Becoming Jabba and Other Thoughts on the Heat Wave

Okay. So, picture Jabba the Hut in your mind. There he is, just sitting there, talking in some kind of language that sounds like he’s had a stroke. He’s got weird creatures chained to him and he kind of orders people around.  

 

That’s been me this week.

I’m always amazed that you can have in your head all these plans and then they just don’t happen. The kids have been in Canada for a week so I was going to walk around Reed’s Lake every day and cook stuff only purchased at the Farmer’s Market, and Kealoha and I were going to ride our bikes while whistling Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head, and I’d finish “Tunnel Vision” in a flurry of intense creative activity, and I’d also read a classic novel or two.

Yeah. Then the mofo heat wave started and even though we have air conditioning….I just…Became Jabba. I had a couple of narration gigs so I’d go to the studio, sit still and read all day, then come home exhausted, talk like I had a stroke, watch Breaking Bad, read “The Walking Dead”, and eat dinner with Kealoha in the basement while watching MasterChef. All I needed was some creatures chained to me.

Exercise? Go for bike rides? Whistle? Are you KIDDING me? It’s been an effort not to fan myself continuously while speaking in a bad Tennessee Williams type accent saying “My, it is hot out there. My my my. So hot that you could fry butter on the sidewalk. Bring me a biscuit, Matthew. And sop up that butter with it and feed it to my soul. My aching soul.”

 

Actually, I’d much rather be a Tennessee Williams character than Jabba the Hut. For one thing, Jabba is all big and naked and green. Maggie in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof gets to walk around in a sexy slip.

 

I’ve totally lost my focus here.

 

I’m going to go put a slip on and watch Nigella Lawson reruns on the Cooking Channel. That way I’ll feel like I’m accomplishing something by LEARNING and will improve my body image by looking at a curvy cook while feeling delicious in my slip.

 

 

This heat wave needs to stop. NOW. I can’t take it.

 

And now I want a biscuit. For my soul. Goddammit.