Blog #64

Did you have a nice Memorial Day Weekend?  Memorial Day means that Summer is here, but not officially of course.  Summer officially begins June 21st at 5:07 a.m. CDT.  At that instant, the North Pole will be tilted closest to the sun and those in the Northern Hemisphere will experience the longest day of the year.  It’s called the Summer Solstice.  Ok, all that mysterious drivel is swell, but haven’t you ever wondered why Summer isn’t just June, July and August?  June should start on the day of the Summer Solstice and August should end at the Autumnal Equinox (more arcane weather-speak).  Then Autumn can be September, October and November just like everybody thinks it is.  When Aristotle or God or Donald Duck or Pope Gregory XIII decided to make the calendar, why didn’t they ask us?  We would have made it so simple.

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling well and staying out of this heat.  Even though the official start of Summer is three weeks away, the weather has been sizzling.  How hot is it?  I’m so glad you asked.  Relax, grab a cold drink and I’ll tell you how hot it is.

It's so hot, Kim Jong Un has decided to stand in Trump’s shadow.

It’s so hot, J-Lo traded Marc Anthony for Ice T.

It’s so hot, cows are giving evaporated milk.

It’s so hot, Charley Rose is taking more cold showers.

It’s so hot, the trees are fighting over the dogs.

It’s so hot, I saw two squirrels fanning their nuts.

It’s hotter than Joy Behar’s tongue.

It’s too hot for playing or talking

The birds are too hot to be squawking

I saw a dog that

Was chasing a cat

And both of the poor things were walking.

I was going to play golf on Memorial Day, but the heat made me wimp out.  Besides, my wrist hurts.  I’m afraid that’s going to limit my golfing this summer.  I’m sure it’s one of those Repetitive Motion Injuries – probably Writer’s Cramp from writing to you every week.  I remember when the only repetitive injuries were Writer’s Cramp and Tennis Elbow.  Then came Carpal Tunnel Syndrome and Tendinitis and Golf Elbow and Trigger Finger.  Now there’s a whole slew of new ones that some very famous people suffer from.  OJ Simpson has Throat-Slashing Wrist, Bill Cosby suffers from Girl-Drugging Elbow, Anthony Weiner has Porn Photo Finger, Al Franken suffers from Breast-Cupping Syndrome and of course there’s Trump Twitter Thumb.  Take some Ibuprofen.

There are so many TV, cable, Netflix, Hulu and other sources of programming that there are literally thousands of new shows to choose from.  Yet, there are some shows that have been around seemingly forever.  The longest running scripted show that is still on the air, The Simpsons, has run for 29 seasons.  I have never seen one episode, but I’m guessing Bart Simpson has never matured.  Neither, most likely, have the people who watch it.  But there are plenty of programs that have grown older and have decided to change their names to reflect their extreme longevity.  Modern Family is now Ancient Family.  Blue Bloods has been changed to Thin Bloods.  Walking Dead has become Barely Alive.  There’s Hawaii Nine-O, Grey Haired Anatomy and Wheelchair of Fortune.

And besides old TV shows, there are old jokes.  Here’s one.  An Amish family decided to go to the city for the first time and visited a department store, a place they had only heard of in whispered rumors.  The mother went in one direction, the father and son in another.  Minutes later the father and son were standing in front of a pair of silver doors with lights above them.  An old lady with a walker came up to the doors and pushed a button.  The silver doors magically opened and the old lady went in.  The doors closed, the lights went up up up and then down down down.  The silver doors opened again and out walked a beautiful young woman.   The man turned to his son.  “Go get your mother,” he said.

I had to borrow my grandson’s pickup truck the other day.  This is the truck that’s so tall I need a Sherpa to get in.  Once in, however, I was tooling along nicely, feeling like your average American Redneck, when I decided to turn on the radio.  This is a 16-year-old boy’s ride, and I prepared myself for the Death Metal Burn in Hell Kill Your Parents and Take Some Drugs station.  But you know what I got?  National Public Radio.  My grandson listens to NPR?  I was impressed!  Until, that is, they started a piece on why some lizards have green blood.  No wonder our teenagers are so messed up!  They listen to NPR!  I would have enjoyed the Death Metal station more.

Speaking of grandchildren, last Friday was National Poppy Day.  I was so proud.  I dressed up in my new slacks, a nice golf shirt and my best loafers and waited for all my grandchildren to come visit their Poppy.  Wasn’t that sweet to have a day just for me?  They never showed up.  They didn’t call; they didn’t write.  Not a tweet!  Maybe I had the date wrong.  I looked it up.  Here’s what I found - National Poppy Day is the day veterans wear a red poppy to honor the fallen of WWI.  I shrugged, changed my clothes and looked up when Grandparents Day is.  It’s September 9^th.  I guess I can wait.

I don’t believe in omens or fortune-telling or parapsychology or magic.  I’m a scientist, after all, and yet – well, something happened today that has me a bit shaken.  A couple of years ago, my son-in-law Robert bought me a bobble-head made to look like me, standing in a golf shirt holding my putter.  That’s PUTTER!  You have a filthy mind.  Today I moved the little figurine from one spot to another and the head fell off and rolled under my chair.  The head that looked exactly like me!  It was very spooky!  Does that mean this is my last blog?  Who knows?  I will try to be very careful this week. You should be careful too.  Stay well and count your blessings.  I’ll see you next week.  I hope.

Michael                                            Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com