Good riddance, June, you dark, dreary, sopping mess. July, so far, has not started out with anything resembling a bang. Unless, of course, you count the thunder rolling in the distance.
According to science, we’ve barely gotten any sunshine over the last month or so, particularly in the last two weeks. If the sun was a pupil at any school in the 50s, it would be a worse truant than James Dean. Don’t know what we did to the sonuvabitch, but it refuses to come out and play.
In a season where we generally go out and grill at least twice a week, we’ve somehow gone the entire month of June without being able to eat grill a hamburger. I did not get to be this size and shape without eating hamburgers regularly. I feel bereft, and pine for the buns. And the patties and cheese and jalapenos nestled spicily between mounds of caramelized onions. And when the NYT friggin runs a 3,000-page article on hamburger porn, well, it’s enough to make a fellow curse his birth.
Now we are halfway through the year, incredibly. Somehow, this is the second half of the year now, and at this point the days are actually getting shorter. Kind of snuck up on everybody, no? Summer better hurry its ass up before old man winter kills it in late September.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get in my canoe and go fishing.
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