You're soakin' in it

First things first. These are not my feet, my legs or my pink slippers. Not that I have anything against pink slippers. In fact I'm sure some pink slippers can be quite fetching, and I have no doubt were I to wear pink slippers I'd look fabulous in them.

But we're not here to talk about pink slippers. We're here to talk about my feet. Again.

In my last post, I described in more detail than anyone asked for about the minor procedure I had to remedy my ingrown toenail. In what us medical professionals like to refer to as the post-op phase, I've had to soak my recovering tootsie twice a day in luke warm water, with a half cup of epsom salts mixed in.

First, because of the water temperature, every time I fill the bin, in my head I hear James Earl Jones saying "Luke, I am your water!" Yeah, I know.

Second, I've never really known what epsom salt is. I've heard of it, I know it's something you soak in, but that's about the extent of it. Come to find out it's crystals of hydrated magnesium sulfate (pay attention class) that not only relax the feet and reduce swelling, they also draw out toxins and promote healing.

The problem is apparently epsom salt only comes in an eight-pound bag or larger. Do you have any idea what a cup a day for five days weighs? Neither do I, but it can't be much cause it doesn't make a dent in that gigantic bag.

Regardless, five days after the procedure the toe is looking swell. Not swollen, just swell. I don't know how the epsom salts do their job, I just know they are.

I know you'll be disappointed, but this is going to be the last post about my feet. Two is enough, and three would just be weird. I don't mean to be callus about it, I just want to manage your expectations.

Sorry about the callus joke. It was downright corny. Sorry again.

Foot jokes are my Achille's heel.

Ok. I'll stop now.

Cool it

I love air conditioning. Which may explain why I like colder climates, like San Francisco, Portland and Seattle.

I think it's because I have a very low sweat point. Anything over 60 degrees, and people are trying to throw pennies in me and make a wish.

Anything over 70 degrees and I look like a real-life version of Albert Brooks in Broadcast News.

So of course, being a Los Angeles native and still living in southern California doesn't present me with a lot of opportunities to appreciate the cool weather. Or wear nice wool jackets. Sure there's the occasional plummet to 58 degrees, but you never know when that's coming which makes it hard to plan for.

One dream vacation of mine would be to stay a few nights in the Ice Hotel in Sweden. It's built in winter, melts in the summer and rebuilt the following winter.

The very definition of a seasonal business.

They have cool rooms like the one here, and warm rooms, which are in more permanent structures on the property. But no one goes there for the warm room.

I started this post talking about how I love air conditioning. To me, one of the greatest sensations is walking inside from a hot day into a freezing casino...er...building. I also like sliding under the bedsheets, pulling up the blanket and going to sleep in an ice-cold room.

Admittedly, it's not the most energy efficient way to live. But what I do is run my electricity at about 125% capacity. They when they ask everyone to conserve energy and cut back 20%, I dial it down to 105%. It's what I like to call a win-win.

Anyway, it's 70 degrees outside, 62 inside and a half hour before midnight. So I'm heading off to bed.

Right after I turn it down to 57.

Taking the temperature

I happen to like colder temperatures. Not just at home, but at the office as well.

As long as I remember, people in offices have tried to break into that locked plastic, wall-mounted thermostat to control the temperature. And if you’ve ever tried to do it – not that I ever have because that would be wrong – it’s never been an easy thing to do. So I hear.

Occasionally, some maintenance guy will leave the cover unlocked, and you’ll have access to it for awhile. But despite the painstaking effort to put the cover back in a position that makes it look like it’s locked, eventually some thin-skinned whiner who wears a mohair sweater and scarf when it’s 90 degrees will rat you out because “it’s just soooo cold in here!” Then they lock it up again.

These thermostats don’t just control where you’re sitting. They control different zones in the office. The problem is it’s the same kind of common-sense zoning you find on Bourbon Street, or the Vegas strip. Maybe it controls the temperature where you’re sitting, as well as a corner on the complete other side of the office.

Fortunately, technology has made changing the temperature and messing with people much easier. Sort of.

Everything’s digital now, so you can set the temperature much more accurately. Instead of turning a dial, and waiting for that “pfsssst” sound, now you just hit an up or down arrow.

The problem is the locking system has also gotten better. Screens and their housings can be locked so only a designated person can change the temperature.

But the good news is, since so many agencies have drunk the Kool-Aid on the value of open office plans, which either limits the “zones” or makes them much larger depending on how you look at it, the opportunity to irritate a greater number of people in a shorter amount of time is very real.

Carpé freeze ‘em.