The most boring conversation starter is “how about this weather?” or other similar statements. I guess that makes sense when you think about it. What person, other than a meteorologist, finds it interesting to mull over daily temperatures? Also, why would someone want to use up time for such a conversation when they’ve probably already decided for themselves what the weather is like?

            So, forgive me, reader, when I contradict myself a bit and start my commentary with: Oh my goodness gracious, this weather is killing me!

            For the past few weeks, I’ve been in the Philadelphia area working on a few internships and visiting with family. For the most part, I’ve been having a good time. That is with the exception of the ridiculous, spirit-crushing heat that seems to have taken over the east coast.

            Reports stated that we hit over 100 degrees for three consecutive days last week. I’m talking straight up sun.

            Of course, to top it all off, one of the offices I work for is located in an old Martha Washington-esque building with two small AC window units in the back. So basically, it has no air conditioning whatsoever, which tickles my fancy with me being the warmth-loving wench that I am.

            Now, I understand that my ideal summer day won’t be found outside Juneau and Antarctica. Still, a cool, breezy day in July should not be determined by being anywhere from 96 to 98 degrees. That’s the average body temperature and I’m not even happy about that.

            Finally, this past week, we were informed that our temporarily dry wasteland would be graced with two full days of rain. And not just rain, but strong, stormy rain. Woot.

            I didn’t want to complain too much, because at the very least it would be something to deter us from the sweat inducing, death sweltering, cancer-causing sunlight, no?

            No, not at all. Not only does it proceed to sporadically downpour without warning, but it feels like scattered showers of warm, maple syrup. So it’s not refreshing rain. The temperature isn’t even supposed to go down past 97 degrees once the rain’s gone. I ask you, my dear friends, what’s the point?

            Sure, the plants enjoy it and need the hydration and yes, the rain has provided me with a free car wash, but really?  Would it be that terrible to let it cool things down and be a nice rain to dance in or something?

            Then to add insult to injury, the amount of rain we’ve been getting has swelled the rivers so intensely that we’re now in flood territory with waters destroying homes, sweeping away people and ravaging colonial districts.

            Just awesome. I guess all we have to do now is wait for the revenge of earth and wind and then our universal element attack will be complete.

            I have heard, though, that you guys haven’t exactly had it much better, so you most likely have a sense of what I’m talking about. Apparently, my sun bathing and heat loving dog refuses to spend more than two minutes outside at a time. I have to admit that this is not making me too excited to return home. Although, what real difference would it make if I’m out to dry here or there?

            I do suppose, however, the heat and rain combo has given me one enjoyable outing that makes me happy and my wallet cringe simultaneously. On the worst days, my magic place has been the titanic amazement that is the King of Prussia Mall.

            A beautiful creation, the KOP Mall is the second largest shopping mall in the country next to Minnesota’s Mall of America. It’s also America’s largest shopping complex due to it’s two building conglomerate design. Oh, my eyes are tearing up just thinking about it.

            I was walking around the upper level the other day, justifying it as retail exercise when I noticed two young guys walk by me. Wiping his forehead, one of the two said, “Man, I feel like my face is made of ice right now. This is crazy.”

            While I found that to be a relatively weird turn of phrase, I also found myself agreeing with the melting little man. Even in the air-conditioned mecca, we couldn’t escape the heat and humidity.

            Part of me feels like my summer here is going to end like some 1960’s B-horror movie. Half-baked people running down the historical, cobbled streets from the mutated sun-blob monster, crisping up buildings as it passes followed only by hot rain spewing out of a strangely large Aunt Jemima bottle.

            But that could just be heat stroke talking.

Debra Flax is a junior majoring in journalism.