Here at Carolina, we understand that temperature and humidity combine to form an entity so powerful it can leave even the hardiest student reeling. And it affects all of us.
Mother Nature doesn't have favorites, she doesn't pick and choose, she doesn't play the race card. Her muggy wrath is served up in equal portions for every fortunate central N.C. resident. Hers is an equal opportunity misery.
And yet we do nothing.
Often we hear life described as a bowl of cherries or a box of chocolates -- the world as our oyster. Doesn't it sometimes seem, however, that our own Chapel Hill resembles finger foods or the "Southern Part of Heaven" a bit less than, say ... a giant (good-smelling, good-smelling) armpit?
Can we really stand to live in a world where we step outside only to be flogged with the atmospheric equivalent of just-worn gym sock?
How are we supposed to be productive students when every breath feels drawn through a damp washcloth?
Impossible.
Wait just a cotton-pickin' minute, I can hear everyone saying. You're sitting chilly in your air-conditioned, North Campus dorm. You are probably typing these very words fanned by the icy breezes and lulled by the hum of a brand new Friedrich QuietMaster 2000!
Who are you to complain?!
You can't talk about the heat index when you live in a meat locker! Some of us reek of BO, while you reek of hypocrisy!
On that point, you'd be right. But I did grow up in a house with no air conditioning, and it is with a genuine compassion for my sweating brethren that I can say, "I feel your pain."
So what, indeed, should be done? We've got dampened spirits, frizzy coifs, epidemic body odor and athletes dropping like flies. We're living like prisoners in havens of processed air!
To get the day's news and headlines in your inbox each morning, sign up for our email newsletters.
And it's not as though we don't have enough to sweat about as it is -- these ridiculous retroactive tuition increases, our campus housing crunch, disintegrating town-gown relations, the state budget crisis, etc. Not to mention our government's refusal to ratify the international global warming treaty. (Ironic isn't it?)
Crushing humidity is just more than we can handle. Should we stage a march, (perhaps in all black, at high noon)? A sit-in (perhaps on some hot asphalt)? Have a forum? Form a committee to clip out all those "Top 10 Ways to Beat the Heat!" articles? (Hmmm ... perhaps that's what I should have been writing ...)
Who knows?
I can tell you are wondering if this column has a greater focus, an underlying theme or metaphor that will give us all pause, make us stop and ponder our world in its great mystery and magnificence.
Will it provide any real, concrete answers? Well, no.
Our campus, as forward-thinking and technology-blessed as it is, is powerless to stop the humidity. I've got no suggestions; I'm just trying to make known the collective suffering, to say that I understand and offer words of sympathy.
The humidity is a steel-toed boot to the groin of our comfort and quality of life, and while I can take no real action against it, I can take an ideological stand: It's hot as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!
Erin Fornoff thinks sweat rings are sexy. Reach her with thoughts on this at fornoff@email.unc.edu.
