Lordy, it's hot, and has been for a week now. The sides of my martini glass sweat profusely. (A 3-to-1 Nick & Nora with Beefeater 24, for the record.) The west side of the house takes the sun head on, like a steak cooked halfway through and awaiting a turn. That said, I was going to grill a skirt steak tonight, and I still may, but I'm looking forward to it like I am the heaven-hell fork in the road itself. When it's this hot, the sweet corn is sticky, the new potatoes old, the basil basted and near-death, the oven a thing I avoid as if it spewed plague.
I watched some of the Cubs-White Sox action on Fox today, live from the south side, where the weather was said to be "perfect." I hope, where you are, it is nearer to that than this.