Dog Days of Summer: Certainly Can Lick…

It’s the Dog Days of Summer. What the heck is going on? That’s kind of a rhetorical question and yet I wouldn’t mind an answer. It’s been hot here. Sure I know it’s hotter in other places of the world, but it’s a relativity thing. When it gets hot I don’t feel like doing much. Probably due to me being so busy sweating that I don’t have time for much else. That’s all I seem to do, and blackmail deodorant companies with claims of their failing products.

That’s when I start working a bit longer at work and enjoy some of that air conditioning. An extra bonus is that I can bring the dogs with me. I couldn’t imagine having to deal with this heat in a fur coat. They are always excited to go to work. I don’t think it’s necessarily the air conditioning though. No, it seems to be all the attention they get.

When I get home, there’s a mixture of condensation from sitting in air conditioning and sweat from being outside. Trust me, it is as awful as it sounds. That just makes me kind of lazy. I have a tendency to lay around reading or watching one extra episode of whatever on Netflix. Which isn’t too bad if it’s a half hour episode, but an hour episode can really throw any aspirations I had out the window.


Maybe I should go do something else.

 

Summer Flannelbane 2: The Revenge of Swamp Ass

Two years ago, Summer Flannelbane set the world on fire. Now it’s time for Summer Flannelbane 2! As I’ve gotten older and grumpier, I can say with nary a doubt that summer is my least favorite season. It’s hot, smelly, stuffy, smokey. I have the option to go out anytime because it isn’t raining. Unfortunately, if things aren’t already on fire, I will burst into flames unless I slather on enough sunblock that I look like a storm sewer dwelling rodeo clown.

Go ahead, freak out and yell at your screen. Stand up and pace around the room while scratching your head like a detoxing addict. Mutter questions as to why I feel this way. Call me names. Declare that I’m wrong. It’s okay, at any given time fifty percent of the internet disagrees with you.

Done? On a scale of one to stagnant and inexplicably immortal water puddle off to the side of a big box store, how wet are you? Getting worked up like that during any other season wouldn’t be an issue. You’d look fine and wouldn’t be the least bit glowy. However, in summer everyone can see you sweat. Unless said freak out took place in an air conditioned building and in the buff, at the very least, you have to be a little clammy.

Summer Flannelbane is hot. The environment is dry and the people are wet. I can’t remember the last time that I wasn’t moist. My dew point has been lowered, raised? Ah, I don’t remember how dew point works. Not that it really matters because it’s not droplets of water forming on the outside of a cold glass of ice water. It’s my sweat pouring out of me.

I’m soaked to that point that, if some crazed berserking bro-jock came at me with a wet towel, I could retaliate by removing any article of clothing. From as something as substantial as a t-shirt to something as minimal as a friendship bracelet. My weapon like vessel of vengeance doesn’t so much matter as much as the fully saturating sweat that it’s imbued with. The subsequent swipe would be so cruel, so violent. His final words, as his body is being liquified, limbs blasting off like rockets, head bouncing like a recently abandoned basketball, would be a simple and astonished, “Bro?”

Summer Flannelbane is the time of year where I begin to believe that I may have latent super powers. My inherent ability is to be varying degrees of moist at all hours of the day. While I haven’t tested my theory, I assume that I’m some degree of fire retardant at all times. With some points being near one hundred percent.

Perhaps Professor Xavier just hasn’t noticed me yet in his scans. It could also be that he doesn’t require the Human Slug on his team. Even if he did, yellow and blue spandex aren’t exactly in my wheelhouse. Not to mention that would wick the sweat away, thus nullifying my unique talents. No, I’m afraid I’d have to run around in a mesh shirt and fishnet stockings at best.


 

Another Sunburn: How Could It Even Happen?

I got another sunburn. This is the second one in two months. While the last one took place on a warm, sunny day, this one happened on on that was cloudy and cold. That’s right, it’s colder halfway through June then it was about a month ago. I’ve worn shorts and t-shirts on many occasions this year. I’ve perspired to radiant levels of glow. Yet this weekend, I had to hike up the jeans, button a flannel shirt and a zip up hoodie. Yeah right, climate change is a hoax. I’m dressed like it’s March, but it’s the middle of June. Seriously, a sunburn and a cloudy day go together like peanut butter and chocolate.

I was on a boat tour. As such, I thought it prudent to layer up. I didn’t want to be freezing fifteen minutes into the journey. No one wants to be cold on a two hour tour of Harrison Lake. We kept echo island just off of our portside* the entire voyage. We saw the horned owl shaped rock formation at Echo Bay and then continued on to Rainbow Falls before heading back.

Traveling at breakneck speeds of eight miles an hour can whip up the breeze. My, Made In The U.S.A. and Indonesia, cloth armor deflected all cold damage for the most part. I’d prepared properly as far as the clothing was concerned.

The return trip had the head wind, so it was a tad cooler. As such, I had to zip up my hoodie that crucial last quarter of an inch and use an old lady as a wind shield. Don’t worry about her, she was bundled up in a winter jacket. My guess is, this wasn’t her first boat trip rodeo. Regardless, it didn’t help and I was still just a bit chilly.

My hoodie stayed zipped up when I was back on shore. The flannel shirt remained buttoned for most of the car trip home. In other words, it wasn’t hot.

At no point did I feel like I was in danger of getting another sunburn. Which is something that I’ve been trained to deduce. Recognizing the warning signs and symptoms is practically an act of my subconscious. Typically, I don’t even have to think about it, I just get the notion that something is out of whack. Then it’s evasive maneuvers. Apply sunblock, run inside screaming, or at the very least, walk in the shade.

The sun appeared every now and again. It was like playing flash light tag with that dipshit in safety orange suit with tons of reflectors. It would be hours before I would realize what had happened. Only once did I feel the sunburn sting set in when I scratched my forehead. That evening, I realized that, once again, whatever travesty the fair skinned people of the world have committed against the sun, had been avenged several times folded it.

How big of a loser am I? How do I get another sunburn on a cloudy day? That’s rhetorical. How does anyone even go about getting a sunburn on a cloudy day. Don’t answer that either. I don’t need any Bill Nye The Science Guy crap. That is, unless you are the real Bill Nye. In that case, “Welcome!” and comment away. Tell the internet how silly I am, Bill. Be sure to mention this on twitter. Drive some traffic my way. You owe me Bill Nye consumed and shared your content when you were starting out. Sure it was the eighties, but I did my part. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go slather on the aloe.


*No I didn’t have to google this. A true boatsman knows what’s up. Wait, boatsman is a real word? I figured it was a layman’s made up word, but it isn’t. Hm.

First Day of School

I was cruising through my facebook feed this morning and saw a couple of pictures of kids all pumped up and ready for their first day of school. I looked at the date and I got a negative feeling in my tummy. It’s August twelfth, is it really time to go back to school?

I don’t remember having to go back this early, but maybe we did. Regardless, it doesn’t really matter as I loathed the first day of school. I think I may have really been excited for Kindergarten, but who isn’t. A fun sounding name that literally translates to children’s garden, which I am assuming understood in reverse as a garden of children. Either way it works and sounds like a great time, plus it is fun to say. Kids just eat and sleep their way through the day with a few sing alongs to break it all up.

Then you get sucked into the system and become a brick in the wall and the teachers just won’t leave you alone. Open your books! “Where is my graham cracker snack” I respond in protest! Day after day, year after year. Everything is the same, but harder. Students work hard and get rewarded with more difficult work in larger portions. Just like real life!

From Kindergarten to the real world in less than a year. By second grade everyone knows why grown ups smoke and drink. One realizes why the age limits to buy smokes and booze are so high, because if we all started eleven years sooner, we would be worse off as a society.

There are those weird kids who are locked in battle for valor victorian. They will battle each other all through the years of school. Some will make it, some will fizzle out and one gets the prize. Does anyone care?

I loved summer break and school was just something that got in the way. I had to lay down my bike, put down the Dungeons & Dragons, turn off the HBO and most importantly put down the video game controller. Summer is dead, long live summer!

Heatwave

I keep droppin’ lines in recent posts about how we are experiencing a heatwave. Now, it is time to just freakin’ make this topic front and center. Last weekend was freaking hot and if the sun wasn’t out and trying to burn me alive like it was trying to exact revenge on me for killing its father, it was humid. Even better, last weekend was apparently nothing to the weekend coming up! The north is on fire due to our incredibly dry conditions and scumbag smokers who don’t want their shame in the ashtrays of their vehicles.

Sunday morning was rough. I worked on some blog posts while sitting in front of the fan. In desperate need of coffee, I kept throwing the freshly brewed savior down my gullet. Soon I realized that I had become superheated, both inside and out. That is when I thought that if this were a superpower my name would be the “Human Smoldering Ember.” I could you know, just keep people warm and shit. People in a heatwave may view me as a villain, but when winter rolls around “Look who is happy to see me!” I scream with my arms wide open and my head wagging back and forth.

My wife and I went for walk after lunch and she mentioned that she was sweating and that she never sweats. I replied with “I can’t recall the last time I wasn’t sweating.” I feel like I was bit by a radioactive slug and have the lame ass power to be coated in some gross ass mucus like, sweat thing.

Anyone who comes up to me and says “What a beautiful day!” or “Yesterday was a beaut!” will get a canned response. With a volume level slightly more than it needs to be and perhaps a smokers lung intonation I will respond. “I can’t tell if I am wearing boxers or moist towelettes?

Summer Flannelbane

That is the awesome medieval fantasy name for summer, Summer Flannelbane. Summer is coming and it is going to be hot, really hot. Hotter than normal temperatures already abound. There has been very little rain here and we have had a wildfire twelve hours north of us for the past two weeks. G-Dub told the world climate change didn’t exist, but forgot to tell climate change. Oh, it does exist and it does not like being ignored.

I like summer, but I don’t love summer. Especially these roided up, bi-polar summers. Weather is extreme and thinks it is opposite day. If I had my way, leaves would bud and cherry blossoms would bloom and everything would be beautiful and then dead. Maybe a week or two of shorts and hoodie weather, but that is enough. I like my jeans, I like my flannel shirts, I like my dark beers and coffees. It is just hot everywhere in this air conditionless wonderland.

Except my car, it has air conditioning and it is cool and refreshing. However, I am hardly in it because there is no traffic as I am one of the few suckers not on vacation. This leaves only the briefest of air conditioned respites. Of course after I park my car somewhere it is a sauna until it fully cools down just as I am parking in front of my place.

Many of us could stay at work in the air conditioned bliss. Although that seems counter intuitive as we have been raised and bred to treat summer as the vacation and taking it easy season. Productivity will remain where it always has even though we may be there an extra twenty minutes.

Here is the crux, I simply don’t understand people that say “Such a beautiful day!” What is beautiful about thirty plus (celsius) weather. People stuck in buses like a can of salty, wet, lukewarm sardines. Speaking of sardines, spontaneous oral sex rates plummet through the floor. The same floor that people will stick to if they try to lay down and have regular sex. So those rates drop as well. Hell people can’t even hold hands without getting stuck together and bursting into flames. Ain’t nobody getting laid in this summer wonderland!

The sun beats down upon me with a vendetta, like I killed its father. The wrath of a zillion nuclear bombs from very far way sears my skin in minutes each time I go outside. Luckily I don’t shed like a snake and I do tan a bit. Even the bald spot on my head. Still, I hate that moment when I realize that I have underestimated how long I was going to be outside and I know the burning has begun. I feel like I am going crazy.

People stink to high hell as their deodorant has been lain to waste before noon. Those seeking a refreshing rush and who truly don’t care what others think, rip off their tops and bury their faces in the sweat soaked armpit region. Honestly, when will it be socially acceptable for us to just wear a tube socks and shoelaces? Not just for the good looking fit people, but all of us. Well until the leaves turn have a great and clammy summer!