Summer Fun: Sweatin' It Out

July, 2009. I’d lived in Austin nearly two years. That first leg from Spoon’s three-night stand at Stubb’s hit so hard that I had to scalp a ticket to the third night.

I came from a ratty apartment pool in Clarksville, baked from the afternoon sun. Running home for a quick clean then out the door and down to Red River, my roommate and I scalped a pair of tickets off Ninth Street, $45 for the two.

The temperature in July that year was the hottest month on record in Austin – ever. Days averaged a few ticks under 90 degrees; mid-month regularly hit highs around 104. “Got some sun?” my boss challenged in an email that month. “I don’t walk outside until it’s dark at night.”

Eight people at Stubb’s went to the infirmary for heat-related issues that night. My apologies that I wasn’t one of them. In fact, I didn’t even notice any casualties. Everybody around me was shucking and shaking, having themselves a real fine Saturday night in the face of the most ungodly oppressive heat.

They drank Lone Stars in lieu of water. They patted their sweaty hands on their friends’ sweaty backs. They rushed the stage when Spoon returned for an encore of the Rolling Stones’ “Rocks Off.”

The sight caught me off guard for a moment, but it provided a valuable lesson.

Growing up in Maryland, where summers get humid as hell but rarely last long enough to actually drive anybody insane, the general consensus around town is that you’re supposed to maintain a decency of apparel during each of the lunar calendar’s 12 months. Hotter than July in August? Dad still wore long pants to work each day. Even out of the workplace, the city operated under the pretense that you can’t just let it all hang out in the name of casual comfort no matter how high the temperature.

Why? Probably because heat waves are temporary there. Besides, there’s always some semblance of salvation at night. Either way, back home, a sweaty shirt elicited shocked stares – like you’d spilled a gallon of gasoline on yourself, or, worse, that you couldn’t handle the heat wave.

Austin’s different, obviously, and that Saturday almost four years ago with Spoon proved it. We were all gonna sweat that night. We were all gonna take some sort of shower when we got home. No one seemed to care – nobody showed any reservation or remorse. When everyone around you is drenched with sweat, that sensor in your brain telling you that you’re disgusting disappears.

In the years since that show, I’ve stopped thinking about the stains under my shirtsleeves. I’ve let go of the reservations about the ring around my neck. We’d sweat it out that night. We’d sweated it out together.

Today, I take solace in the notion that summer in Austin means sweating your ass off on a daily bassis. Shorts, t-shirts, hats, fans, whatever. Spend enough time outside every day – like, sometimes, the eight seconds it takes to get from your front door to your car – and you’ll start to feel it around your temples, at your jawline, and under your arm pits. You’re sweating, but then again, everybody’s sweating. Down here, that’s cool. It’s just how things happen. Grab a Lone Star and get used to it.

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Read more Summer Fun stories at austinchronicle.com/blogs. The Austin Chronicle’s Summer Fun Issue hits stands Thursday, May 16.