the “YOUR MOM IS HOT” issue.

There is a billboard about fifteen minutes away from where I live. This billboard reads “YOUR MOM IS HOT” in bold black text atop a blank white background.

There's no logo.

There's no brand name.

When I first saw this billboard, I was perplexed. I pulled out my phone and searched Google (not that I expected a search for ‘YOUR MOM IS HOT' to unearth PG-rated results). Nothing turned up.

Later, someone told me this billboard was for an HVAC company. “YOUR MOM IS HOT” was an advertisement for *drumroll* air conditioning.

As a fan of counter-culture, I thought it was brilliant. And dumb. How do you hire a company you can't find? They should have created yourmomishotbillboard.com or something. They didn't. And so, when my air conditioner broke a few days ago and I wanted to hire this company, I couldn't.

My air conditioner is still broken. If my mom lived with me, she would be hot. It's 93° Fahrenheit outside today. My mailman mistook me for the dude at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Inert air conditioning is for sure a First World problem, but perspectives are relative. In other words, I get to complain about whatever I want to complain about and I don’t need to justify my complaining, even though I've effectively justified my complaining by proclaiming justification unnecessary.

Besides, complaining about someone that’s complaining about something you don't think they should be complaining about makes less sense than flying the Confederate flag alongside a rainbow flag.

This heat is cooking my brain like a blueberry in a jacuzzi. I can't think. I can't feel. Yesterday was Memorial Day. If you don't live in the States, Memorial Day is a holiday wherein we pretend to honor those that’ve served in the military by eating classic American cuisine, like kielbasa.)

Initially, I planned to honor the troops, per tradition. Fire up the grill, pound a few hazy IPAs, and deliberately overcook a cacophony of pig parts that've been pureed and plunged inside of the lining of another pig's intestines. But after dragging myself through an 85° Fahrenheit house for three straight days, zero parts of the plan sounded appetizing.

Fire up the grill? It already feels like I’m living in a grill. Have a few beers? They’ll start to boil as soon as I take them out of the fridge. Eat salty processed meats? I’m already sweating out the salami inside of me, and I haven’t eaten salami in ten years.

This got me thinking about the two-way street between the body and the brain.

Every day around two o'clock my mind shuts down. I do a bunch of caffeinated creative work in the early morning and then I hit a wall. I usually ignore my dead brain and try to be productive anyways. MORE COFFEE? MAYBE. WIRE MY EYES OPEN WITH TOOTHPICKS AND SCOTCH TAPE? YES. CONTINUE WORKING. DEATH COMES TO US ALL.

It never works.

Here's what does work:

When my brain shuts down, I do something vigorous with my body. (Lifting weights is my vigor of choice.) Afterward, my brain comes back online.

Body influences brain.

There are examples in the opposite direction, too. When I was doing freestyle acrobatics and I wanted to be more explosive, I pretended the ground was lava. Thinking about this made me jump higher than I normally would.

Grind a popsicle stick on your teeth.
Rub pieces of Styrofoam together.
Scrape your nails on a chalkboard.

You now have gooseflesh.

Brain influences body.

This is normally where I'd write a clever conclusion. Not today.

 

May the Gains be with you,
Ant