Friday nights are known for frolic, frivolity, and downright weekend fun. Many an ad agencies have branded this otherwise natural and weekly occurrence as a reason to spend. Club kids are investing in well deserved disco naps for a full night of divalicious dance floor antics.

Perhaps it’s my fast paced dayjob, or a constant pang to create, but apart from last Friday’s birthday bash for a friend, my Fridays usually trend towards a spa treatment. These treatments (operative syllable “treat”) usually commence with a glass of wine, bookended by yet “un autre verre” du Chardonnay, some fruits, as well as a sampling of facial products in a boudoir like environment while jazz or classical selections are offered on an unassuming and ambient volume level.

The fast paced dayjob with its well air-conditioned offices is a much appreciated blessing especially on a Friday like yesterday, the 22nd of July. The thought of traveling anywhere further uptown than 14th Street on the subway to partake in any pleasures described in the previous paragraph was met with an emphatic no from the boss of me (that would be myself).  New York surpassed 100 degrees Fahrenheit (32 degrees Celsius) and walking outside after a full day of pleasant ventilation only made me sympathize with a well marinaded butterball turkey entering the oven.

Being an avid baker,  I can only equate yesterday’s outdoor weather with the initial gust of heat as you open the oven door. Humidity may have been a mere 33%, but it did not make the arid air and omnipotent sun any less bearable than if one were to flee from the lair of Lord Voldermort to the depths of Hades. It was HOT, get the picture?

As pictured above (titled “Sunset and Splash”), I found this scene down the street from my home to be particularly telling of yesterday’s temperature tantrum. The liberated hydrant sprayed a sexy and generous arc of water without end. Precious children a few blocks away with a similar makeshift fountain danced with wild abandon along with scantily and inappropriately clad mothers. The loving dog owner pictured above dangles her pooch by the inverted waterfall. Cackles, laughter, and Latin music harmonized with the swishing spray of hydration. I was glad to be home, as I am now on a Saturday afternoon debating whether I should brave similarly oppressive climate (Oddly enough I’ve heard myself say the same thing in the middle of winter.)  The sense of Guilt is attempting to creep into bed with me and my billow of eight pillows, but the pang of Hunger at this lunch hour is really vying for my attention. Did I mention Creative Juices as the other bedfellow in this menage a trois? May the best lover win.

I appreciate the cool refuge I call my home. What is yours?