“Oh, okay. So I guess you came here in a Hot Tub Time Machine, too.” – Hot Tub Time Machine 2
A homemade cocoon for our first hot tub. Notice the used insulation – true Alaska!
It was twenty years ago today . . . oh, wait, that’s Sergeant Pepper . . . in my case it was closer to nineteen years ago . . .
I had just been paid the biggest bonus that I’d ever gotten. It had been a good year, and I managed a high profile project well – I’d saved the company several million dollars while bringing it in on time. I had a great, supportive, guru boss (this is both good and bad) who had solid numbers to take to the higher-ups to support his case. Awesome!
Also awesome was that, after taxes, the bonus could pay down approximately 1/3 of the credit card debt I had at that time. I had been at the point in my life where I was trying to keep my head above water after a divorce, and credit cards had been a stop gap. The Mrs. and I sat on the couch in the upstairs living room, as the Sun shined its last golden rays of the day into the room, providing a soft, mellow glow. We argued about the merits of choosing to pay down the debt, versus other options. We spent several hours discussing it.
So, The Mrs. and I sat, and made the momentous decision that . . . forget the debt, we’re getting a hot tub.
I know that this is probably not what your financial advisor would suggest you do, unless your financial planner was a twenty-eight year old with a short attention span who lived in his parent’s basement so he could save his money to buy even more weed. It was a horrible, frivolous decision. And it was one that I have never regretted.
Not only did we get a hot tub, we got the full-blown Sundance™ party hot tub – seats eight. We even custom ordered it to match the same colors as our house. When it arrived several weeks later we moved out of the house and into the tub. I exaggerate. We still went into the house for showers.
When we moved to Alaska, we took the hot tub with us. I eventually encased it in an outer cocoon of plywood and insulation, so even when it was -55˚F outside, the tub didn’t freeze, and didn’t cause the meters at the power plant to spin at light speed.
Our house in Central Midwestia was a great place to hot tub, but if there’s a truly awesome place to hot tub, it’s Alaska. The Mrs. and I would sit out in the tub for hours watching the aurora borealis write physics equations in the sky in particle, ions, and color. The aurora would move and undulate, lasting (on a good night) hours as the rivers of light threaded through the sky. We’ve had a hot tub at every house we’ve lived at, although we never used the one we had in Houston, since . . . it was Houston.
I think that buying that first hot tub was a good decision for two reasons: we got out of debt, but we did it slowly, and with discipline. That was good to teach us to live within our means and be frugal, unless I really, really needed those night-vision goggles.
But this isn’t a post about finance, that’s Wednesday’s topic. Today’s is health . . . and, like apple cider vinegar, hot tubs appear to also be amazingly good for you under most circumstances:
Hot tubs appear to make the following things better:
- Aurora Viewing* (Offer Void Outside Alaska)
- Stress (lowers it)
- Sleep (makes it better)
- Blood Pressure (lowers it)
- Migraine Frequency and Intensity (lowers it – I’ve never had one – it’s working!)
I think the other nice thing is that nobody has a laptop or an iPad™ or a Palm Pilot© in the tub – we’re forced to spend time with . . . us. And that’s good for overall family life.
On the flip side, people mentioned these negative health consequences:
- Infections from unsanitary hot tubs (In my experience this would be hard to do.)
- Birth defects (I’ll abstain when pregnant.)
- Lower sperm count (No comments here.)
- Heart issues (But, isn’t that every darn thing??)
- Chlorine over-exposure (see below)
I have had personal experiences with the chlorine, especially early on nineteen years ago when learning how to chemically treat the tub. At one point, my hot tub had nearly the same chlorine gas content as last seen during trench warfare in France.
Most recently The Mrs. bought a swimming-pool sized chlorinator for the hot tub because there might be 50 hot tubs within 20 miles, Wal-Mart doesn’t stock any hot-tub sized chlorinators.
This aircraft carrier sized chlorine-berg treats approximately 100 times the volume of water as the hot tub on its lowest setting. The deceptive danger from this chlorinator is that as it sits and bobs in the tub, it’s releasing chlorine into the water, and not a whole lot comes out as gas, so the water doesn’t smell like chlorine.
I got into the tub for a bit after the chlorinator had been sitting in there for about 48 hours. Pretty soon I felt like I was getting prickly heat (if you’ve never had it, it’s the feeling of pins and needles from when you go from cold to hot). The way that you solve prickly heat is to . . . wait it out. Seventeen minutes later, I determined it wasn’t prickly heat, but an actual chemical burn from the chlorine in the tub forming hydrochloric acid and eating my skin. On the plus side? I got a rad chemical peel of the type that New York women pay the big bucks for.
One website went as far as recommending no more than five minutes in a hot tub. I regularly spend several hours in one, but not several hours at 104˚F. More like 102˚F. Meh.
So, a bad financial decision is sometimes a great life decision. Maybe some Beatles in the tub tonight?
PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR TALK TO SOMEONE SANE BEFORE FOLLOWING ANY ADVICE HERE. Can’t you tell by the stories that I’m not to be trusted on certain topics?