Why summer is almost worth it

This gallery contains 4 photos.

I have survived the dangers of Labor Day*, and summer is unofficially over. Today, as planned, I will write about the aspects of summer that make the heat a little bit less like a demonic torment upon your very soul almost worth it. If you recall, I originally had the… Continue reading

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.