Avoid guilt by letting summer weather take the heat
by Beth Teitell

Thursday, June 28, 2001

Hot enough for ya?

Well, frankly, no.

After all these years in Boston, I'm tired of complaining about the heat.

It's like trying to reason with a voice mail menu, or an infant. No matter how strong your argument, you get nowhere.

Unless we win some kind of Perspirers Bill of Rights, summer's going to continue giving us the business, so why not turn the tables and exploit the weather? Think of the heat not as your enemy but as your friend, a ready-made excuse for almost any shortcoming you may have - intellectual, behavioral, sartorial.

Not in the mood to read the new John Adams bio or ``The Metaphysical Club''? Don't worry, it's summer, a time when you're supposed to indulge in light beach reading, even if you're nowhere near the beach. Pick up Anne Tyler's new book, ``Back When We Were Grownups,'' or an Anna Maxted, and enjoy. Only Al Gores feel like they have to finish ``Constantine's Sword'' before Labor Day.

Or maybe you've been snapping at your co-workers or your spouse. The rest of the year this kind of behavior is reason for self-examination, but not when it's sweltering out. Heck, you're not a rageaholic, you're simply hot 'n' cranky. It's the humidity yelling, not you.

And what better time to go slob than in summer? You're not underdressed and wrinkled, you're laid-back, dude. You're into the season, going with the flow, relaaaxed. Only the uptight wear pumps and clothes that require ironing in July. Next time you're really damp, play it up. You're not ``sweaty,'' you're Kathleen Turner in ``Body Heat.''

The heat can even lend a helping hand when it comes to rationalizing gluttony. Whereas in springtime the magazines are full of stories about getting your butt beach-ready, and in the winter it's non-stop lectures about avoiding holiday weight gain, the food police take the summer off.

You're supposed to buy seaside foods such as saltwater taffy and fudge, and to eat double scoops and hot dogs and clam rolls, and drink those overpriced iced coffees, the ones in which the whipped cream fills the plastic dome. It's too hot to worry about your weight, and besides, by late June what's the point anyway?

And talk about a bonus! On many days, particularly if we're lucky enough to get a sustained heat wave, it's not safe to exercise, even if you really want to. (You can't go to the gym because unfortunately you put your membership on hold for the summer, which was a smart move since you travel so many weekends.)

If you look at it the right way, the heat doesn't prevent you from doing things, it gets you out of doing them. The other seasons, nice as they may be, all make demands. In the fall, you have to schlep up to Vermont to appreciate the foliage. In winter, there's skiing. Spring means a big housecleaning. But summer? Lie on the beach. That's it. Spend eight hours prone during February and they call it melancholia. In August, that same behavior is known as ``relaxing.''

The same double standard holds for the movies. If you leave work early on a cold day in January and take in a matinee at the Fenway 13, the human resources department will probably get involved. Pull the same stunt on a July steamer, and all that's needed is the simple ``It was so hot I couldn't work'' excuse.

Speaking of which, I gotta go. There's a 2:50 showing of ``Shrek.''