All fall down.

Temperatures have been in the low 50s overnight this week, and you know what that means! 

I'm mostly past the age where my clothes have to be seasonal, beyond the point of survival. My last Hawaiian shirt went to the charity box as a gift to my wife. Now it's someone else's problem. Everything else is just layers. 

But then there's plaid. I have a short-sleeve plaid shirt, but a part of me will always think of plaid as being the color scheme for thick cotton shirts, thus the kind that you leave in the closet until the first day of autumn. And not crazy colorful plaid, either -- they don't wear that stuff in Quito or Honolulu, you know. I mean plaid based on black + one other color.

The sad thing is, that with the loss of my Hawaiian shirt, I only have one other really summery number, a very bright blue that's quite airy and good for the heat. But it also must be ironed after washing, or it looks like it was balled up under the car seat from September to May. That's an issue because 1) I'm lazy and 2) the dog is scared of the steam iron. That hissing really bothers him. Consequently I have worn that blue shirt once this summer, and at the rate things are going it may not come out of the closet again. 

There's another problem with happy colors, and that's you just look dumb wearing them if your countenance is very serious. I used to wear lighthearted ties to work sometimes for that very reason -- to remind me that if I went around grumpy with, say, my Looney Tunes tie, I would look like a fool. And then I got sacked. And then no one was wearing ties anymore. And then I was working from home. So now I just go around grumpy anyway, and wear dark colors. 

This is a lot more than I intended to say about clothes, and I apologize if I've wasted your time. If it made you grumpy, put on a Hawaiian shirt and smile. There's still almost a month of summer to go. 

You can pick your friends…

… but can you picnic?

Maybe where you live, you can barely enjoy the five remaining weeks of summer because of all the wailing and gnashing of teeth among the youths who have already started school. It doesn't start here until the day after Labor Day, but the school supplies have been featured prominently at stores since July 5, so the misery is growing here as well. 

Nevertheless, let us not forget that we're only halfway through August and, despite the Halloween candy in the stores, there's still a lot of summer left. In the socialization department, there's still Labor Day weekend, which means another shot at having a decent backyard party. Maybe it won't rain this time. Maybe Uncle Al won't throw a fist at Uncle Lou this time. Maybe that kid with the purple hair with the snot ring will stay home instead of moping in the corner and grumbling about Trump. Who knows? It could be the party of the year. 

And I am here to offer you a terrific idea for your gathering. 

Barbecues usually have great food, but unlike indoor holiday dining, there's no centerpiece item to make the guests ooh and ah, like a beautiful ham or prime rib or Norman Rockwell-esque turkey, or, for that purple-hair kid, lump of tofu. Well, there wasn't -- until now! Simply follow this recipe for a real show-stopping fruit salad.

Take two (2) blueberries. Cut a slit in two (2) strawberries and insert a blueberry into each. Take two (2) ripe peaches and cut into them halfway; work the pits out. Insert strawberries. Take two (2) mangoes and do the same thing to them, inserting the peaches when the pits are out. Take two (2) honeydew melons; cut in half and scoop out the seeds. Put a mango in each and reassemble melons. Take one (1) very large watermelon. Cut in half lengthwise and scoop out enough to fit the honeydews inside. Put watermelon back together and serve on enormous platter. 

Ladies and gentlemen, you have just presented the Wahonmangpeastrawblu. Slice firmly but carefully and serve in buckets.

I'd much prefer this to a Turducken. Does anyone really like those? They have "turd" right in the name.

So make sure to sling up a Wahonmangpeastrawblu at your Labor Day party! It will get the guests talking, that's for sure. ("What the hell is wrong with Jeff?") You may even help them feel glad that summer is coming to an end. And isn't that what it's all about? Helping?

Hot, wet American summer.

Yeah, don't get excited by the title. It's just been really rainy. 

Saturday I was visiting friends a couple of hours away, and left at the perfect time to hit a torrential downpour. The forecast had warnings about this, but basically said it was a threat of scattered thunderstorms. 

Some scattered. 

I ran into it about twenty minutes into the drive, and it stayed with me until I basically hit the clubhouse turn. Flooding, sirens, flashing lights, huge gouts of water fountaining out from those crazy enough to drive in the right and left lanes and risk hydroplaning. A good time was had by all. (Note: No good time was had by any.) 

You think these August thunderstorms will last a couple of minutes and break up, right? Ha. Ha. He laughed hollowly.

Not my worst driving in the rain, though. I once had to speed eighty miles through the night in an endless Florida downpour to catch a flight. I was not as seasoned a driver then as I am now—had been driving for less than ten years at that point—and had never driven through such a prolonged hard-weather system. You know how you retain brief reels of events in your memory, like snapshots with audio? I had the radio on in the rental car to try to stay focused and calm, and I remember peering intently at road signs while Bob Seeger's "Katmandu" was playing. Wikipedia says, "The song was featured in the soundtracks of the 1985 film Mask, the 16th episode of Freaks and Geeks, the tenth episode of the eighth season of Supernatural, and in the 2009 documentary Journey to Everest." And in my drive from hell. I will always associate that song with that drive. 

This past weekend's drive was longer, but the rain was not as consistent. Still, with the massive shore traffic and the driving skills of others that have made the northeast famous, it was rosary time. 

In other driving memories, the only time I have totaled a car was hydroplaning in weather like that, driving to work. When it happened, I was alone on the highway in broad daylight. I was not surrounded by thousands of other cars in the darkness. 

I tried not to think about that. Instead I kept my focus on the lines and the car in front of me. 

You know how you settle in behind someone who knows what he's doing, going a proper speed? I did. In the darkness I memorized the shape of his taillights. I stuck with him. He was my new best friend. We would part somewhere up the road, and I would wish him well. But for now, he was the greatest guy in the world.   

The last twenty miles were almost anticlimactic, with the rain stopping. But boy, was I happy to see my house.  

So it was a heck of a drive, but by God’s grace I kept my head and made it home. Maybe that's an important lesson to remember for the less immediately dangerous but extremely nerve-racking months ahead. 

Last thoughts: 

1) None of these drives were my scariest. That one was caused by a light snow that was slick as ice. Literally wrecks all over the highway. My one-hour drive home took four of the craziest hours I have ever spent behind a wheel.

2) I was glad that the Beloved Mets' night game was on the West Coast and was only a couple of innings along when I got home. Because if I had been listening to the game later, when they blew a grand slam and lost, that might have caused me to crash. 

Meloncholy baby.

I look forward to the produce section in summer. I really do. Excellent berries, sweet corn, peaches, plums, and nectarines. What a delight! 

And every year I fall for the watermelon. 

I love watermelon, I really do. But it is the TARDIS of fruit, I swear. You come home with a baby five-pound watermelon and by the time you finish cutting it up you have eighteen pounds, not counting the rind. I don't understand how it works, but I know that if watermelon had more solid nutrition in it, no one would ever starve. 

No one's starving at my house, which is why, no matter how small a watermelon I buy, I always wind up throwing some out. Because despite claims that others enjoy the fruit, only I wind up eating it. One normal man can only eat so many pounds of watermelon a day. It’s great but not super versatile. And no one liked the grilled watermelon when I tried it.

I was better positioned to consume the whole fruit before it rotted when we had Tralfaz and Nipper, our previous dogs. Tralfaz liked a nice bowl of cold watermelon on a hot day, but Nipper absolutely adored it. Nipper, mind you, would pick individual blueberries off a treat and spit them out, but he was a devotee to Citrullus lanatus and would tear through a bowl like Sherman through Georgia. Izzy, however, Nipper's actual nephew, spurns fruits and vegetables as much as any dog ever, except for chewing grass like a freaking sheep. Dogs are unpredictable. 

Really, if I'm to be so foolish as to buy an entire watermelon again, I ought to enlist the help of "Buffalo" Jim Reeves of Western New York, a professional competitive eater who holds the watermelon-eating record: 13.22 pounds in 15 minutes at an event in 2005. Now, that was some years ago, but I'll bet he still has enough left of his A-game to help me dispose of a petite melon, however large it is inside. 

Mark your calendar for National Watermelon Day on August 3. Who knows what magical thing may happen? Maybe Izzy will eat a minuscule chunk of watermelon. Or maybe I'll wise up and stick to blueberries. At least you can make other things from blueberries. 

Bleary in the morning.

Been kind of wiped out this week, and for good reason.

For days I've been covering for someone who's on vacation, minding the desk from my perch at home. Which is good, in that it means billable hours for me, but the other clients I have still need tending. Fortunately, there have not been many explosions and freakouts. Some, but not many. 

This has also coincided with some hot and humid weather, though, and while we are blessed to have air conditioning, the dog still needs to be outside a good bit. That's the way of his people. However, then he gets overheated, comes inside, and drinks a gallon of water, which sets off the Circle of Pee, and we have to go out again. 

I'm glad he's staying hydrated -- his uncle, the late Nipper, was not good about it, and once had to have a Quasimodo-esque lump of water injected into his back. Strangest thing. Can you imagine humans being treated like that for dehydration? 

"What's that big lump, Maggie? Third breast implant?"

"Nah, just neglected my Gatorade."

The big downside is that Izzy, America's Sweetheart (currently America's Sweatheart), has to go out a couple of times in the night. It's made the week more difficult to navigate, let's put it that way. 

In my career I've been paid salaries and hourlies, and anyone who needs to learn the value of a dollar needs to work for hourly wages. That's a cold fact. Every kid should do it. When you get paid by the hour, whenever an expense comes up -- say, you have to part with $700 for a car repair, I did this month -- your mind immediately goes to the most annoying, frustrating, diabolical project that you had recently, and you factor that into the money spent. I worked hour after hour cleaning the sewer backup into that guy's basement, and it didn't even pay half of what it cost me for the car repair, an expense I didn't expect. I didn't get a dime's worth of fun out of the money. 

I always think of the most crappy job I had to do to get the dough. I don't think I'm unusual in this. 

I'd say I've been doing the editorial equivalent of cleaning sewage, but there is no equivalent of cleaning sewage. I will say it's been very little fun, and the money isn't going toward anything fun either, and I'm exhausted. 

Added to all this is worry's little side hustle, the sleeplessness. This worrying is exhausting! Fortunately, it's also keeping me awake at night! So when the dog wakes me up, I'm up for hours. 

Next week may be better, but it certainly won't be well. Life is tough. I'm tired. I sometimes wonder how any of us get by. 

Talkin' 'bout the car wash.

Summer is here! School is out! The kids are already bored! Time to take them to everyone's favorite ride: The drive-through car wash! 

Maybe I was kind of a softheaded kid and easily amused, but I always enjoyed a trip through the car wash. It was cooler in there, and smelled nice, and it was like a short li'l fun house ride, albeit a wet one. Yes, we kids kept the windows closed as directed. The three-minute extravaganza was always a good time, and left the wee ones and the car refreshed.

It was not a common occurrence, actually. My dad liked to wash the cars himself when he had time, then get that Turtle Wax on there all buffed and shiny. That was kind of fun to do with him as well, spraying each other with the hose, watching the dry paste become shiny metal with a little of the ol' Miyagi treatment. But the automated car wash was sheer entertainment.

The car wash seen above is not the optimal type. This is a small booth of the sort where you pay with a credit card and the machines go back and forth while the car remains stationary. Although the building it is part of contains a regular car wash and bays for oil changes, this one (as you can see) is open any time of day. Feel like washing the car at three in the morning? In you go! 

One thing I have not done is take any of our dogs through a car wash. I fear it might terrify them, and that can lead to any of a number of regrettable behaviors. Tucker Budsyn, America's most famous golden retriever, came to viral prominence in just that way. 

But he's a celebrity now, and that kind of stunt is the price of celebrity. 

Besides, part of the reason I was in the car wash was that there was an off-putting odor in my wife's car. I cleaned the interior but that didn't seem to solve the problem, so it was time to get all the dirt and pollen off the thing and see if maybe there was the carcass of a chipmunk stuck underneath. The point being, I wanted to deodorize the vehicle, and did not want a dog in the backseat making more odors. 

Anyway, the way things have been going this June, I probably would have forgotten to lock the windows, and Izzy would have freaked out and pressed the window button, and then there would be more trouble. 

So to sum up: Car wash good; Car wash with kids great; Car wash with dogs dicey. That is all. 

Grilled.

The spot of heat wave we had here and about the country last week has dissipated, and the early summer weather is now quite delightful. I'm sure the panic mavens that were forecasting a world afire last week will moderate their statements now, and be more rational next time. Ha! he jokes. 

Our idiot governor issued the usual birdbrained take, her office calling the heat "record-setting." It was not, in any significant way. Even if one does not stretch back to the many hot summers of the past, when the temperatures often hit triple digits in New York City, just in 2016 we had the so-called Heat Dome descend on the United States that gave us days of miserable heat. We did not even come close to that kind of heat.

Maybe last week had supposedly the hottest June days in recorded history? I doubt it with every fiber of my being.   

New York remains the dimwitted Me Too! kid brother of California; whatever boneheaded thing its worshipped brother does, New York wants to do the same. We all know what this is really about. Hochul is one of those softheaded geniuses who want us to give up our gas stoves and gas cars to save the planet. She'll never personally give up anything, of course. She can't explain how we're supposed to get ten times the electrical power we have now to charge up all the electric cars and stoves without burning fossil fuels or splitting atoms. Solar is a joke, especially in places like New York where the snow covers the panels when you most need the juice, and wind is an ecological and barely viable generator of electricity. 

Don't ask questions. Just tremble in terror and vote for her again. 

As it turns out, I think it's propane that she really wants to give the old heave-ho to. Why? Because then no one will ever see her party playmate Chuck Schumer do anything this stupid again: 

Our senior senator, ladies and gentlemen, "cooking" a raw hamburger patty with cheese already on it on Father's Day. One of the most powerful men in the country, playing at being "just plain folks" with a gas grill. I guess the Global Warming was so bad, he figured the sun would cook the burgers all on its own. I wonder if someone drew the grill marks on the wienies.

The biggest wienie in the picture is him. 

Better to get rid of all the peasants' grills than let something that humiliating get out again. Burn the grills! Save the Earth! Save Schumer's face! Save their phony baloney jobs! 

🌞🌞🌞

If you are in a hot spot this summer, allow me to recommend a recipe my family used to keep hydrated on the hottest days of summer. My dad, who stopped working outside despite heat or cold, would cool off with this beverage my mom made. We never had Gatorade in the house -- we had something better. 

Mom probably got the recipe from Welch's.

🍇Juice of 4 lemons

🍇2 cups Welch's grape juice concentrate (no sugar added)

🍇3/4 cup sugar

🍇Water to fill to 2 quarts (4 cups+)

Drink that nice and cold with a towel soaked in cold water on the back of your neck. Makes a new man of you. 

I'm not dissing Gatorade, which has been a real lifesaver in our family when people have gotten overheated or woozy from illness. But how does it match up against the Grape-Aid? 

Well, two quarts of standard Gatorade has 1,013 calories, versus 904 for the grape juice, sugar, water, and lemon juice punch. The Welch's is a little lower in carbs and higher in potassium, which helps the fact that it's lower in sodium than Gatorade (both important electrolytes). It's got vitamin C out the bazooty, which Gatorade does not have. It's also less expensive than Gatorade, but not by a huge amount.

If you don't mind squeezing a few lemons, try the Welch's. I think it tastes better than Gatorade. It would probably make a fine cocktail with some vodka, if that's how you want to go. Put a little cocktail umbrella in it and thumb your nose at Global Warming, Climate Chaos, Kathy Hochul, Chuck Schumer, and all the other foolishness. Cheers!

Fall, schmall.

Everyone says summer is great, but they can't seem to kick it out the door fast enough after Labor Day. 

Never mind the Halloween candy in July -- that's a lost cause, and I think lost because we just like excuses to buy sacks of little candies and eat them and then have to replace them. The stores would put them out in March if they thought they wouldn't look like they'd been left over since last Halloween. And it's not like little candies in big sacks aren't available year-round. It's just that the variety is better at Halloween, and we can convince ourselves we're being festive! and not gluttons. These are for the kids! Yeah, that bag will have been reduced to a pile of little wrappers and human waste before October even starts. 

Well, today is the first day of fall, and as usual, the stores have been all-out for Halloween for weeks, beyond the candy. Labor Day: School supplies out, Halloween crap in. Like this, at CVS:

I'm calling the exterminator

You're not even trying to not be
a Christmas tree, are you?

The weird thing, my neighbors started following the trend. Usually no one puts out Halloween stuff before October 1 -- maybe a generic scarecrow or something that could be just a general autumn decoration, but "Boo"? Foo.

But one product has already got a jump on Christmas, and it is not whom I'd have expected. Sure, my wife's craft catalogs start with Christmas in spring, but they know people need time to make serious projects. And yeah, I've seen ads for some Christmas events like the Rockefeller Center show in the city and the invitation to waste the holidays and your savings at Disney, but people always plan trips months ahead. But a Christmas-themed cereal box in September?

The answer of course is General Mills' sponsorship with Hallmark Channel, home of a million Christmas movies. My sources tell me that the channel is running 31 new movies this year, starting on October 20, so you'd better believe they're ready for autumn to be on its way and get us thinking Yuletide thoughts. 

As usual, I feel like I just took the tree down. Can we push Christmas off till April 2024? Is that too much to ask? I’m not ready.

The daylights outta me.

Everyone here in New York considers summer over because the kids went back to school. They are aware that summer has officially has 17 more days, but they're thinking of closing the pools and getting the leaf and snow blowers ready for What Lies Ahead. 

My main concern is the lack of daylight. When we hit that first day of fall, the daylight and night darkness will--supposedly--even out. Half and half, Even Steven, Igual Pasquale. Actually, according to Time and Date's invaluable Sun Graph feature, I see that even on the first day of autumn we will have more daylight than darkness, not even counting the twilight. But that won't last long, and soon it will be months of depressing darkness again. Seasonal affective disorder? Moi? Yeah, maybe. 

You can get a good idea of what daylight hours in southern New York look like thanks to the Time and Date sun graph:

It's like a snake that swallowed a big meal in January and is digesting it between May and August. The static bit is of course the daylight savings interruptions in spring and fall. 

Now, let's compare this to the sun graph for a Quito, Ecuador, the Middle of the World City, the city that boasts a monument showing where the Equator runs, and you can stand with one foot in either hemisphere. 

Just as you'd expect -- pretty much straight stripes, the days never getting longer or shorter. I had a friend who lived there for a while, who said he got bored with the perfect weather all the time. I say: Try me.

For the complete opposite, and for alarming comparison purposes, here is the yearly sun graph for the Amundsen-Scott station in Antarctica: 

Isn't that nuts? They say that down there, as at the North Pole, the sun goes down one day and doesn't show up again for six months. This graph shows what a weird thing that is. Look at those huge gray vertical bands--those are sunset and sunrise!

So I see my best options as Quito or running back and forth between the Poles twice a year. Or maybe I should just turn on more lights starting in October. That might be good. 

Porch song.

John Madden famously said, "If you can't run with the big dogs, stay on the porch."

Well, Izzy's on the larger side as breeds go, but he'd usually still rather stay on the porch. This summer has been relatively mild, and he's decided the porch is the primo spot. 

He isn't there to spy on the neighbors or bark at people going past on the sidewalk. He just likes hanging out outside. Humans need shelter, but not animals. If they're in their natural temperature zone, they can just hang out. They may not be comfortable all the time, but they're in far less danger of dying from exposure than we are.

What's annoying is that Izzy will pretend he has to go out to pee, sound real panicky, and collapse on the boards the moment he goes outside. Sometimes even if he has to do his duty (har!), he will stay on the porch first to make sure he gets his porchwork in.

Never neglect porch day.

Often he'll fall asleep out there. 

I don't mind too much. The porch furniture is not very comfortable, but it's okay. The bugs usually don't attack. It's mainly a problem if I'm on deadline. Almost all my work is done on the laptop, and I don't want that outside if the weather is bad -- or if he really does want to go walkies and I'd be obliged to leave it out there. Even if it's just sunny, it's hard to see the screen. 

He doesn't want to be alone outside, so he'll start making noises if tethered on the porch by himself. If I'm working against the clock, I have to play the bad guy and drag his furry behind back in. 

Occasionally the weather will be too hot or cold, and Izzy will want to go in before too long. This never happens in spring or fall -- rain, sun, fog, thunderstorm, snow, he doesn't care. 

But I think I benefit from the fresh air as well, even during allergy season. Also, because we were out there so much, I caught a bunch of wasps building a nest. The little bastards were building it at the very apex of the gable in the center of the roofline, a place inaccessible with wasp spray from the second-story windows or from the ladder I have. I could go out the window onto the porch roof, but considering that I have injured myself going downstairs recently and crossing the driveway before that, I am not going out on any roofs if I can avoid it. 

So, from the top of my ladder leaning up against the porch, I sprayed the nest with the hose. 

That has a couple of advantages. One, it ruins the nest. Two, they don't seem to consider water damage as an attack, just weather; they go into flee mode, not fight mode, so I got away without being stung. Unfortunately, the nest is still attached up there, hanging like a withered old testicle. If it doesn't detach on its own soon, I'm going to have to dig out the power washer and hope that has better range. 

To sum up: Dog, cute, loves porch; wasps, evil, build branch offices of hell in inaccessible places. And I'm just glad I can sit outside and not freeze to death because it's summer.  

Auuuughtumn.

Well, as predicted, Halloween arrived early this year, and arrives earlier every year. I remember complaining to a store chain once about Halloween candy on display in August. This is from the box store on Friday, July 28. 

Because you need a tremendous bag of SpongeBob
Halloween candy in July.

And the grocery store yesterday, July 29. 

Well, that's just candy, right? Not like the whole store has given up on summer and started in with fall. 

Ha:

We are one month and nine days from the start of summer; the end of summer does not arrive for another two solid months. But sure, break out the fall stuff. 

I know, I know, no one goes by the equinoxes and solstices. They go by Memorial Day and when does school start, by Christmas and maybe -- because spring always gets short shrift -- when can I start my tomato plants. 

Rushing the seasons in a retail setting has to be the fault of the consumer, ultimately. If we weren't willing to buy a five-pound sack of fun-size spooky-themed Nestlé bars* in July, they wouldn't sell it. Picture the scene at PlastiCrapCo:

🌞🌅🩳🏄

"Johnson! Get in here!"

"Yes, sir?"

"And none of that! You know what my pronouns are now!"

"Yes, xir!"

"Better. Johnson, pool noodle sales are down 15 percent since three weeks ago. The surge from the start of the season, which began during Easter, is decidedly over."

"Yes, xir, but it's not like pool and barbecue season is over. People will be having fun in the sun for more than a month yet."

"'Fun in the sun.' What would they teach you in marketing class if those words didn't rhyme? If I ever hear you say 'yummy in the tummy,' I will not be responsible for my actions."

"Sorry, xir."

"Nothing is yummy by the time it's in the tummy! There are no tastebuds in the stomach!"

"Of course not, xir."

"So don't fight with me! Now look, Johnson, we need to get that consumer excitement back! Time to ship the, er -- What's on the way? Let's check the container list from our friends in China. Ah! Halloween costumes and decorations!"

"Yes, xir! I'll get right on it."

"See that you do, Johnson."

"And xir? It's Johndaughter now."

"Oh, er, sorry about that, Johns-- daughter. Please don't report me to HR."

👻👺👿💀

Of course, I have in the past failed to get enough Halloween candy and made an emergency trip to the store, and wound up giving the kids Christmas candy, because the Halloween stuff had already been dumped. 

Life moves fast enough! Stop shoving things along! 

* Or Her/She Possibly Trans Candy.

It's autumn!

Once again, Walmart has said, "Still more than a week to go in July. Back to school!"

I understand that some colleges start early, and even in these technological times those students still need basic school supplies. But those of us in the New York area, where school doesn't start before Labor Day, know that this is a sight that, in late July, leads to much wailing and gnashing of teeth among the kids. I could almost hear them gnashing away as I took the picture. 

That was last Friday. I am almost dead certain that the next time I go to a supermarket, probably this upcoming Friday, July 28, Halloween candy will dominate the seasonal aisle. Pool noodles, water guns, folding lounge chairs, all that stuff will shoved aside. 

It has been more than a month since the longest day of the year, and surely autumn is looking to make its move. This shot came from the morning walk with baby dog Izzy. Autumn, lurking. 

I think that the scarecrow is behind the hedge because it's going out with the garbage; that seems to be where the family keeps its trash cans. But maybe not. Maybe it's just there to watch over us, to snicker and say, "You fools, playing in the sun! I was once young and carefree like you. Then the autumn chill stole into my straw, and now my time is waning and almost done. Memento Mori!"

Or maybe their dog peed on it. Either/or. 

Stages of Watermelon.

1. See watermelon in the supermarket; feel glad that summer's coming back but think it's maybe a little too early.

2. Break down and buy watermelon (such a good price!) and haul it home. 

3. Watermelon is too large to fit in the fridge whole, since you just stocked it with food from the supermarket, so it begins to migrate around the kitchen as it constantly gets in the way.

Migrating Watermelon

4. Finally have the time and the drive to cut watermelon into edible portions, becoming keenly aware with the first cut of the knife that now the CLOCK IS TICKING.

5. After fighting for what seems like hours, chunks and wedges and slices of watermelon are now stored in the fridge, and a few pieces in yourself, and it was tasty and refreshing, and you're content.

6. New day! Enjoy some... watermelon! Can't put it on corn flakes like bananas.... Maybe have toast instead, with a side of your new favorite fruit.

7. Dinnertime! Maybe grill some watermelon as a side dish? Easy! But that balsamic reduction that was recommended to go with it? Maybe not so easy.... How about some for dessert?

8. New day! Enjoy some more... watermelon! 

9. Third day. Everyone said they were happy you bought a watermelon, but no one is pulling his weight on eating the thing. Hey, do you all want this to go bad? There's still a lot left! Mmm, tasty too!

10. Okay, that's about enough watermelon until next year. Should have bought a pre-cut wedge, but come on -- it was the same price as a whole one. 

11. Watermelon starts to get a slick feel and a vinegary scent. This isn't right, is it? You consider: Man, we just took out the trash this morning and we'll be stuck with it until Thursday now....

12. Dispose of remaining watermelon, vowing never to buy a whole one again, because others in THIS FAMILY will not put their appetites where their mouths are. 

Repeat in July, August, maybe September. 

No men.

I heard about a young lady, a daughter of a friend of a friend, who graduated high school this year with a plan to practice living away at college. She and her pals got jobs in a beachfront town and rented a house; they would work and pay their own way and be responsible like grown-ups should be. 

But they made one fatal and entirely, completely, 100% avoidable mistake. They allowed some guys to rent with them. 

I'm kidding about the picture--this is from a show about hoarding--but not about the boys. One of the things that made this young lady quit her job and come home in July was that the boys were absolute pigs and refused to do a thing around the house. They just left their crap everywhere and never scrubbed a dish. If I know my gender, they probably left a lot of beer cans everywhere as well. And this was all foreseeable for anyone who has ever been 18 years old. 

I don't mean to blame the victim. Of course these slobs should have pulled their weight in the beach house. But it is to be expected that boys won't, certainly not in their first away-from-home digs. I have to guess that these boys and girls were not romantically entangled, or the girls could have used their wiles to get the boys to behave like they should. Not that the women should have to, of course; I'm just saying it would have worked. 

Unsupervised men are pigs. Not all, no. Just by and large. Especially when they first get out from under Mom's thumb. Hell, if these boys were actually paying their share of rent on time I'd be surprised. 

I remember visiting a friend at college in my own university days; he lived in a house with other undergrads, each worse than the next, subsisting on cheap beer and frozen potpies. While I was there two housemates got in a play-fight in the kitchen and body-slammed the table, which did it no good at all. These things don't generally happen in women's houses. 

Another friend I visited lived in a similar arrangement; a few doors down his girlfriend lived in a house with some women. It was like staying with Oscar and visiting Felix.

My point is, people will say that in these enlightened times we need not worry about mixing young men and women in co-ed housing, but I say: Be wise, women. For your own sanity, if nothing else, don't share a roof with these uncivilized heathens until they get some civilizing. The summer you save may be your own.

Counting crows.

So, the crows are back in town. 

I haven't missed them much. Their CAW always sounds like an accusation from an angry ex. They're not ugly birds, and black goes with everything, plus I admire their interest in getting to the high ground however tall a structure may be. 

Of course, they do like to go after the garbage, when people are too foolish to get cans with lids. 

"MMmmm!"

I mean, we're not foiling raccoons or bears here. A lid is all it takes to stop the crows. 

Anyway, I didn't realize that they were gone until they came back. That is to say, last summer was so wet that the crows never seemed to show up, not even in the fall when they are most active in these parts. I understand from certain crowologists that heavy rains discourage crows, and we sure had a lot of that in 2021. The grass had to be cut weekly. Now? My lawn hasn't been cut all month and even the weeds look exhausted. This may be ideal crow summer weather. 

One morning this week the boys and I went outside and on the front lawn it looked like we had some crow-on-crow violence. Or perhaps the local fox caught one and devoured it on the spot. 

Just black feathers hither and yon. As for the bird, well, nevermore.

Of course, my dogs were fascinated by the remains. They kept sniffing around, me trying to discourage it. Avian cholera, mad cow disease, bird mites, all kinds of fun things can be carried by those doity boids. I'd prefer to admire them from afar. 

If I'm trying to sleep, actually, I'd rather not admire them at all. I do not have any ex-wives around, but if I did, I imagine they would sound just like that. 

Haiku, low tide.

 Five haikus for summer

Summer sands and skies
Just you and me and the sun
And eight million more

Balloon floats over
The ocean in perfect peace
Kid lost another

Mighty sun above!
Bringer of summer's bounty!
Burns me like bacon

Sausage and peppers
Zeppoli and soft-serve too
Indigestion calls

Dark eyes upon me
My movements, grace and fluid
Stupid ring toss game

Out & about.

Or, as our Canadian readers might say, oot & aboot. 

In other words, it's another Pictures from the Road entry! 

This day started off with a pleasant sky; a friend I showed this to said it looked like a macaroni and cheese morning, but I think it's more like a customer got a little crazy at the pizzeria with the Parmesan.  

Someone set up a cute li'l deer sculpture, but as I noted some time ago, most lawn statuary represents things you don't see normally, and we got deer out the bazooty around here. Why put up a statue to one? We know what they look like. Why not a gnome, or a jockey, or a saint? I've never met one of them. Well, maybe a saint or two.

Ouch! This house got it but good. I hope I think of this anytime I dream of a peaceful cottage nestled in the woods. One of those trees gets a little ancient and bam! Tarps and Tyvek and insurance claims, and God I hope no one got hurt. 

Over the in sewer department, looks like the guys halted progress on a job for the weekend. I don't know what that green thing is, but it's a new one of the rusted thing. 

And finally, off to Walmart for the big Back to School extravaganza! On July 9! Go ahead and cry, kids; the days are getting shorter already. 

Devil in the DEETails.

 

Memories of fruit.

It's the season for the most amazing produce, and I grabbed a bunch of it at the store last week. Fruitwise, I hit that department but good. Watermelon, berries, mangoes, and other stuff went into the cart without a second thought, joining the celery, corn, bell pepper, and onion already present. 

It made me a little reflective yesterday, actually. I was cutting this and peeling that and chopping the other thing, and it brought back memories of produce past. Without further ado, here's some Froot of My Yoot.

Plums -- My dad was crazy for plums. When they were in season, my mom could not buy too many. He'd fool with the thing for a bit, nibbling and breaking the skin, then twirl it around and get the good stuff, then suck that pit dry. Nary a drop got on his shirt. Somehow he did it without dislodging his dental bridge. He was a maestro with the stone fruit. 

Blueberries -- I have always loved blueberries, but the best I have ever had or probably ever will have were wild blueberries in Scandinavia. I'm not bragging; our trip there when I was a child was 90% family business, not because mater and pater thought it would be broadening. But it was amazing, and the woods seemed to be full of wild blueberries, a powerful sweet flavor. We were sent to gather some with our distant cousins and had quite a treat. If I ever go back, I am going in the summertime and leaving everyone and running into the woods with a basket until I find some. 

Mangoes -- We were not mango people. They weren't as widely available in my childhood as they are now, but I do recall Mom buying one to try it. I was put off by the flavor, as it was not one of the Four Fruit Flavor Groups with which I was familiar, those being Omnipresent (apples, bananas, grapes), Summer (plums, peaches, nectarines), Floridian (oranges, grapefruit), and Candy (Jolly Rancher, Kool-Aid, Jell-O). Mom liked the mango flavor, but didn't like cutting it because the mango made a hell of a mess, and the only things she'd tolerate that made a hell of a mess were her kids, and those just barely. Later I came to love mangoes. I've probably peeled and cut more than a hundred of them since, and every one has been a barely avoided ER run for stitches. I'm sure there are people who make a living peeling and cutting mangoes, and I'd like to see their technique.

Strawberries -- For some reason, Dad decided one year to plant a patch of strawberries on the lawn. He was a fan, and strawberries were pricey at the time. Well, the collie next door, a pinched-brain little ditz, peed on them, and decided at that moment that there was no place else in the world upon which she'd rather pee. We didn't live in a duplex, note -- to get to our yard this dog had to escape her own yard, run down a path, down a flight of steps, leap a short fence, and run all the way across the lawn to the spot to pee on it. This dog was putting in the work. I've always treasured a good strawberry since, because we sure as hell didn't get any that year. 

Blackberries -- We actually had some wild blackberries growing in a wooded area outside our property, and while they were not as memorable as the blueberries I've described above, they were pretty darn good and the price was right. The only problem was that we had to be exceptionally alert to when they were ready to pick, because the blue jays loved them even more than we did and would strip the plants in no time.  

Watermelon -- Always a summer treat. Also, more of a project than a fruit. As regards the messiness factor, see mangoes, above. We didn't have a lot of barbecues at my house, but when we did, the presence of watermelon was as certain as marshmallows to roast over the charcoal embers. I don't have a lot childhood memories that other kids have -- catchin' tadpoles, playin' ball at the park, climbin' trees, goin' to summer camp -- but those times I remember very fondly. And I still like watermelon. A few years ago when the Mrs. and I were on a trip to Southern California to visit friends and family, in the arid in-state areas, we stayed at a hotel that kept a cooler full of water with watermelon in it out in the lobby. It was the most refreshing water I've ever had, and in the desert, this northern boy needed it. 

Honorable mention: Nectarines and Tangerines -- When I was a kid I always thought the nectarine had to be a tangerine-like fruit because of the name, and to this day I have to remind myself it's really halfway between a peach and a plum. The confusion comes, as with so many things, from the French. The -ine suffix means like or related to or made of; the nectarine is "like nectar" and the tangerine is "from Tangier" in Morocco. Thanks, French! 

How about you? Got any fond food memories to share?

Not a fan.

A friend of mine, a football enthusiast, when asked if he is a Giant fan, likes to say that he is actually a small air conditioner. 

I thought of that joke when I saw this by a neighbor's trash can.

Maybe that fan stand no longer works, but it looked like a nifty thing to me. As a cook who has set off the smoke alarms on multiple occasions, I could use something like that. Those three fans would clear the room faster than everyone's favorite fictional jazz group, the Fred Key Trio!

From the mind of Mike "Flangepart" Weller

I think a fan stand like that would have been helpful in my childhood, when we lived in the city and had no air conditioning. I do not miss that. The box fans helped, but you basically had to stay right in front of them. The three-fan unit would have covered the room, I think, circulating the air in every corner.

It was years before Dad got a window A/C unit, for use only in the master bedroom and only at night. We kids slept on the floor of the room. Later, as the price for energy and the units themselves came down, the other bedrooms got A/C -- but still only at night. 

All the houses around here have central air, and I wonder if that led to the three-fan unit being thrown away. The family is new to the neighborhood, after all. "No need for you, fans! We have central air now!" 

I'd ask them, but it never looks good to ask someone about their garbage. I'd rather write about it here, in public.

I would not have parted with the fans. On several occasions in this house we have found ourselves suddenly without air conditioning -- when we moved in and the weather got hot and we found out the condenser had never been hooked up; when the cheap unit that came with the house completely crapped out; and when we discovered recently that the replacement unit had been leaking coolant for years because it was installed improperly. All these things were unexpected.

Just saying that, while there are many things I am nostalgic for from the days of my youth, nights with no air conditioning are not among them.