Air conditioning: Controlling the weather living in a brutally hot country - comment

Israel is a complicated country: its politics, its geopolitical situation, its people.

To understand the country is to understand a myriad of nuances and subtleties. Nothing is simple or black and white except for one thing: the weather.

The weather here is about as straightforward as it gets. In the summer it’s hot; in the winter it’s cold. The weather reports – especially those on the radio – reflect that simplicity.

A typical weather report on the hourly radio news – regardless of the station, and after a word from our sponsor – generally goes something like this: “Today’s forecast: hot. Tomorrow’s forecast: hot. Wednesday’s forecast: hotter.”

There is not a lot of variety in these terse weather forecasts because there is not a lot of variety in the weather, and therefore, no need for a lot of verbosity.

And that’s about it.

Except, of course, when there is extreme weather, like the intense heat wave of a couple of weeks ago. Then a bit more time is devoted to the weather and how people are coping. Otherwise, it’s all short and sweet.

When I first came to this country over 40 years ago, I found the paucity of weather news odd, if not unnatural. I just wasn’t used to it.

In my hometown, the local weathermen on the four TV channels – whose smiley faces graced billboards across town – were small-time celebrities.

My favorite was “Stormy” Rottman over at Channel 9.

Jeez, I loved Stormy.

First, because Stormy was Jewish, and as a Jewish kid searching for role models in the 1970s, he was somebody I could see myself in.

Sure, there were other Jewish role models.

In politics, there was Henry Kissinger, but I wasn’t that smart. And in the movies, there was James Caan, but I didn’t yet have his rugged good looks.

In other words, all those guys were out of my league. But not “Stormy.” Being a television meteorologist was something I felt – with a few lucky breaks and a prayer – could be within reach. Not that I necessarily liked science or climatology, but it looked like a fun enough job.

I went through a phase where I would stand in front of a mirror, point at an imaginary map, deepen my voice, and say, “There’s a cold front barreling in from Boise.”

Hey, there wasn’t always a lot to do in Denver.

I also liked Rottman because of that name. Stormy the weatherman – perfect, like a sports reporter named Speedy or an education reporter named Smarty.

As a kid, I was convinced Rottman’s parents had some prophetic power when they named him Stormy. I used to wonder: Did they saddle him with the name first, and then he felt obliged to live up to it and spend his life predicting hailstorms? Or did they somehow see into the future, know he’d be Denver’s best-ever weatherman, and name him accordingly? I often mused about what his Hebrew name was.

Only later did I learn that Rottman’s real name wasn’t Stormy, but Leon. “Stormy” was just a nickname. Leon didn’t exactly scream snowstorms on the horizon, but by that time, it hardly mattered.

We put a new unit in our apartment last year – replacing the old central system with individual units in different rooms – and it works great. Even better, it’s a lot cheaper to run.

It’s funny how things that once felt extravagant no longer are.

Remember when every photo you took cost money – film, developing, printing? Or when a record album set you back a good chunk of your weekly allowance? Now we snap pictures by the thousand and stream whole music libraries for the price of a cup of coffee.

But after 30 years of the old AC unit, I still can’t bring myself to keep it on all day or sleep with it at night. I hear the hum of the compressor and immediately think of the electric bill climbing sky-high, just like the old days.

With the old unit, I used to save on electricity by turning it off intermittently.

“It needs a break from time to time so it doesn’t break down,” I’d explain to my kids as they sat sweating in the mid-summer heat while the system was taking a rest.

Besides, I’d further explain, this time honestly, “We don’t want to make Mr. Cohen rich,” Mr. Cohen, of course, being the neighbor downstairs who worked for the Israel Electric Corporation.

My youngest son would roll his eyes and say, “You live in one of the hottest places on the planet, run the air conditioner, or get a new one so you can – gosh darn it.”

Eventually, we did, but it still feels strange – wasteful even – keeping it on day and night. Old habits die hard. I can’t get used to the idea that you can run the thing all day without it costing a fortune.