The Official Summer (accept no substitutes!) is still a week away, but Ma Nature missed that memo. We went directly from jacket weather to hot and sticky, with pop-up thunderstorms in the afternoon and evening.
In these parts, it's the last week of school (your parts may vary). In a couple of weeks the little kiddies will be packing up their book bags and getting ready to go back to school. For some kids, that will be the first time this year they'll be back in the building. In the summer. A fitting conclusion to the school year and the year, indeed.
Today's scare (according to the 6:00 news): ticks! That's right, friends, millions of those nasty, disease-ridden vermin are in your back yard even as we speak, waiting for you and your pets to emerge with exposed skin so they can bite you and kill you! There is absolutely nothing you can do, friends, except huddle in terror indoors, and watch TV.
Some days, it's like that for all of us.
'They're the chosen ones,' [Jacquie] Joseph said, referring to the women's basketball teams, 'and they're treated like afterthoughts. What's lower than an afterthought? That's us.'
Whatever happened to...
- The pandemic crisis in India? And Brazil? And all the other countries currently seeing significant upticks in coronavirus cases? They were soooo important last month. Or last week.
- Vaccination testing for children?
- NFT (non-fungible tokens)?
- Adam Rippon?
- Amanda Gorman?
- Pharma Bro?
To: Avian QC.
Re: Recent windshield event.
I recently had cause to use my vehicle, which was parked outside. While I was getting in, I observed a recently placed gift of guano from one of your operatives. It checked all the boxes for volume, opacity, and distribution. In fact, the deposit was almost a perfect circle, an impressive feat when conducting a mid-air delivery. When I tried to clean it, the wipers left a sticky smear across the entire driver's side of the windshield.
However, while otherwise impressive, the offering was not placed on or near the spot on the windshield where it would most interfere with my (the driver's) line of sight, and in fact I was able to drive the car without having to stop and remove the blob.
This lack of attention to detail has been noted. I expect you will address this matter so that the next time I am in a hurry to get somewhere, I will be suitably delayed by a perfect deposit.
Money, money, money.
PBS is raising money this month, and in typical PBS fashion, they abandon their regular schedule and viewers in favor of shows they think will bring in more donations. So there are a lot of shows about health and aging, financial planning, and musical events featuring singers from the 50s and 60s (the years they were popular, not their ages), with equally dubious provenance (the Tina Turner special, for example, is from 2000, but you have to look quick to see the date), but, now that I think about it, that's true for a lot of the comedies PBS imports from England–they're at least that old.
Every now and again, they broadvast a program that shows promise, but through the magic of earnest documentary/tribute show, manage to suck any life out of it. So it was with Monty Python: A Celebration. The only good thing was the clips from movies and shows, which were not shown in their entirety. The clips were surrounded by very good comedians who weren't funny, as they bore the ponderous weight of enshrining the troupe in the comedic pantheon. Translation: they were all as funny as a heart attack, especially when talking about how Python had influenced them. Only Paula Poundstone and Stephen Wright were able to say something resembling funny, but they couldn't save the show, which could have replaced the
Liberty Bell March with
Song of the Volga Boatmen, it was so pretentious.
This whole mess was of course wrapped in fundraising led by enthusiastically unfunny spokespuppets who claimed only to have watched Python, but didn't necessarily get the joke. And they sure weren't spreading them. For them it was all they could do to say
nod, nod, wink, wink every couple of minutes to make them Python experts and keep the comedy flowing.
Insert fart noise here.
Hydrangea is a very silly word, but fun to say. It was a good year especially for hydrangeas, the flower. The flowers are big, beautiful, and bluer than the sky. Here are a couple of plants in the back yard.
For those of you who are about to launch into an incredibly boring explanation of how minerals in the soil are responsible for the colors, kindly zip it and just stare at the flowers in awe.
money money money money.
The good news: To Kill A Mockingbird will reopen on Broadway on Oct. 5. The bad news: the New York Times felt it necessary to tell us how long it took for the play to recoup its original investment when it announced the reopening.
Yes, I know survivalists have mostly gone underground (pun intended) from their heyday in the late '00s, and could easily be added to any 'whatever happened to' list, but I just had a wandering thought about them. Survivalists put all these food and medical supplies in the bunker, but what do they do if someone gets sick? I mean, what happens if someone's jaw just freezes up one day? Or an appendix bursts? Or they get an abscessed tooth? Or toenail fungus?
Things you don't want to know how they found out.
The Atlantic offers up this headline:
Cicadas Are Fine Until One Explodes in Your Mouth.
Boy howdy, but ain't that the truth! I remember one invasion–not the last one but the one 'fore that, the monster invasion of '87. I was in Ohio, outside of Cincinnati, visiting my uncle Gary. The cicadas chose exactly that time to pop out of the ground and start singing their little songs. At least they were in tune. One would start, a couple more joined in, and pretty soon they all felt a compulsion to harmonize. It was so loud, dogs and cats were trying to chew their ears off or took to hiding in libraries. Anyways, the noise was enough to drive a person crazy, but I figured if that was the worst of it, well, bring it on. But then, a couple days later, darned if one of them vermin didn't up and hop right in my mouth, and then jes' go and explode for no good reason. It was like a pop rock grew legs. Right you are to say 'eew!' It was really a two eew! moment. In case you were wondering, it tasted exactly like you would expect
a cicada to taste–kinda like chicken. I figured that was it, that the little varmints had done their worst, but it wasn't a day later that another one of those critters did it again, just jumped into my mouth and exploded, like they was Juliet and Romeo and my mouth was their crypt. Well, I figured I better get this checked out and it was a good thing I did 'cuz the doc extracted a couple of legs that had poked into the roof of my mouth. The doc said they could have caused an infection, and seemed sympathetic, but he kept muttering 'damn mouth breathers' while he was working on me. Charged $40, too, which seemed a little excessive–the legs weren't all that long. Anyway, the pestilence subsided, but even to this day, I think Hollywood is missing out on some great horror film opportunities, like Invasion of the Exploding 17 year Cicadas and Exploding Cicadas vs. the Mouth-breathers. Sure fire hits, both of 'em.
And that's why I've lived south of the Mason-Dixon Line to this day.
Headline from Politico:
Republicans, Democrats battle for high ground after McGahn testimony.
On a flat, featureless desert, two groups are seen approaching an ant hill. A few are trying to scale it, some others are trying to keep the other guys from the top, but mostly, they try to keep everybody from the top.
My sense of humor (con't.).
Prepare for rimshots ahead.
People who know me and my family think I got my sense of humor from my father. Actually, I got it from my mother–she wasn't using it and wouldn't miss it.
My humor is a combination of quick, sharp wit and remembered jokes and humorous stories. Even when I was a child (i.e., in my thirties) I would tell jokes and stories, and people would say
you should write jokes for Johnny Carson. They meant it as a compliment.
Now I'm not so sure. At this distance, Carson doesn't hold up well. Jokes are tired, with celebrity cardboard cutouts for targets, and obscure insider or L.A. references that people didn't get even then. Sometimes the jokes seemed unnecessarily mean. I mean, other comedians who also fell back on a weak schtick have held up well over the years, like George Burns, Groucho Marx and Jack Benny. Who woulda thunk it? Comedy goes through fashions, just like clothes. It's interesting to watch the evolution of George Carlin, for example.
Bad news for Kardashian fans. The final episode of KUWTK (as it's known to the cognoscenti) aired on June 10. But not to worry, stout-hearted fans. BBC News reveals there will be a two-part reunion special shown later this month.