If we had a dollar for every time someone mentioned the heat this week, we’d be pretty rich. Not buying-a-sports-team-for-fun rich, but rich like we could move out of our studio apartments into some place with central air. Today is so hot, it’s the kind of day that makes the air wiggle and voids almost any attempt at hygeine.

Summertime in New York City is especially ugly. Not only are there more fannypaks than the mind can comprehend, but the heat stimulates the odors of urine, garbage and economic classism that lie dormant in the cooler seasons. We sit on a pier drinking our $8 drinks with the occasional whiff of something rotting as helicopters fly overhead destined for their homes in the Hampton’s with their fancy Sub Zero refrigerators.

Yes, we have refrigerator envy, too.

Anyway, today it’s too hot for drinks on a pier under Hamptons’ bound helicopters, it’s too hot to do anything besides cool down with old fave, Penguin Baseball, and stick our heads in our undersized fridgette.