He hasn't fallen and he can get up.

It's hot here in the Outer Banks with temperatures dangerously close to one hundred degrees. And since we're in between two large bodies of water, the humidity is about ninety-seven percent. Basically, we sweat a lot, and then we get in the ocean and it's so cold that our balls hurt (especially Kristin's).

When we got back from the beach yesterday, I found my father like this:

I ran over to him, thinking he had slipped and fallen down the stairs, and asked him if he was okay. He shouted, "I'm fine, just hot! Lean down and put your head against this bar! It's nice and cool!"

My father grew up on a farm and didn't have indoor plumbing until he was seven. Likewise, central air must still be a luxury to him.