I saw that the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area experienced a heat wave today, with the temperature reaching 100 degrees in June for the first time since 1997.
The story about the heat wave brought back some memories. Kish and I lived in D.C. from 1981 through 1986, and during the summer the heat was the most unbearably intense, humid, sapping heat imaginable. As a fresh-faced Congressional aide I would leave our tiny walk-up apartment at 1019 East Capitol Street, striding briskly toward the Capitol and my eventual goal of the Rayburn House Office Building, and be positively dissolved in sweat before reaching the environs of the Folger Shakespeare Library. At first you would feel a tiny trickle, then you would start to become a bit stressed about the sweat oozing from your open pores, and soon you would be staggering through the steamy air, your starched shirt damp and rumpled, sweat rings and saddle bags staining the fabric, praying that you would soon reach the arctic blast of the government building air conditioning.
I am convinced that nowhere gets hotter than Washington, D.C. in summer.