I’m breaking my number one summer rule, complaining about the weather.  I don’t feel it’s very helpful to complain about it, because it just is.  It’s ok to “talk” about the weather, but not to ruminate.  With that said, I’ll say this: Satan must have left the door to Hell open, because it’s hot in Phoenix.  It feels hair dryer hot–like those old fashioned ones you sit under until your head feels like it will catch fire and then maybe your hair is done.  Your mind was done long before your hair is, which is kind of like summer in Phoenix.  Summer cruises along well past the point of being summer,…