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!

Deerly beloved.

 

Six months and a day!

I used to work with a trust-fund baby. Actually, I probably worked with several of them over the years, because a lot of the people I met in the artistic side of the magazine business had to be able to get in through the rich-kid gate, to wit:

1) Graduate from a good college;

2) Work as an unpaid intern;

3) Live in Manhattan on a crap salary.

After getting through those three phases, they could start to make a decent living. You will note that those three phases require something to back said junior staff member, generally Mommy's + Daddy's checkbook. That enabled them to take jobs that paid nothing or next to it, without worrying about student loans or making the rent. 

I'm not saying they had it easy, nor were they bad at what they did; I am saying that it was perfect way to keep out the riffraff. 

I, the riffraff, came up the hard way, commuting from the outermost borough, being broke for a long time, and never following the path that led to the glamorous and creative end of the business. But I made a living. 

The TFB that I mention at the top of this post, however, was a real classic of the type. Nice guy, and very intelligent, probably more so than I. But he was like a friendly alien dropped on Earth who had to try to guess what Earth people were like in order to go unnoticed. He could be a smartass but did not have a rough edge. He was curious about the lives of skilled laborers like my father. He always looked perplexed. He spent days contemplating aloud the purchase of a rice cooker. Should I buy or not? If so, what kind? A cooker or a steamer? Is one brand superior to another? What quantity of rice is proper? It is a puzzlement. 

Just use the microwave like everyone else!

I remember him telling me about his grandparents. Grandpa, the head of the family in a very real, very fearsome, and very financial sense, was from Massachusetts, but for tax purposes he officially lived in New Hampshire for six months and a day. That 50.01% residency kept him from having to pay Massachusetts' high income tax. New Hampshire only taxes interest and dividend income.

I have since learned that "Live Free or Die" might as well be replaced as New Hampshire's motto:

This is one of the reasons why, when politicians set out to tax the rich, the middle class always finds its taxes going up. The poor saps in Boston who can’t declare residency outside the state get stuck with the bill for the big spending plans that "taxing the rich" was supposed to fund.

Now, I have no idea how Mr. Boston Brahmin Grandpa voted, but if he was like the contemporary wealthy, he would continue to vote for the very policies he was fleeing, wherever he went. In doing so these moneybags screw over the state in which they amassed their fortunes and also the state in which they expect to keep them. 

I do not understand why someone, looking at the laws in their home state and regarding them as unfair and unjust, would support those same laws elsewhere. But they do. Thus, New Yorkers have been accused of ruining Vermont, Bay Staters of ruining Maine, and Californians are being accused of ruining Colorado. It's like they can't help themselves. 

I'm not sure why I brought all this up today, except I was thinking of that trust-fund baby and his grandfather. While TFB was studying this strange form of life known as the "middle class," we were studying him. I've never met anyone like him, but I'll bet in his youth he was like everyone else around him. 

Peculiar fellow. I don't even know if he ever got his rice cooker. 

Book sale!

Hans G. Schantz has once again organized a non-woke book sale for writers selling through Amazon. If you're looking to load your Kindle or Kindle software with books that are cheap in price but valuable in PC-free content, this is the time! 

I am but a measly part of the whole shebang, an event in which every book costs ninety-nine cents. Can you believe it? Such a bargain! But it only lasts through Tuesday the 25th.

Are you tired of those books that start off agreeably, only to whale you with the old Left-Wing Sucker Punch? ("The bomber was the nice little old lady all the time! She had a MAGA hat in her luggage!") Then I'm sure you'll enjoy the opportunity to read a book that, while it may have many plot twists and mysterious characters, was not written to insult you.

After all, any liberal reading any novel on the New York Times best-seller list knows that he, she, or it will not be challenged in any of his, her, or its orthodoxy and can relax and enjoy the story. People right-of-center, or even centrist (which today makes them Nazis too) do not have that opportunity. 

You don't have to buy my book, of course, but I thought you might like to know about the sale. Happy reading! 

Hack, cough.

Remember a few weeks ago when I got the first cold I've had in years? I think it has been more than six years, and freelancing from home may be the main reason I've been lucky. Then again, there are 100+ rhinoviruses out there, and maybe when you live long enough, Nature has trouble pulling one out the file that you're not immune to. 

It was a good run, so I suffered the cold with some gratitude. Well, last weekend I was at a meeting in church, crammed into a small classroom, and one of the attendees mentioned that he was supposed to be on an airplane that very minute but because he and his wife got sick, the kids said to stay away from the grandkids. 

So he came to the meeting instead. 

Guess what?

Yep, sick again.

THANKS, TYPHOID MIKE

Of course this has turned into a busy week, workwise; it couldn't have happened last week when things were slow, no. 

It was too hot to make a frozen pizza yesterday -- the extent of my cooking abilities -- so I was dispatched to McDonald's to get eats. After all, the Grimace Era of the Mets has continued, so I wanted to show my reciprocal support. When I got home, I started pulling in the garage and -- nothing. Car stalled. Check Engine light came on. 

Well, as King Claudius says, "When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions." And he wound up dead, so there you are. 

It could be something simple, like maybe they forgot to put oil in during my oil change a couple of weeks ago. (It's been known to happen.) Or it could be the end of the line for my car. Still, I was able to kick it over and pull into the garage, that CE light taunting me as I did. I'm really glad I didn't get stuck in the McDonald's parking lot. I have AAA membership, but it's like life insurance -- you never really want to need it. 

So that's what's happening. I hope to have a better entry tomorrow or Thursday. We'll just have to see how it goes. Unless like Claudius one of the sorrows comes at me with a sharp poisoned pointy thing. Then I won't be around to blog about it. 

Weekend report.

1) I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to post on Father's Day yesterday, but I hope all you dads had a good one. It was a great opportunity to tell Dad Jokes™ without reprisal. You know who you are. (And who you are is PL Woodstock.) 

My late dad had a great sense of humor in terms of getting and enjoying jokes, but he could not tell a joke for beans. He either started laughing before getting to the punchline, or he forgot part of the setup and had to backtrack, or he felt he had to explain the joke in case you didn't get it (but you did). Well, he was omnicompetent otherwise, so not being Shecky Dad did not rise to the level of a character weakness. I miss him. 

2) Last Wednesday, McDonald's beloved shake-enjoying blob Grimace celebrated his 53rd birthday by throwing out the first pitch at Citi Field. Since then the Beloved Mets have won five games in a row. Fans are calling this the Grimace Era. Plans for a Grimace statue have been discussed. It could stand next to the Seaver statue outside the park.

I'm not saying that there's any connection to the winning streak. After all, the games have been at home against the woeful Mariners and the struggling Padres. But maybe…

None of this would have happened if Grimace had not changed his ways, from the evil four-armed milk shake glutton to Ronald McDonald's two-armed dopey purple pal. Recovery works! 

I would like to see if we could sign Grimace as a bullpen coach. Maybe get some of the others involved. Mayor McCheese could help calm things down in the front office, where they've been getting frantic as the trade deadline gets closer. Hamburglar could work as the base running coach. He's an expert in steals. 

But no Ronald. We’ve had enough clowns.

3) Yesterday I took some Windex to the glass-top table on the porch. Not the first time this spring. I couldn't believe how thick the layer of pollen on it was. It was like pond scum. You would need a paint scraper to write "Wash Me" on it.

If you live in the northeast United States and you think this is a bad allergy season, you are right. But you are not entitled to compensation. 

Gift certificates -- you're doing it wrong.

I like Britain's Sorted, on YouTube. If you're not familiar with it, the series features several lads -- a mix of professional chefs and "normals" -- doing food-related projects in the kitchen, from product testing to trying trendy or silly foods to surviving cooking or eating challenges. The Poker Face challenges, where they will eat or drink something horrible and have to keep a stiff upper lip, are particularly hilarious.  The show is lots of fun, and much better than anything Food Network is putting on these days. 

Many subscribers 

I was honored to be given a gift certificate to the channel, a code that could be used to unlock a subscription for their premium content. Many successful YouTubers have a feature like this. 

But I ran into a snag. Maybe you've encountered something similar. 

In order to activate my gift certificate, I had to give them a credit card number. Why? Because they would automatically renew my membership at the end of the year unless I told them not to. 

I thought there might be a mistake, as this was a gift and so I had no financial obligation involved. But no, after some back-and-forth with customer service, I was told that they needed my credit card or I could not use the gift. Refunding the giver was also out of the question. 

To me, this goes against the whole spirit of a gift certificate. First of all, it craps on the altruism of the "gift" part, forcing an obligation on the receiver. Second, gift certificates are encouraged because they expose the recipient to the joys of shopping or subscribing and thus are good for business on their own. But I told the customer service I would not be renewing even if I loved the service, and in fact I wound up never using the gift. 

Am I old-fashioned about this, or just wrongheaded? A gift is a gift, right? It should have no strings attached, either from the giver or any third party. 

It's too bad, because I probably would have enjoyed the subscription, but the hell with it. Bad way to run a kitchen, lads.