It's hot.

It's seriously hot. It was pouring when we got off of the bus and we just took a leisurely stroll to the library, getting soaked. It was the first time I'd been cool in days. I don't mind warm weather, but this is ridiculous, I can't even sit perfectly still without sweating.

When Jo and I got home last night we went into the back yard and sprayed each other down with the hose. The only solution to this heat (if you're too broke to afford air conditioning) is to be soaked as much as possible. To that end we are looking to purchase a blow up pool for the backyard where we will sit, possibly with some sort of cocktail, and be cool.

Jo's mouse, Commander Theodore Bun-Bun a.k.a. Dr. Bruce Dickenson a.k.a. Bacon, has passed away. It is the second animal death (and the second dead animal I've touched ERLACK) in our house this summer and we are placing the blame solely on the heat. In a desperate attempt to save Hammy, the most prized member of our menagerie (and the sole surviving member), we moved him into the basement. He now appears to be thriving. Thank God, 'cause there would be three VERY sad pandas if Hammy died.

Anyways, back to All Quiet on the Western Front. Really. I'm already writing my review. No, I don't even like the BBC. I certainly won't be dicking around on the internet.