I'm remembering how much I hate the heat. It was in the high 90s yesterday, but that feels like 110 when you're not acclimated yet. Driving around in Old Red tries my patience even in winter, because the windows aren't tinted and it's always sunny enough to create a greenhouse effect. But the absence of air conditioning on a hot day is appalling. Still, I must admit to some pleasure sitting in the Wal-Mart parking lot this morning -- I know, I know, but I needed N batteries for Bean's redoubtable "Twinkle Star" and the first two places I stopped were out of them -- with the windows down, listening to the dreadful screech and crackle of the car's defective AM radio providing me just enough discernible commentary to figure out what was happening at the end of the Tennessee-Virginia game. It says a lot about me -- as much as anyone needs to know, really -- that I'm willing to spend long stretches of time leaning forward -- I wish there were a verb that means what "to peer" does, only in an aural context -- in an effort to extract shards of meaning from what most people would dismiss as sheer noise. Maybe I should write something about it: Sublime Reception: The Search for Meaning in the Noise of the Dial.