“Hot enough for you?”

It’s outdated, unnecessary, and more than a little annoying. But after 100 or so years, people are still asking that of each other as the temperature soars into the triple digits, air conditioners struggle to keep pace with the demand, and the world runs out of ice cubes.

And the answer is: “Beat it, a**hole. You can damn well see I’m dying here!” Or words to that effect.

So we struggle to stay out of the sun, and those of us who are lucky enough to have air conditioning remain indoors while the less fortunate fight each other for seats in a movie theater, or simply wander aimlessly through the nearest shopping mall chugging iced tea and downing those irresistible Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookies because you can smell them two levels up and at the far opposite end of the mall. And the folks in poorer countries, many suffering from severe drought — well, I can’t even imagine.

But while we’re all sitting around doing pretty much nothing (with the possible exception of the folks in Helsinki, Finland, where the temperature topped off at a lovely 71 degrees Fahrenheit yesterday), I do have a couple of amusing items to share with you from CNN’’s A.J. Willingham in her “The Good Stuff” online column yesterday. They’re just for fun . . . something of which we can all use a little more these days. So if there’s anything here that catches your attention, check out A.J.’s column for details. I’m just referring, not plagiarizing.

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1) Barf Bags. I’ve (thankfully) only had to use one once in my lifetime of travel — way back in the ‘60s, on a short hop from Manchester, New Hampshire to Providence, Rhode Island, which inexplicably made a quick stop in Lawrence, Massachusetts. I say “inexplicably,” because Lawrence is just 28 land miles from Manchester, and the one passenger we picked up in Lawrence could have driven to the Manchester airport in half an hour, the lazy good-for-nothing bum. Anyway, it was a windy day, and since we never did get much above treetop level during those few minutes we were off the ground, it was about as bumpy as the bus ride to the tea plantation in the Caucasus Mountains . . . but that’s a tale for another time.

The reason I bring this up (sorry — still dwelling on regurgitation) is that A.J. wrote on Saturday about her interviews with four people who collect barf bags. Unused ones, I presume. Apparently, they’re made in a variety of sizes, colors and designs, and some even have interesting histories. One person frames and hangs his — appropriately, I would say — in the bathroom. Another has thousands, so wall space would be a problem. I don’t know where he keeps his, but it’s not my problem. If you think your collection of, say, body parts from deceased Australian numbats (yes, there is such a thing, and I don’t mean wombats) is unique, I’m sorry to disappoint you; but you really must give A.J.’s column a read.

2) The Runaway Donkey. His name is Diesel, and about five years ago he disappeared from his California ranch home, leaving his owners worried and sad. Earlier this year, he was spotted living in the wild with . . . well, you’ll just have to go back to A.J.’s column for the rest of the story. I won’t spoil the ending for you, but keep in mind that her column is titled “The Good Stuff.”

3) Sushi Busts. What on earth? Have the Tokyo police raided a sushi restaurant? That was my first thought, but no — it’s even stranger than that. It’s the story of a British woman who works as a food artist, and now creates celebrity likenesses out of sushi and displays them in one-day exhibitions in London. (Hint: one such head is named “Eelton” John — a little corn with your sushi?)

I’m so relieved that these exhibitions are just for a single day. I don’t know how long it would take for an unrefrigerated pile of sushi to begin to smell, but we are talking about raw fish here . . .

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That’s about all the happy stuff I could unearth for one day. I hope our brief venture into La-La Land has taken your mind off the weather for a bit. And perhaps it’s inspired you to begin a new hobby of your own, or maybe to adopt a long-eared pet. I don’t have room for a donkey — they’re probably against the Homeowners’ Association rules in any event. But I am thinking about starting a collection of historic chamber pots, or perhaps digging up memorabilia from sacred Native American burial grounds (if I don’t get caught) . . .

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
6/23/24