The Zonie We Like To Call, KOGAHEAD...

[Latimeria]

The 7 stages of dealing with Arizona's heat.
Many things bind Zonies together, but nothing more than surviving the summer heat.

Here are the 7 stages Zonies go through every year:

Stage 1: Mild panic. Sometime in February there's a brief hot spell where the temperature rises to about 85. It seems like things are escalating too quickly. Those couple of nights in December and January in the upper 30s apparently took away any tolerance we had developed to warm weather and this minor temperature bump stirs a little panic. Like when you find yourself rocking out to that one randomly awesome Miley Cyrus song — it's not a major event, but it's troubling.

Stage 2: Sadness. The first 100 degree day provokes sadness, especially if it's in early April. We wonder why the first settlers decided to make a home here in the Valley, not up in Prescott.  Or why didn't they all settle in California? Did they predict the high taxation and that weird thing where motorcycles whip between lanes on the freeway and scare the bowel movement out of you?

Stage 3: Shock. The first 110+ degree day, hopefully in June, occasionally in May, always surprises us by reminding us just how hot that is. Like, it hurts to touch things that have been in the sun, including your shirt. In my old car (not the Camaro), my rear view mirror melted off. That's weird.

Stage 4: Excitement. When the first monsoon storm sweeps in, usually around July 4th. So exciting. Unless you're on the road driving toward it.
Side note: Many people in the Midwest don't know about our monsoon. How is that possible? If there was a dust storm building in the distance right now, I would be paralyzed by intense interest. It's like if Grumpy Cat had a wrestle-off with Mannheim Steamroller. You shouldn't need to watch it, but you're only a man.

Stage 5: Resignation. By late July, even with occasional monsoon storms, we just leave town, generally to San Diego. You know how sometimes your wife turns on HGTV, and you're like, I don't mind watching these folks look for a house in suburban Tulsa. And after that, another episode, and another, and then by about the fourth one, you're like, I hate this lady. Why is this guy even with her, and why on Earth are they moving to Fresno? They think the deal breaker with this three-bed, two-bath rambler is that it doesn't have a bigger master suite? How about the fact that the kitchen is from 1985 and it has the curb appeal of a dirty cabbage? And then you realize you've reached your limit, so you grab the remote and turn on Sportscenter. It's like that.

Stage 6: Anger. By early October, long after the vacations, when it's still 100, even the gentlest Phoenicians are so tired of the heat that they just want to get into a fight. With anyone. It's not that any single day of our heat is that bad; it's certainly better than a bad winter day in the Midwest. The difference is a week after their -20 day, they get a +20 day that feels like summer. Here, every day is 100+ for five months. I transform from a reasonable, caring man to an indecent, offensive neck-puncher. And so do you, jerk.

Stage 7: Relief. But then all is forgiven on that October morning when you walk outside to a chill in the air (i.e., low in the upper 60s — settle down, Midwesterners). Break out the long-sleeve shirts and full-length yoga pants, and bundle up like we're in Game of Thrones because winter is coming and in about six weeks it's going to be 39 degrees some night, which feels so cold after living through summer that it hurts your feelings.  Now I have to go pack for our trip to San Diego

[KogaHead]

It's a dry heat!!!