website? I can think of lots of ways to make websites more usable, but the first one that always comes to mind is removing bells and whistles. They keep everyone either at the mercy of anything at all or unable to do things online which really could be accomplished safely, easily, and above all, more simply. Damn the freaking internet.

God, I'm still writing in this stupid blahg. I have yet to see anyone call these things that, which is pretty much what they are. Why the hell do you want to read this anyway? I promise, if I keep writing, I'll make it more entertaining.

Oh, and as a humorous footnote, Blogger.com doesn't know how to spell its own name.

"Oh, there's no way in hell you're going to get me to publish a blog," I said. "I think blogs are stupid," I said. "The word 'blog' sounds like something which a very sick person would say," I said.

Well, it looks very much like I might have lied, doesn't it. And anyone who thinks differently can jump in a lake of some kind. Maybe a lake of lava. That would be painful, now wouldn't it?

You might also ask why I've got a blog when I have no time in which to write in it. Well, the answer is simple enough: I wanted to be able to post on someone else's blog and I thought this would be a good way. Now I'm stuck here in blog limbo waiting for the bus.

Oh that sweet sweet bus.