Goodbye July - No Hard Feelings

Am I too late...did I miss it?

Is it still here?

I mean July... did I miss it...did I wait too long?

I did...didn’t I?

Maybe it’s still out back, downing a short one for the road.

Maybe I can still catch it.

July...are you out there?

I think it is, but it’s refusing to talk to me.

Says I ignored it, all month long.

Not even a peep from me, so now it’s just, “So long it might have been good to know ya....”

Summer months...so temperamental. All it takes is one small thing to set them off.

They’re kind of the prima donnas of months.  Like they’re doing us a favor with all their sunshine and warmth.

Unlike their winter cousins, who are just happy we tolerate them at all, let alone need us plying them with accolades and lemonade.

Yeah, I could have posted something here in July, but, to be honest, I was too busy enjoying all the nice summer days and my own version of “lemonade” to actually sit down and spit something out...I mean, other than olive pits.

Okay, that’s not true. I don’t even like olives. It was more like lime stems.

And it’s not as if I haven’t been overly generous to July in the past.

Dangling Transitions

Another day, spiraling in transition, sitting here sipping on a second cup of coffee.

I mean, I’m sipping on the second cup of coffee, not the day, spiraling in transition.

The day, spiraling in transition is sipping ice tea; herbal green, I think.

I know...I have to watch the dangling participles

You have to be careful where you dangle your participles, especially these days when everyone loves jumping to conclusions; transitions or not.

So Summer Solstice is right around the corner.

Yeah, for real...I saw it grabbing a hot dog from the guy with the snack truck, just outside the park.

To be honest, I’m not sure if it paid—in fact I know it didn’t pay— since Summer Solstice never carries cash. Mostly because it’s so full of itself, it figures somebody is bound to pick up the check, which they usually do.

Spring has done its best, this year, to keep summer at bay seesawing between a string of cool, if not downright cold, dreary, wet days with the occasional flash of summer-like sunshine and warm, if not hot days, usually followed by a penance of some more cold and drearies.

But now that Summer Sol, as I like to call it, has gulped down its hot dog, I have to admit it does feel as if we’re finally making the jump into full fledge “Official” summer.

In fact, now that spring knows it’s on the way out, it seems to have surrendered completely and dropped a bunch of upper 80 plus degree days on us.

I guess as if to say...“What...what cold and dreary days are you talking about, Writer Boy?”

What...? I have a complicated relationship with all the seasons.

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Brain Train

I’ve been trying to brain train my brain.

For a while, now...a long while.

But it never listens...and that’s a problem.  It just blabs and blabs and blabs; all day; all night.

Like it has a mind of its own.

My brain is never satisfied...ever.

If you happen to find me sitting quietly, somewhere, on a street corner, munching on a Turkey leg, my brain isn’t thinking, Mmmm, this is one good turkey leg!

 No, it’s thinking...Mmmmm,  I wonder if I could have gotten a better turkey leg at that other turkey leg store...and how did I end up on this street corner? Did I get on the wrong bus again?

Or, if it’s not thinking that, it’s probably thinking, I’m gonna miss munching on this turkey leg when it’s gone. I wonder how long before I get another turkey leg like this one...and what time does the next bus come by?

So by the time I’ve finished munching on the turkey leg, I don’t even feel as if I had a turkey leg.

I’m just some weird guy sitting on an unknown street corner holding onto a greasy, old turkey bone, thinking to himself...Ok, this is weird...I usually go for the wing.

It’s just how my brain works...always has, right from the get go.

Data Dis...Data Dat

Lately, everyone’s in a panic over the possibility of their data being stolen.

Which is a little odd since I’d bet most people weren't even sure how to actually pronounce “Data” let alone realize they had data to steal?

But now it’s all the rage to...well...rage about your misappropriated data, so it seems as if it’s a big deal.

My data is my data, and I’m saving it for that one very special data analytic company. Not just any Tom, Dick and Harassing analytic company who’s gonna use my data to persuade me to buy fake Fig
Newtons over genuine, authenticated Fig Newtons.

Ain’t gonna happen...nuh, uh...no way.

I cannot be swayed from my Newtons...you’re darn tootin...no matter how many of them you try to convince me are involved in undesirable activities in the basement of pizza parlors all over the country.

You can’t fool me...I mean, most of the time, unless it has to do with bottled water.

But who can tell from water?

Certainly not me.

I say, so what if someone steals my data?

In fact, I already had my data stolen, years ago.

Jump to Conclusions

Imagine if we could jump into the essence of another person.

Spend a little time in there, poking around, getting a sense of the place.

“Ah...so that’s why that woman appears so content, taking pictures of her dog. He’s the only one in her life whoever smiles at her...but does it really explain the odd choice in footwear?”

“Okay, so that’s why that guy is always so cranky...maybe he should rethink those thongs.”

“No wonder that kid has a chip on his shoulder...I would too if  I had so much trouble understanding velcro.”

If we could jump inside, even for a half a minute, it might change our perspective about a lot of things.

Folks who always seemed so inscrutable, might just become very scrutable.

That is if you ever paid any attention to them, in the first place.

Because the fact is, most people aren’t really paying attention to anyone else but themselves, most of the time.

Except for that women at the deli who always makes a face whenever I ask her to remove all the corn niblets from my soup.

What?

I don’t like corn niblets.

Sue me....

I have my reasons.

And that’s the thing.  We’re all so busy being “us” we never take the time to consider being “them”...and what makes them “them”.