Category House and Home

It’s a Hockey Night

Michael Leave a comment

The National Hockey League season began last week and I got for the second time to see the Stanley Cup and watch a championship banner being raised on an opening night. I’ve been watching hockey in my home town since before there was a NHL team in my home town. I saw a pro AHL hockey game before I saw a MLB baseball or NHL football game. And I even understand most of the rules.

Hockey is the perfect sport. It has the grace of skating, the power of football, the strategy of soccer, and the speed of Formula One racing. Hockey fans are engaged with the play on the ice. The pace of the game means most minutes are spent watching the action. Without stoppages between each play and possession change there are few opportunities for bad behavior. I defy anybody to go to a hockey game and not have a good time. In the words of hockey Hall of Famer “Badger” Bob Johnson, every day is “a great day for hockey!”

greatdayforhockeyIt’s been great days for hockey since the 1920s when the NHL fielded ten teams. Because of the Great Depression and World War II, several of the original teams folded or suspended operation. By 1942 only six teams remained and are today considered the NHL’s Original Six – Boston Bruins, Chicago Black Hawks, Detroit Red Wings, Montreal Canadiens, New York Rangers, and Toronto Maple Leafs, all still playing. In 1967 the NHL undertook a major expansion and added six more franchises, the Next Six or Second Six – California Seals, Los Angeles Kings, Minnesota North Stars, Philadelphia Flyers, Pittsburgh Penguins and St. Louis Blues. The Los Angeles, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and St. Louis teams continue to play in the NHL. The California Seals originally out of Oakland, California moved to Cleveland in 1976 and played as the Barons until they ceased operations in 1978. The Minnesota North Stars moved to Dallas and changed their name to the Stars. Today the NHL consists of thirty teams across the United States and Canada.

Just because the action stays on the ice doesn’t mean that hockey fans don’t bring their own fanaticisms to the rink and don’t have just as many of them outside of the games. For years there was an enthusiast who sat somewhere behind me who began early in the game and continued throughout the 60 minutes of play exhorting the home team to “bury the biscuit!” So persistent was he in his chanting that we dubbed him Barry the Biscuit. I didn’t hear his cry last week at the opener. Perhaps he has given up his song.  Or perhaps because I changed my seats I just wasn’t within hearing range although my daughter claims she even heard him on a televised gamed.

Over the weekend I got one of what seems a weekly hockey catalog in the mail. Each one can be counted on to display replica game jerseys (or sweaters as hockey aficionado prefer), shirts, caps, jackets, cards, pucks, and sticks. Over the year more – um relaxed apparel has been featured including tank-tops, pajamas, robes, even swimwear. Perhaps they’ve always been available and I just missed them but this year, in quite a prominent spot just opposite the order form, was a full page of intimate apparel including women and men (yes, men) thongs. Hmm. I suppose somewhere for someone it’s a great night for hockey.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Falling in Line

Michael Leave a comment

It’s officially fall in my living room. I have the previously posted about fall peanut butter cups (see “Caution, Fall(ing) Pumpkin Ahead,” Aug. 29, 2016) and pumpkin spice Hershey’s Kisses (which in two years I’ve neither previously seen or really even wanted) spilling out of their candy dishes.  It won’t be much longer before I’ll start seeing the Fall Fifteen around my midsection. Certainly you’re familiar with the Fall Fifteen – every bit if not much immutable as the Freshman Fifteen yet not restricted to young college goers.

It’s no wonder that by the last week of December so many around the world consider “lose weight” a leading New Year’s Resolution candidate. We’re just barely into fall, not even to October, and cooking magazines, Internet sites, and television shows are expounding on fall 20160928_193516flavors, all of which come in hearty (aka “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing”) stews, soups, and sandwiches. From classic cassoulet to common casseroles, from homey hashes to homemade pot pies, calories are on the menu!

Just a week ago I was grilling salmon with peach salsa and roasted corn with fresh fruit for dessert and yesterday I was roasting a whole chicken with potatoes and beans, followed by a maple, brown sugar, spice cake with butter cream icing for dessert. That would make it about 150 calories versus 8,574. (I made those numbers up. You may recall just a few weeks ago I listed calories among those things I just don’t know. See “I Didn’t Know That,” Sept. 12, 2016.)

Often people will justify that by saying, “But winter’s coming. You have to prepare for it.” What are we, polar bears? The only prep we need to do is making sure the car has enough gas to get to the megamart. Well, and that we are appropriately attired for the weather, whether it’s weather out there or not. (See “Winter Rules,” Feb. 17, 2014.) But if that’s what it takes to get you to justify all the yummy soups, stews, casseroles, and roasted beasts, I say go for it.

As for me, I’ll just enjoy the extra calories and won’t even fret about putting “Lose Weight” on a New Year’s or any other resolution list. In fact, I resolve to enjoy all things fall. However, I do reserve the right to try the pumpkin spice kisses first.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Pressing My Luck

Michael 1 Comment

Today marks the first day of autumn and the transition from those lazy, hazy days into the dark, blustery days. It’s a day to reflect on what I didn’t do on my summer vacation. I’ll warn you right now this post is just a tad long, but I think you’ll find it fun and interesting.

For the purposes of this discussion, the vacation season began on the unofficial beginning of summer in May sometime during the Memorial Day weekend and not the actual but much too late first day of astrological summer in June or the anticipatory but much too early first day of astrological spring in March.

Actually, for me, every day is a vacation. I have no urgencies in life nor engagements to keep but those imposed upon me by me. The list of things urgent or imposing this summer was pretty short. One thing both of those was wear long, adult-style pants. And save for a few hours in June, I didn’t wear long pants for the entire summer. It was a great summer to let your legs hang out. A pair of shorts, a golf shirt, some comfy footwear, and I was living the great outdoors. Adding to the comfiness of my summer attire comfy, it was iron-free.

I mentioned there were a few hours that I had to dress like an adult. As much fun as I had hanging out at the pool, using much less sunscreen that I really should have, there were a few hours in June that required a traditional shirt, tie, jacket, long pants, and uncomfy footwear. No, it wasn’t a wedding. It wasn’t a graduation. It wasn’t a life-event celebration of epic proportions. It wasn’t even a night of champagne, caviar, and cocktails at a mid-summer gala. Nope, none of those. For a few hours in June I dressed and acted like an adult in order to witness two evenings of my state’s daily lottery drawing.

You’ve probably seen them or something like them. Three or four machines blow some bingo balls around and then a vacuum cleaner sucks up a few numbered balls and somebody becomes rich. All in 35 seconds of bingo ball madness. You’ve probably never wondered if somebody is watching what’s going on there. Somebody at the state lottery office did more than wonder and required that each drawing be witnessed by a member of the public. That’s why they do it. Why I wanted to was because it seemed fun and interesting.

The 35 seconds of the actual drawing probably don’t need a “member of the public” witness. In my state each drawing is conducted under the eyes of two on-site lottery officials, two on-site auditors, two cameramen (camerapeople?), one floor director, one off-site lottery official, one announcer, one off-site auditor, and the two (yes, two) “public” witnesses. In addition, each ball is tagged with a RFID chip read by a sensor as it passes through the capture tube and transmits its ID number to a computer receiver. That confirms the number you see on TV is actually the number that got sucked out of the pack. And all that is just for those 35 seconds.

But the actually witnessing started a couple of hours before those frantic on-air seconds. It took three different people to disengage the alarm and unlock the room and cabinets where the machines and balls are kept at the television station where the drawing was held. Once inside, the witnesses select the machine that will be used for each game and the ball set that will be placed into the machine. One lottery official verifies the weights of the balls and the operation of the machines. Another official places the selected ball set into the chosen machine for a particular game. On the first night that I witnessed, six games requiring six machines and 16 separate ball sets were scheduled. Six machines out of a possible 12 were selected for the four daily number games and 14 sets of 10 balls each were picked from 30 possible locked sets. Four two additional games two machines out of a possible 8 and two different sets of balls (one of 42 and one of 47) were chosen from 6 possible sets of each. All of the ball sets were confirmed to be complete and properly weighted. Each chosen machine was loaded and confirmed intact. Then all the machines were moved from the storage room to the studio by lottery and studio employees under the eyes of the auditors and witnesses. And under the eyes of at least a dozen security cameras that I was able to spot plus who knows how many other.

Once in the studio each game was simulated three times to confirm proper operation and allowed the auditors to confirm that all drawn numbers were within appropriate randomness limits. Then a rehearsal was held, the 35 frantic seconds played out, a final round confirming each machine’s operation run through, the machines locked, returned to the storage room, and the sequence reversed where the machines were emptied and put into their places, the removed balls were re-weighed, reset in their cases and lock away and the three people locked the various cabinets and doors, and the alarm was reset.

Twenty-one hours later I returned to the studio for day two of my witnessing obligation which was more of the same except that there was one less game and thus one less machine and one less set of drawing balls required.

Because on one of those days I would appear on camera I had to be dressed at least a little less like Ernest Hemingway on Key West. And because the TV station where all this was taking place is about 200 miles from home, those clothes made the trip in a suitcase. So wouldn’t you know it, the only times I had to not only be in long pants and a real shirt I also had to iron them.

It was still fun and interesting.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Bridge for Sale

Michael Leave a comment

Labor Day has come and gone and you know what that means. No more white shoes or Seersucker! Uh, no. It’s the start of a new season. I don’t mean the change from unofficial summer to unofficial fall. What with meteorological autumn and astronomical autumn and autumnal equinox and the fall TVseason the last thing we need is any unofficial season. No, the period after Labor Day is the beginning of a new festival season.

Ok, those of you who have always suspected that I’m closing in on batty it’s probably official – or maybe even unofficial. I’ve been marking the seasons by the changes of festivals for years. Winter heralds holiday festivals, spring brings my beloved maple festivals, summer is the season for arts festivals, and fall is the time for covered bridge festivals. This should be nothing new for regular readers of RRSB. I’ve brought up the local covered bridge festival before. (See “Passages of Fall,” September 15, 2014.) (Come on, give me a little break. I’ve been doing this for almost five years. We’re going to revisit some things every now and then.)bridgeforsale

But let’s digress here for just a moment. Festivals have morphed terribly from the traditional definition. That is, “a day or time of religious or other celebration, marked by feasting, ceremonies, or other observances.” Modern festivals often include feasting, otherwise the corndog and kettle corn industries would be in shambles, but around here they’re known more for jamming as many hand-made and/or ersatz hand-made crafts, foods, clothes, and furniture into any open field and for the greatest concentration of the Square point of sale app per vendor per acre.

And that’s what I love about them! You can buy anything at a festival – and I have. Chain sawn eagle yard ornament? Bought one. Framed, numbered, signed pencil sketch? Bought one. Metal sculpted snowman family. Bought one. Commemorative newspaper front page parodying offspring’s eccentricity? Bought one. Hand-hammered silver jewelry ensemble featuring recycled place settings? Bought one.  Hand-made left-handed wooden kitchen utensil set? Bought one. Full scale carved wooden Jack-o-lantern? Bought two!

Oh sure, you can buy maple syrup at the maple festivals and real art at the arts festivals and traditional Christmas decorations at the holiday festivals. But you can get that stuff at lots of places. But where else can you find a four foot, hand carved, wading flamingo carrying a surfboard under its wing? What can I say? I live for kitsch.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Caution, Fall(ing) Pumpkin Ahead

Michael 2 Comments

Another week and it will be Labor Day, the unofficial end of summer. Sigh. But wait! The end of summer means Halloween will soon be upon us. In fact, Halloween candy is already filling supermarket shelves. Oh, Halloween is cool and all, but the best part of Halloween is the candy. Specifically, peanut butter pumpkins.

Summer is great, but something summer doesn’t have is its own Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. Think about it. There are Reese’s Christmas Tree Peanut Butter Cups, Reese’s Valentine Heart Peanut Butter Cups, Reese’s Easter Egg  Peanut PBminiButter Cups, and the soon to be here Reese’s Pumpkin  Peanut Butter Cups. That covers fall, winter, and spring a few times over. What happened to summer? It’s a long time from Easter egg to Halloween pumpkin and I can’t wait.

I know some of you are wondering what the big deal is. It’s only chocolate and peanut butter for Heaven’s sake already. I say, for Heaven’s sake, it’s chocolate and peanut butter already! That’s a big deal! That’s like two of the four basic food groups in one bite. If we could add bourbon and bacon we could make it four for four! But I digress. It’s chocolate and peanut butter and if ever there was meant to be a match made in heaven, it’s those two.

(If you’re allergic to peanuts, please accept my apologies for being so excited about this. This well could be a greater vice for me than my otherwise reported secret vice (see Can You Keep a Secret, Aug. 3, 2015) only not kept behind closed doors.) (Sorry, digressing again.)

Now that the long hot summer is winding down, chocolate-and-peanut-butter-aholics can breathe a sigh of relief knowing those oval pillows of peanuttery chocolateness are close by. In the meantime, I think we need to check in with those people at Hershey and see what the deal is with summer. What’s wrong with a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Beach Ball?

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

 

Crème de la Crème

Michael 1 Comment

It took me most of my adult life, which is to say most of my life, to perfect scrambled eggs. It’s easy to make good scrambled eggs, not that hard to make very good scrambled eggs, but damn near impossible to make perfect scrambled eggs. Perfect little pillows of bright, yellow deliciousness light enough to float off the plate into your mouth where they melt over your tongue into a symphony of wonderful. That kind of perfect.

When you get down to it, scrambled eggs require only three things – eggs, fat, and heat. It is the combination of those three things that make the difference between meh and perfect. About a year ago I found the perfect combination for perfect scrambled eggs and I’ve been making them the same way ever since. Two eggs, a half ounce of half-and-half, beat until my arm is tired, then rest (the eggs, not the arm) while a half tablespoonful of butter melts in a seven inch omelet pan over medium heat. Once the butter is melted and fragrant, pour in the eggs then start moving them around the pan with a heat proof spatula, turning down the heat to low. Keep turning the eggs until they are almost set then pull them off the heat. Add any desired herbs, salt, and pepper; give them one final turn around the pan and transfer them to a nearby plate allowing them to rest just long enough to carry them to the table where coffee, juice, toast, and the morning paper wait. Alternately you can just stand over the kitchen counter and eat them right from the skillet but you will miss out on the daily crossword puzzle.

Three, four, maybe five times a week I start my day like that. The days I don’t are there just to make the scrambled egg days even more special. Yesterday was a scrambled egg day. Yesterday sucked. When I ended up with watery clumps of yuckiness my first thought was that I had a sudden brain fart severe enough to make me forgot how to cook. I almost convinced myself of that except everything else – coffee, juice, toast, newspaper – came out just fine. And my socks matched. Then I spotted the culprit. On the counter, waiting to go back into the refrigerator was the carton of half-and-half (or half-cream as the Europeans might call it). Except it wasn’t. Apparently I indeed had suffered some brain issue but it was when I was at the supermarket the day before. Apparently, that’s when I picked up a carton of fat-free half-and-half.

Who the hell makes fat-free half-and-half? What the hell is fat-free half-and-half? Half-and-half is half milk, half cream. That’s two components whose defining ingredient is fat. Real half-and-half is about 12 percent fat. I took a look at the ingredient label on the imposter. “Skim milk, corn syrup, cream*.” I looked for the asterisk and found “* Not a significant source of fat.” In other words, so little cream compared to the skim milk and corn syrup that it might have been in the same county as a cow for a short while. American skim milk is less than 0.2% fat or essentially white water.I had unwittingly tried to make my fluffy yellow clouds not with thick, rich, creamy half-and-half but with thickened water.

My shopping blunder resulted in me making scrambled eggs (which you recall require eggs, fat, and heat) with two out of three ingredients. When it comes to scrambled eggs, two out of three is bad. I’ll be going to the store again in a couple of days and I’ll replace my ersatz half-and-half with the real deal. As for the remainder of the fake stuff, I suppose I can use it on oatmeal. That’s supposed to be good for you, too.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Change for the Better

Michael Leave a comment

Who said, “Oh please don’t change?” Change is good! The only constant is change. Change makes things happens. You know what I mean by change. Loose change. Pocket change. Coins.

Yes, coins. Every night I empty my pocket of change. I don’t specifically hoard change. During the day if I can spend change I use those coins. Sometimes I might even drop a few into the “Need A Penny Take A Penny” dish at the cash register at the farm market up the road. But at the end of the day I relieve myself of my metallic burden and each morning I start with empty pockets – some mornings more easily than others.

Does it ever amount to anything? Well, there is a new commercial on TV during the daytime that proposes that if you are between 50 and 85 you can come up with enough spare change to buy life insurance for a month. I don’t spend mine quite so impulsively.

About twice a year I sit down with my Mason jar wherein I toss my daily haul. Back when I was working and was spending more time on irresponsible buying I used a big old pickle jar like you’d see on a counter of an old-fashioned country general store. But I digress. Last weekend we had a couple rainy days so I spent my indoor time putting off rolling coins for a while. After sufficient procrastination I broke down and counted and stacked and rolled. And when I added it up I’ll head off to the bank in the next couple days with about $134.00.

It’s not much but enough that I refuse to spend it on food or shelter. I’ll find something to blow it on and sometime after New Year I’ll do it again and I’ll blow that wad.

Now let’s see. What can I get with this new found money? A field level seat at the ball game? A couple of tickets to a play? A round trip to one of a few destinations on a low-price budget airline with advance purchase? Sixty-five round trips to several destinations on Mega-Bus with advance purchase? A really, really cheap cruise? Half a TV? Quarter of a phone? More life insurance? Whatever It is I’ll probably write about it some time. Stay tuned. Change is exciting!

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Lather, Rinse, Stop

Michael Leave a comment

Did you know that the second most followed direction (“Dry Clean Only” is the first) is disappearing?! (Or would that be “…disappearing!?” I’m never sure which is right and that’s a style the Chicagoans haven’t addressed.) (I think.) Anyway, the second most followed direction in the whole world isn’t there anymore – sort of. “Lather, rinse, repeat” is vanishing from shampoo bottles throughout the hair care aisle at mega-marts all over! I discovered this last week when I was checking out the labels of all the personal grooming products at home and at the supermarket – because I have that kind of time.

It struck me as odd that of all that needs to be primped on our bodies, only hair requires multiple goes. My shaving cream doesn’t say “lather, shave, repeat,” nor does my deodorant instruct me to “swipe, wipe, repeat.” And the soap and shower gel expect me to work up a generous lather but say nothing of doing it more than once.

I thought that perhaps it’s not grooming items that harbor this expectation of duplication of application but it’s the soap based products that are insufficient to do their thing the first time around. So I checked the dish soap and found nothing but “not to be taken internally” under the picture of the oranges on the label. The window cleaner is sure enough of itself to read simply to spray and wipe clean. Tub and tile cleaner need only be sprayed on and wiped off with a wet cloth or sponge. (And if used on stainless steel it wants to be rinsed with plain water. I did not know that.) Although the toilet cleaner has more instructions than the car wash cleaner regarding how uncontaminated you want the end result, each direction need be followed but one time.

My mind was reeling. How can it be that one, and only this one aid to readying for our day requires multiple applications? A simple as the three steps are (lather, rinse, repeat -remember), is it really necessary to do them four times (lather, rinse, lather, rinse)? I pulled out my own bottle of shampoo and gave the label a good looking over. And there they were –

“Directions for use: Apply to hair. Lather then rinse.”

Wait. Lather then rinse? What happened to repeat? Had I been imagining step three. I couldn’t have been. Jokes were built upon it; campaigns were written for it. Do this. Do that. Repeat. I hadn’t imagined an entire pop culture. If I had, where are my royalties?! (or !?)

That’s when I took my quest to the street. Or to the aisle as it was. And there I was, in that aisle, selecting a product, reading the label, saying “hmm,” replacing the product, and moving on. Bottle after bottle. After bottle. After another. And so on. And on. And this is what I found –

Lather? Yes. Rinse? Yes again. Repeat? Well… Sometimes.

The mid-range, middle of the road, mass marketed, recognizable brands now bore the legend, “Lather then rinse.” Those brands aimed to the men’s market had no directions. (We wouldn’t follow them anyway.) High end “designer” shampoos informed the user that to achieve best results use with other products in that particular designer’s line including (but I would imagine not limited to) conditioner, deep conditioner, instant conditioner, conditioning mousse, styling gel, and light to the touch, extra hold finishing spray. Store brands proclaimed themselves to be the “Best Value!!!”

Lather? Yes. Rinse? Yes. Where is Repeat?

Finally I found it. On the dandruff and medicated shampoo shelves was the elusive thirst step – Lather, Rinse, Repeat. Buoyed by my discovery I pressed on.

There is a similar wording on the higher side of the mass marketed crowd, the ones not quite as expensive as the designer series of products but more than those aimed at Mr., Mrs., and Ms. Jo(e) Normal. They are the ones that include the product description and directions in French. Those advise the user to “Lather, Rinse, and Repeat if desired.” (Faire mousser, rincer et répéter si vous le souhaitez.)

So I wasn’t imagining it. Lather Rinse Repeat is still out there but in moderation. That’s the best way to take things anyway. With a little moderation. And repeat if desired.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Faster Than a Speeding Steam Shovel

Michael Leave a comment

Some years ago I posted a series of tales featuring the dubious driving abilities of those who had managed to plow their vehicles into unsuspecting, immovable buildings. (Enter “Cars” and “Building” into the site search window and you’ll find those contributions.) With the exception of one follow-up a year ago I stopped such posts not because I stopped finding them in the local news but that they had become so commonplace that I feared if I continued you’d develop a less than admirable perception of drivers from my part of the country. But even that can’t stop this installment.

Among last Monday morning’s news stories which included two separate car vs building scuffles and one report of a garbage truck assailing a house in an early morning sneak attack (apparently even the driver was unaware of it at the time) was a related incident. But first, we should take a moment and explore how one directs a vehicle under his or her control into a quite stationary, often multi-storied structure.

I don’t buy the excuse of “I thought I was hitting the brakes.” The pedal configuration in automobiles has been the same for roughly 110 years. That’s longer than anybody who has run into a building has been driving. It’s longer even than anybody who has run into a building has been breathing. No, you don’t suddenly “forget” which pedal is which. I also don’t buy the excuse that “I was distracted.” Distracted driving is indeed a real thing. Many accidents and unfortunately many accidental deaths have been caused by distracted drivers. That I am not disputing. But to hit a building you must leave the roadway, climb over curbs, drive through hedgerows and/or parking meters, flush quail and other small animals often including startled, screaming human beings before striking an object with force enough to propel your vehicle through it. I might buy operator death while driving but since all of the reports that I have seen end with “the driver claimed he (or she) thought he (or she) was hitting his (or her) brakes” and/or “the driver claims to have been distracted,” death clearly has been ruled out.

So now that we’ve explored how one directs a vehicle into a non-vehicle we know no more about the mental state of these drivers than we did before said exploration other than to say they are mental.

SS1And that brings us to my latest report. A man drove his back hoe into the living room of a house. He then drove off! Fortunately (that’s how the local police chief described it, “fortunately”) the homeowner got a good description of the vehicle and officers who were on patrol nearby were able to track down the alleged operator. Fortunately (yes, “fortunately”) they had that good description and they were able to stop the correct backhoe driving down the road. It would have been quite embarrassing to stop the wrong one with pieces of picture window frame hanging from it.

Thank God he didn’t drive around to window #2!

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

…and the living is easy

Michael Leave a comment

Today is the first day of summer. (If you are reading this south of the Equator please feel free to bookmark it and come back in six months or equally feel free to keep reading. Your choice.) I hate to sound like one of those guys who thinks everything was easier “back then” but I swear the seasons were easier back then. I seem to recall in my youth summer always starting on June 21. Now it came be as early as the 20th or as late as June 23. It’s all so precise they even narrow it down to the very minute “it” happens. 6:34 pm. This year. Oh, that’s Eastern Time. Eastern Daylight Saving Time. Like the sun is worried about an extra hour of daylight. And that’s just astrological summer. Meteorological summer started on June 1.Every year. (For those reading this on any nearby meteors.)

Anyway, today is the first day of summer so if you haven’t done your spring cleaning yet, you’re in luck. You have nine months off until you have to tackle that particular project again. Same goes for anyone not yet having a fling or putting one in your step. Don’t thank me. Thank the relentless march of time or your own procrastination. On the other hand, it’s now officially too late to take a break but at least you have made it through another season without getting the feverSummer

Now that all that stuff is off the table, what is there to do? Well summer can usher in some lovin’, you can do some saulting, or be having a hot time in the city or a lazy, hazy, crazy, day just about anywhere else. When you do you can post what you did on your summer vacation but don’t be surprised if someone doesn’t come up to you and say “I know what you did last summer” after they read it.

Whatever you do, do it now. It may feel like a long, hot summer but you only have until September 22. After that, no more hot fun in the summertime. (Unless you are reading this south of the Equator.) And please stay upbeat for the next three months. You realize there ain’t no cure for the summertime blues now don’t you?

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?