Yes, I like August, for a lot of reasons.
But I am a dog person.
The football season is almost here in August. Labor Day is a month away. Opening kickoff at the home opener in Austin, and all is well in the world.
Yes, it's hot here in Texas in August, like ... well, it's been for centuries, no, millenia. If not for the invention of the air conditioner, no humans would live on the Gulf Coast.
For that matter, no one would live in Dallas, either. They tell themselves that it's "drier" and not "so dreadfully hot" like it is in Houston. Good grief, they make me laugh. DFW is a Hellhole; let no one persuade you otherwise. But the Emperor has no clothes there, you see (apparently, he is sweating his butt off, too). So, they build a baseball stadium with no roof -- they want to be different than big brother H-Town, you know -- and the Texas Rangers pitching staff fades ... every August. Yesterday, August 1, even Cliff Lee lost.
I like August. Heat reveals a lot.
My old man, the man who taught me to love America, was born in August. He loved summertime, too.
I like August.
We used to hit the football field for our first practices in August. I remember taking the field on the first day of practice in full pads when it was 106 degrees. We could do this because, before the X-Box generation, we actually spent a lot of time outdoors in the summer ... yes, even in August.
Rather than ignoring and avoiding the heat in our lives, we used to (and some of us still do) venture into it ... and survive.
It's the deepest, hottest part of summer and things seem (and maybe they are) quiet, still, almost afraid to move and thus begin sweating endlessly. It's God's way of requiring us to slow it down ... to avoid vaporizing or melting, I guess.
Still, the autumn is coming. And without the heat, we would be unable to appreciate a fall day.
The apex of the summer heat reminds me of the coming cool of the autumn ... sometime late in October around here. The long, hot summer at its hottest reminds us that nothing here in the temporal realm -- good or bad, cold or hot -- lasts forever.
I like August.
In August, while the world seems to be taking it easy and the 24/7 media scrambles to feign relevance during the slowest of news months, the Haves and Have-Nots are separating themselves in MLB.
When the heat bears down, we find out what we are made of, it seems.
Life is like that.
So, I like August.
Congress goes home in August, too. Yet, the world keeps right on turning. And then (especially in even-numbered years) the Congress starts to seemingly care about the voters. I love that.
August reminds us of some good things that stay the same as life slows down.
And it also reminds us that autumn ... and a pleasant change ... is on the way.
I love August.
The apex of the summer heat reminds me of the coming cool of the autumn ... sometime late in October around here. The long, hot summer at its hottest reminds us that nothing here in the temporal realm -- good or bad, cold or hot -- lasts forever.
I like August.
In August, while the world seems to be taking it easy and the 24/7 media scrambles to feign relevance during the slowest of news months, the Haves and Have-Nots are separating themselves in MLB.
When the heat bears down, we find out what we are made of, it seems.
Life is like that.
So, I like August.
Congress goes home in August, too. Yet, the world keeps right on turning. And then (especially in even-numbered years) the Congress starts to seemingly care about the voters. I love that.
August reminds us of some good things that stay the same as life slows down.
And it also reminds us that autumn ... and a pleasant change ... is on the way.
I love August.
19 comments:
Nicky writes: "I like August."
..you cannot be Sirius!
(Just kidding. 94 days until the Coronal Mass ejection in D.C.)
Planner... I can't claim any credit for this contribution. This is DC's annual "I love August" essay.
Each August 1st, DC heads down to the Costco for a month's supply of Diet Dr.Pepper and Wild Turkey. The result of this shopping trip eventually appears on the pages of the Goomba News Network.
Many of you recall my visit to Houston last August to visit the homes of two of my blogging buddies: DC and T.F. Stern.
T.F. was the perfect host. We toured the town in his air-conditioned Lexus SUV. The BBQ fare was sumptuous and generous. We enjoyed juleps and his homemade lemon squares on the veranda, and I warmly recall romping across T.F.'s seemingly endless lawn with his Irish Setter, Pal.
DC, on the other hand, seemed somewhat distracted during my visit. His neighbor had renewed some decades-long feud over an easement directly through DC's horseshoe pit, and the summer heat had somehow caused a back-up in his house's makeshift septic system.
Sensing my discomfort, DC loaded me into his trusty old El Camino and conveyed me a few blocks down to the Fiesta Food Mart where we roamed the aisles in search of Frosted Mini-Wheats, a case of Lone Star beer, bathtub caulk, and a pack of 12 t-shirts. I can vouch that fresh white undershirts were certainly a priority.
We then cruised out to a hillside perch overlooking some abandoned quarry and shared old war stories, beer, and breakfast cereal.
Later that evening, DC and his one-legged and incontinent Pit/Rott mix Scurvy dropped me off at the airport for my departure. With each wipe of his neck with his well-worn kerchief, DC explained the importance of August and its place within the universe. The man's a true American poet.
If you enjoy this post, you'll probably relish Rhod's annual February screed: Slush Updates.
Life slows down.
And so does the economy.
I think you're both poets. :)
Nickie,
I love August as well as it so happen's both of my parent's were born in this month and I hating winter (MI here) love the heat that August usually bring's.
Ooops, my apologies DC.
In my haste to comment I neglected to observe the author.
No problem, Chris. Hey, I am rounding up 60 votes to stop Nick's filibuster ... are you in?
Nick, that's cold-blooded to bring up Scurvy. I still remember you asking him to "shake" where his right paw used to be.
Shirts are on sale at Wal-Mart again. You ought to come down. They've got 4XL's in stock.
"Nick, that's cold-blooded to bring up Scurvy. I still remember you asking him to "shake" where his right paw used to be".
ROTFLMAO!!!!!
DC, I was in Dallas for about two hours last Friday. As I walked out of the air conditioned airport, the Texas heat shit me like a SnoCone suppository sliding up the Buttcrack of Hell.
We finally stopped that night in Memphis. Memphis is worse, much worse than Dallas. We got out of the car and saw that the humidity had curled the hubcaps on my daughter's Nissan. Poor little car, we were chased all the way to Arkansas by packs of snarling Ford F150's.
I understand, Sig, that Yanks who fail to equip their cars with "heat" caps, as a Southerner would likewise fail to have "snow" tires, are in for a rude awakening ... and deservedly so. Let that be a lesson to you.
But listen, keep that crap to yourself about Dallas being better than anything this side of Turkmenistan. The heat there in August will burn the bald spot on the back of Nick's head in the time it takes him to do his Tim Conway walk from Applebee's to his Volt. Of course, that is about 30 minutes, but still ...
Dallas is a mere accident of intersecting highways on the way to Arkansas, Louisiana, and Oklahoma. That's all you need to know.
I can screed anytime. I feel one coming on now.
I hate August.
Nick, no one knows except me and DC that you worked on the screeplay for "Zabriskie Point", in your radical, desert illuminating days with a younger DC.
Nick worked with Fellini and Antonioni and also his countryman Roman Pelanski, all rolled into one....
I see every one is all lathered up about this controversial subject --the month of August.
Well, it's a good thing y'all are getting limbered up because because my next post is: "Why hell makes August look like a Witch's Tit in a Brass Bucket on Rhod's Back Porch in February."
4XLs? Really? That's not the Nickie I remember from our dinner oh so long ago.
Nickie, You're gonna have to go a little easier on the Dr Pepper and Wild Turkey. Point One, I don't own a Lexus SUV. Point Twp, I don't own an Irish Setter and I would have remembered having you for a visit.
I look forward to the "next" visit and will have plenty of Dr Pepper but, sorry, no Wild Turkey.
TF
As Emerson said, DC, the most serious charge which can be brought against New England isn't Puritanism, it's February.
I have no back porch in February, or deck either, just snow and ice. I love it. It keeps me pissed off.
Hence the title of the forthcoming post, Rhod, and the subtitle, too: "Hell hath no fury (rather, heat) than a Scot scorned."
How sharper than a child's tooth is a thankless serpent. What lout through yonder window breaks?
It's DC!
T.F., that explains the gentleman's bewilderment at my arrival. He was certainly a perfect host. The food, the tour, the veranda, not to mention the therapeutic back massage, were all marks of a great host. I'm sure that you would have been just as welcoming had I found the right house.
You folks in the Lone Star State are hospitable to a fault. Now I feel just terrible about stealing that Hummel figurine.
You told me you stole a Martin Chuzzlewit Tobey Jug.
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