Author: halfcnote

The Games Begin and It’s Not About Food Deprivation

Let the games begin or so we thought. I’m sorry London, but the opening night’s ceremony was disjointed, overly long and kinda creepy. The opening film was much like the beginning clip in the movies when you are optically strapped in a roller coaster and told where the waste receptacles are located.  Kenneth Branagh strutting about surrounded by six or seven Abraham Lincolns doing a very strange version of the cabbage patch dance was just plain odd. It took forever for those dang smoke stacks to rise and what was with the giant baby?

Each host country has its own issues with the ceremonies. Canada is still living down its giant beavers and Atlanta hangs its head over that embarrassing walking blue sperm, but last night? As one of Bashert friend’s said, one needed a PhD in British history to understand what was going on.

We didn’t make it to the torch lighting ceremony or to hear Sir Paul sing. With all the commercial interruptions made by NBC, what was probably two hours in person was stretched to something like four over here. The announcers kept making the comment that the march of athletes was moving at a record pace; sure couldn’t tell it as a home viewer in the USA. Two countries, three commercials, three countries, four commercials…

It wasn’t all bad. The bit with the Queen was cute. Who knew she had such a sense of humor to play along in public? Our biggest attention grabber came from Rowan Atkinson. Call us lowbrow, but his slapstick was funny. I will never look at “Chariot of Fire” in the same light again. The firework rings were pretty cool too.

NBC’s coverage hasn’t improved greatly. I mean, we are five hours behind the action, why in the world are they stuffing the program with inane material? Ryan Seacrest reviewing the number of tweets the Queen received was by far one of the most most frustrating pieces I’ve seen in a long time. I understand having to pay for the programming, but really? Seacrest? Can we vote him off?

What the next two weeks, plus will bring no one knows? Phelps defeated! USA number one in qualifying for gymnastics? China and Australia winning gold medals in swimming? So many possibilities, so much talent. Good luck, good health and good sportsmanship to all the contestants. Make the Olympic Gods proud! Maybe they will be pleased enough to send down a lightning bolt to take out Seacrest.

Derailed

 

 The rhythm of life can be disrupted by many things. My arrhythmia came about by lack of sleep.

 

The first or second week of May, in a sleep deprived stupor, I nearly hit a train. This was no metaphorical iron horse breathing the hot breath of mortal visions, but a real locomotive. I wasn’t stuck on the tracks or trying to beat the guard arms, no I just nearly rammed into the side of a moving CSX freight car because my brain was running on the memory of my Serta.

June found me working three straight weeks of 7pm to 5am shifts and attending an accelerated five week semester, studying Intro to Literary Theory (I never again want to read Heart of Darkness or see “Apocalypse Now”.), and doing a massive overhaul of my home. On more than one occasion, I woke to sunlight streaming through my car window either in the work parking lot or in front of my home. Very disconcerting to say the least.

 

Life was moving in pudding. Something had to give and, like our so wise government always seems to choose, the first thing to go was the Arts. Writing, outside of horribly constructed critical papers for school, was out. Photography reduced to glossed over gazing at Bashert’s beautiful shots. The summer reading books remained hostage in the bottom of my book bag.

 

Things began to flow again when one of my fellow gatekeepers returned to the office a couple of weeks ago giving me time relief and Maymester closed giving me brain relief (I earned a B in my lit class – always makes me wonder if an A would be in the works if the only thing on my list was school). My family has been gracious enough to allow me to sleep in even though on occasion Yoda was busting at the seams to get me up and going. I’ve only passed out in the driveway once in the last two weeks.

 

So, hopefully my sinus rhythm is returning to normal. I took a quick opportunity to step outside and snaps some photos today and if I can keep this up I will finish this little article. I’ve started it many times in the last few days. I’m going to catch up on all the Weekly Photo Challenges that I can. “Today” sort of loses its freshness when taken several weeks after the “today” of the assignment, but philosophically speaking it’s always today, so…

 

For those of you who so nicely signed up to follow the blog, I thank you for hanging in and not deleting my link while I was MIA. For those of you who have stopped by and left comments, I thank you also; I will answer and acknowledge the time you took to visit. I have one day planned to catch up on all the wonderful blog writings and photography I have missed these weeks.

 

Blogosphere, here I come, cross my heart.

 

Summertime and the livin’ ain’t easy.

Thanks, Yakir for the snap.

Three years ago about this time, I was making my way across the southern California desert riding the remnants of the Mother Road. Much of that once mighty highway is lonely lane of asphalt stretching out for flat miles with nothing on either side but sand, sparse vegetation and mountains in the distance. This time of year the road becomes a strip of bacon sizzling in the desert sun. 107℉ with spikes to 110℉ was the norm during the four hour drive.

This morning at 7am when I opened the back door to let out the dogs, I was hit in the face with that memory. Flashes of the Amboy Crater popped into my head and I half expected the backyard to be littered with bit and pieces of volcanic rock. I quickly retreated into the luxurious comfort of my air conditioned home and willed the pups to take care of business quickly.

I have lived all my adult life in the southern United States; The South where it is “sticky” from April until December. Hot, humid summers are the expected thing and we are rarely disappointed, but this summer is taking the cake. Even those who make the satirical remark, “Imagine that, Georgia hot in June?” will have to admit, it’s not just hot right now, it’s damn hot.

When I was a kid, we lived in Phoenix, Arizona (See Drowning in the Desert). The five years we spent out there showed us what western hot could be. One summer all the neighborhood kids got together and fried eggs on the sidewalk and my Mom watched the rubber seal around her car windshield melt like a slow tar river.

Southern hot is different. Put an egg on the sidewalk, it will poach. Things don’t really melt here, they stew. A second skin is a constant accessory. Once when I was in New York,  I came out of a hotel restroom stall to find a young woman looking in the mirror complaining that the humidity was ruining her curls.  I thought to myself, honey you don’t know humidity until you watch the sweat from your sweet, iced tea grow mildew on your glass.

The storms predicted for tonight and early this week don’t raise the hopes for relief. They mean a third layer of skin; insect repellant. 100% humidity and standing water and it’s party time for the insect population. We’ve already seen an increase in gnats, mosquitoes, fleas and for the first time ever in the house, tics (yes, we are combing over the animals each time they come from outside – I don’t do parasites). After the rains, we will be laying down a veterinarian recommended Spectracide®, another first.

I’m not sure what the rest of the summer will bring. There’s meteorological mumbo-jumbo about this weather pattern and that weather pattern, but anyone who lives in this area could have told you that this was to be a scorcher. Mild winters breed hot summers. That’s the way this region rolls. The mystery lies in the height the mercury will hit and the length of wave’s stay.

So place your bets, raise your umbrellas, fans, fly swatters and hem lengths to toast this first heat of summer. It’s going to be one hell of one to remember.