An Open Letter to Al Gore

Dear Mr. Gore,

First things first - how are the wife and kids? You know, I still remember that romantic kiss you gave Tipper during the 2000 Democratic National Convention. You really showed Michael Jackson who's boss when it comes to PDA, didn't you? Anyway, on to the purpose of my letter. I've had a very rough week, Mr. Gore, and I'm hoping you can wield your considerable influence to help me out. Let me explain.

You see, since last Friday my life in London has felt eerily similar to an episode of, well, Family Feud. Weird, isn't it? You know how every Feud episode has one family member who effs it up for the others? Like Ray Combs (pre-suicide, of course) will ask the family to "Name something you use to eat", and the group will be moving steadily along with responses like "knife", "fork", and "plate", until arriving to Aunt Margaret, who responds with something ridiculous like "garden hose", or "sock"? To be honest, I'm starting to feel a lot like Aunt Margaret.

Time and again this week, I've felt Ray Combs perched on my left shoulder, asking me to show him "a place most likely to have air conditioning". Initially, I felt destined for the Fast Money Round upon hearing the topic. Brimming with confidence, I took Ray with me to ride on the trains and buses of London's public transport system. Ehhh! Strike one. No air conditioning there. Being the resilient guy that I am, I bounced back from this misstep and took Ray to the supermarket, which had to be a top 3 answer. Ehhh! Strike two. Finally, feeling the need to raise my game, I took Ray to a museum - surely ancient artifacts feel the cool breeze of conditioned air, right? Ehhh! Strike three. And just like that, the Fast Money Round had slipped from my grasp.

I found myself agitated and (still) sweaty, so I decided to go check out your global warming movie, An Inconvenient Truth (actually I was planning to see Rusted Jesus' Gay Superman Returns, but it wasn't showing). I must have looked desperate for a respite from the sweltering heat, as the cashier immediately warned me, unprovoked, that the movie theatre was also not air conditioned. What?! No A/C in a movie theatre? Doesn't the summer blockbuster season rely entirely on the allure of cool theatres? Confused, I aborted the mission, choosing to walk the 20 minutes home (the bus, after all, was about 200 degrees).

So what does all of this have to do with you, Mr. Gore? Well, to be honest, I think you're up to something. I've read the articles and seen the magazine covers (albeit not on recycled paper), and can't help but think you've got a vested interest in this heat wave. Perhaps you're basking in the satisfaction of your message finally being heard? Or simply making the common man pay for not having heeded your warnings? Worse yet, could this all just be a ploy to strengthen your 2008 candidacy? Regardless of your motive, I humbly ask that you consider my plea. Can you please talk to your guys and cool this place down?

There are over 820 days left until the 2008 Presidential Election, and old people are going to start dropping like flies if you continue to ratchet up the heat index in such dramatic increments between now and then (admittedly, most old people are republican...). There's no question that you're a big deal these days, but the last thing you want is to peak too soon. Maybe a cold front could be just the break the public needs to avoid Al Gore overkill? Plus, if this heat continues, I'm going to be forced to overdo the post work beer drinking ("Once it hits your lips, it's so good!") to stay cool, and may yet again wind up drunk in Macker's late at night ordering seconds off the Extra Value Meal menu. (Yes. Two cheeseburgers, two large fries, and a coke or two. Disgusting, I know. But it was air conditioned!).

Seriously. Do something about this before Hillary does.

Sincerely,
CityHangover