Melted dreams and other objects

You've fought the good fight, window fan.

You’ve fought the good fight, window fan.

I wrote this post earlier in the summer, but held it back because August was so cool. But now that it’s September and summer has returned to toy with us some more, I have decided to call it out on some of the things it’s done. Here is a melodramatic list of things that melt in summer and ruin my life.

  • Coconut oil deodorant, because I am a hippie. My deodorant is made of cornstarch, baking soda, and coconut oil, a substance which melts at 76 degrees and then needs to be stirred.
  • Shoes, when placed in close proximity to a summer campfire. Before the invention of vulcanized rubber, sneakers melted on hot days. We’ve come a long way, but fire still beats sneaker.
  • Skin, from my thigh, when backed into a summer grilling apparatus.
  • Chocolate, when left in my car, a thing which is fine to do at sane times of the year.
  • Ice, from my iced coffee. Even if I made it strong (and you can bet I did) it will devolve to an unacceptable level of wateriness before I am through drinking it.
  • Ice cream. Eating ice cream could easily have gone in the post about summer activities that are better in winter. You mean I have 30 seconds to eat this before it’s just milk and corn syrup? It’s like defusing a bomb.
  • Crayons, when left in the car. Sure, they look cool all blended together, but sometimes I want to draw things that don’t look like an acid trip, and I can’t do that with 64 colors which have digivolved into MegaCrayonmon.

This should be the penultimate post of Humidfest 2014.  Maybe I’ll write some more if the heat continues into September, but at that point I think I’d need to change the name to GlobalWarmingFest.

Here’s a recap of the earlier posts in the series:

Awful features of cookouts

Cookouts are a hotbed of danger, awkwardness, and yard games. It’s bad enough trying to sit comfortably at a sun-baked picnic table splattered in bird shit, but really, that’s only the beginning. With Labor Day in just two days, I figured that the penultimate entry of Humidfest 2014 would be an opportune time to discuss some of the unsavory qualities of outdoor barbecues.

A lake!

You are in less danger from the many drunken boaters on this lake than you are from every single thing that happens at a cookout.

Purposely attracting yellow jackets

Soda is a mandatory part of every barbecue ever. This is stupid, because it attracts yellow jerkbags jackets to the picnic table, placing everyone in grave danger.  Bumble bees and honey bees are just in it for the pollen. Yellow jackets are like the asshole Aqualish in the Mos Eisley Cantina who picks a fight with Luke Skywalker for no damn reason. Or, because fighting. Basically, the fact that they were in the same location is enough. Either way, Obi Wan Kenobi slices his arm off, and it’s all good. Unfortunately, I live in Massachusetts, and there is no Obi Wan Kenobi here to come kill the yellow jackets with his lightsaber. So, it’s only common sense not to have soda at a picnic, when you don’t have a Jedi to defend you from the consequences.

Potato salad roulette

Unless it’s garlicky, olive oil-soaked Italian potato salad, potato salad is something that mostly sucks anyway. So that’s already a strike against both it and summer, which is when it comes out of hibernation to give us salmonella.  Enter potato salad roulette. How long has it been out? Are you willing to risk it? YOUR LIFE IS ON THE LINE.

Undercooked hamburgers

When meat is ground, the bacteria sitting on the outside mixes with everything else in squishy meat curls. That means that the inside of a hamburger needs to be cooked to well done. No, it’s not 1000% percent definite that someone will get food poisoning if they eat a bit of meat that’s still pink. But is it worth the risk? Not really, in my book, and I happen to prefer my burgers blackened anyway.

Most of the cookouts I’ve been to in the last two years have had undercooked hamburgers. And not all cooked by the same person either. There have been four culprits. If I so much as mention that the meat is undercooked, I’m told it’s ok, and I’m over worrying. It’s like being the only person in a movie who sees the whole conspiracy, and everyone is just trying to silence me.

Volleyball

Gym class volleyball always turned me into an exemplary Apathetic Loner Girl, Daria style. In my eyes, the other kids didn’t seem to grasp that there was no reason to get excited over, or invested in the outcome of the game. To me, it was perfectly acceptable to watch the ball fly by instead of bothering to try hitting it. The gym teachers didn’t care, but my team mates were not cool with this, and they let me know. With gusto. Or zest. Also, yelling.

Volleyball went from a slightly fun game that I had no enthusiasm for, to something more akin to post-traumatic stress disorder.

Plus, it’s not something I want to attempt while suffering the consequences of potato salad roulette.

Oppressive heat oppressing us

Last week was a busy week, so my previous update to Humidfest 2014 was two weeks ago. In that last Humidfest 2014 post, I wrote about summer activities that are actually better in winter. There is a whole other category of activities that are not only better in winter, but that the tyrannical oppressor of Hot Weather makes impossible this time of year. Here are some of the ones that I miss the most.

Thai red lentil curry

You’re the one I miss most of all.

Eating soup

Soup is one of the best food-forms in existence. Delicious umami slurpiness with chunks of whatever vegetables, meat, or noodly goodness your heart desires. I know gazpacho exists, and it’s a summer soup, but it doesn’t make up for the loss of every other kind of soup. Sausage and kale. Chili. Pho. Tortellini. Red Lentil Thai Chili.

Sleep

This one seems like it should be obvious, but apparently 72 degrees Fahrenheit is the national average room temperature. This probably explains a lot of culture-level problems. Obesity epidemic? How could anyone do anything BUT eat corn chips and watch TV with lethargy-producing 72 degree air lulling them into a fog? Kids are underperforming on standardizing tests? Maybe if the school’s thermostat weren’t sending them mixed messages they’d do ok.

I always find that anything over 70 indoors makes me start to nod off, and yet, I can’t actually sleep at that temperature.

Do things at home

Maybe I’m unique in this one because my air conditioner is a lazy piece of crap that won’t exert the effort to cool my entire apartment, which is small enough that my air conditioner has made itself an embarrassment to its species by not cooling it. Yes, I have personified my air conditioner. How could it be my nemesis if it were just a badly designed appliance?

Drink hot cocoa

I am apparently considered a good cook, but really, I’m mostly good at picking out recipes. I am not the cook in my household, and I’m extremely slow at chopping things.

But.

My hot cocoa is amazing. And I like experimenting with different kinds. In eighth grade, we had an assignment to demonstrate to the class how to do something. I taught my english class how to make peppermint hot cocoa with peppermint patties. A few of my classmates came up to me the next week to tell me that the cocoa was amazing! The best ever! Had changed their life and now they were going to quit middle school and LIVE, dammit!

I got a bad grade on that project because instead of bringing in a microwave and cooking the cocoa right then and there, I typed instructions and brought in the ingredients to show everyone. Yes, my language arts teacher apparently expected a scrawny eigth grader to carry an entire microwave to school, on the bus and everything, because “It would have been better if you had made the cocoa in class.”

Eh, fuck it. I’m making cocoa tonight anyway.

Congrats, grad!

The other day, someone I met five years after I graduated college asked me if I’d finished school yet. It’s not the first time this has happened to me. For once, I gave up, said yes I had, and accepted my congratulations. I’m not sure what I would have done if he’d asked any follow-up questions, like what I was planning to do now, or when my graduation ceremony was. “Well, I was thinking I’d spend a couple years unemployed—that’s been a popular thing for 2008 grads, you know, recession—and then I figured I’d take a job completely irrelevant to my degree. The job, in fact, where you asked me this question.”

Many years ago, I thought that looking younger than my age would eventually work to my benefit, and I’d be grateful for it. Maybe that’ll happen in another ten or twenty years. A year shy of thirty, it’s turned out to occasionally funny.

Once someone asked me if I live at home. I answered, “Do I live at home? Uh, well, yeah. Home is where I live.” It’s been awhile since I lived with my parents. A few times, older people have mentioned cassette tapes, then exclaimed, “I bet you don’t even know what a cassette tape is!” Once, this even happened with the color chartreuse. Granted, I was born ten years after they heyday of chartreuse, in the 1970’s, so that one might have had some merit.

Minor, persistant annoyances have been more common than funny stories. Since I have a job that’s heavy on the small talk, questions about school come up at least once a week. These conversations should be innocuous, ending with a chuckle and me saying, “Yeah, I’m totally old enough to drink and rent a car, and I even existed before Seinfeld came on the air.” Unfortunately, I have a lot of regrets about college. Such as: where I went, why I went, what I studied, why I studied it, and how. Instead of being able to leave the past in the past and do what I can in the present, that past is dragged up with depressing frequency.

Then there’s the tendency of people to treat a twenty-one year-old differently than they would a twenty-nine year-old. My partner is also young looking for his age. Because he’s more charismatic than me, he usually ends up with more funny stories in these situations. We’ve both had times when someone treated one of us poorly, then suddenly changed their behavior upon learning that we were eight years older than they had thought, pay bills, and are otherwise able to put up a thin veneer of adulthood. It feels weirdly like a sociological experiment. Like a man in a dress with sock boobs, experiencing how the opposite sex exists in the world, sometimes I feel like I’m experiencing the world of a person who is not actually me.

So far, I can only think of one time when looking younger than my age has been to my benefit. When a misogynistic creep was regularly coming to a coffee shop I worked at, and a lot of the women there were addressed as (let’s mad lib this: choose an adjective) bitch, I got off lucky with a daily “Hey there, buddy!” Too young for misogyny? I’ll take that.

Pieces of Summer Apparel that We should Burn

As long as it’s not too hot out for fire, that is.

Summer clothing involves a high degree of discomfort. Blame the heat, and blame water sports. Here are some clothing items that I recommend throwing on your next backyard bonfire.

Everything pastel

Science says that lighter colors are supposed to be cooler than darker ones in the heat, but I’ve never noticed an appreciable difference. Maybe this is why pastels are more prevalent in the summer, or maybe it’s some kind of preppy fashion thing that escaped from the country club and hasn’t been picked up by animal control yet. Pastels are watered down versions of real colors. They are the clothing equivalent of coffee with skim milk in it.

Shorts

If they don’t bunch up when walking, then they’re usually too short and involve more pressure to leg-shave. Or (for women’s shorts, anyway) they’re a more practical length but look like I’m supposed to be wearing them to a business meeting or postal route.

Flip flops

Flip flops used to be a mainstay for me. In high school, I would wear them to school with colorful toe socks. It was my thing. Now I can’t stand the way you have to crunch up your toes to keep them in place when walking fast. Forget running in them. And then there’s the irritating slap slap noise.

It should be obvious from this that I also advocate burning high-heeled sandals. I don’t own any, but I bet those ones made of corkboards burn real nice.

Women’s bathing suits

For any activity or event in my life, I wear functional, slightly shabbier than appropriate clothing. For water sports, I wear functional, appropriate…underwear? Um, what? Enough already. Last year I switched to wearing running shorts and bathing suit tanks for all my lake-going needs. Even practical bathing suits feel too much like pin-up wear, and those skimpy bikinis that are impossible to function in (I mean, as some kind of human being that engages in movement and isn’t interested in constant adjusting) can go on the fire first. Small things make the best kindling.

Unisex life jackets

Has anyone ever made a life jacket that takes cup size into account? I’m guessing this could exist, but despite frequent kayaking, life jackets aren’t really an expertise of mine. A quick search doesn’t reveal anything promising. If someone hits my kayak with their jet-ski*, and I’m thrown off and rendered unconscious, I’d rather not drown when my life jacket rides up over my head because I had to take a size larger to fit my boobs.

Plaid dress, froofy goth dress.

Are these sundresses? More importantly, do they contain flame-retardant chemicals?

Sundresses

What makes a dress a sundress versus just some kind of a normal dress? On one end, I’m reasonably certain that some kind of gothy, long-sleeved Elvira type thing is *not* a sundress. On the other end, I think something yellow and billowing with thin straps and actual depictions of the sun would qualify as sundress material. Material—see what I did there? So that leaves every other type of dress in the world as a potential sundress. I might not have much of an idea what a sundress is, but since the items I have previously listed don’t seem like they’d create a conflagration as big as the one I’m imagining, sundresses should also be burned.

Time for s’mores!


 

*Even though nine year-old kids are no longer allowed to drive jet-skis, I still assume that if I’m ever in an accident out on the lake, it will be a jet-ski’s fault. That’s probably not fair, because the most obviously drunk people I’ve ever seen on the lake were in a crappy rowboat with an outboard motor.

Humidfest 2014

In my last post, I mentioned my hatred of hot weather. This inspired me to write a post about all the things I actually do enjoy about summer, like the smell of cut grass, that help to balance all the unthinkably humid aspects of the heat itself.

That didn’t exactly happen. I started to write about cut grass and the wind in the air before a thunderstorm, and ended up on a tangent about all the awful qualities of summer that I hate. But it turned out to be more than a tangent.

It became a brainstorming session. Every Wednesday (because Wednesday is an awful day, the summer of days) from now until August, I am going to write a barely controlled, seething rant post about summer’s sub-par attributes. The posts may even show up on non-Wednesday days, just because there’s so much material here.

Summer trees from depcrepit fire escape.

Summer. Looks pretty, but don’t touch it.

Summer means difficulty sleeping. Summer means clothing I hate. Summer means that trickle of sweat down your back when all you’re doing is standing there thinking about how much you hate the world. Summer means no running or hiking, because you can keep the heat stroke and mosquitos, thank ya very much.

There are so few of us who prefer winter to summer. Every time I meet someone who shares this quality, it’s like sharing a secret winter-club handshake. You might be a Mountain Dew-swilling, monster truck connoisseur*, but as soon as you say, “Why won’t this heat ever end? I can’t wait for fall,” I will know you as a kindred spirit nonetheless.

That conversation doesn’t happen often, however. Small talk, for most people, is something to fill up the awkwardness of elevator rides. For introverts, it’s an unpleasant thing that happens when you’re trying to read. For introverts whose seasonal hatred runs in reverse to that of the rest of the world? Meteorological-based small talk is an angst-filled minefield.

Summer means, when my normal level of irritation with the world in general has been raised exponentially in relation to the relative humidity and number of degrees over 55 Fahrenheit, that the typical weather chat of acquaintances becomes a constant barrage of taunting. Even as I’m wiping moisture off my forehead, chugging water and gatorade, and trying to stay frightened deer-still because movement makes the heat worse, people come up and say, “Isn’t it lovely? I hope you got out today, it is bee-yoo-tee-ful. Enjoy it while it lasts!”

Then every winter, every day, when I’m trying to enjoy the glory and austerity of snow, I hear complaints about the weather from people who decided to dress like it’s any other time of year than the one it actually is.

Enter Humidfest 2014. Here are all the complaints about summer that I hold back during most small talk this time of year.

On Deck: Pieces of Summer Apparel that We Should Burn.

 


 

*You snob. Of course people who enjoy monster trucks can be connoisseurs. They say things like, “Note the sprightly quality to the ear-obliterating sturm and drang of Lightning Warrior Monster as it crushes that line of small cars. Quite uncommon.”