Cooling OFF

Thank GODness the heat of last week was run out of town...

and replaced by the cool of this week.

Man (woman) how much more heat could we take?

Especially when we already have to deal with.....

Political Heat.

Miami Heat.

Dogs in Heat.

The string of hot days, in the high 90’s and 100’s, was unprecedented and covered an area from

Kansas to Maine to the Carolinas.

The term “heat wave” didn’t give the heat its due justice.

 Like Rodney Dangerfield, the heat deserved more respect.

Calling it a heat wave was like calling the Grand Canyon...a gravel pit.

It actually felt more like a tsunami than a wave.

They say the cause of the Heat Tsunami was a dome

that resembled an upside down pie plate (make mine apple.)

The dome kept the hot air and humidity trapped, so it felt like a pressure cooker.

I don’t own a pressure cooker, but I envision the metaphor as a recipe

with people reaching their boiling points.

We are used to the South being HOT HOT HOT.

But when that heat comes to the northeast...we are NOT NOT NOT used it.

And NOT NOT NOT liking it. (click...unlike on Facebook)

Anywhoooo......

The Heat Tsunami had turned me into a lazy, unproductive Kat...many things were OUT

Cooking...OUT

Housework...OUT

Grocery shopping...OUT

Exercising...OUT

katOUT

Thank GODness for the cool weather...

now I can get my arse off the couch in the air-conditioned house

and park it in the Adirondack chairs...OUTSIDE.

Murdoch's Just Desserts

Have you heard the news of the world regarding the scandal that forever

halted the presses of the British tabloid, “The News of the Word?”

Wait, is there an echo in the room?

The company has been accused of hacking phones of celebs, politicians, and

 members of the British Royal Family.

And bloody bribery.

Woah...And to think a Rag Sheet acted improperly.

(No. Say it isn’t so, Joe.)

Wait, is there a rhymer in the room?

If you haven’t seen the video of Rupert Murdoch (the owner of the tabloid),

testifying before lawmakers...check it out.

It’s worth seeing what a crouching lion/protective wife looks like.

During Murdoch’s hearing, a protester ran toward him with a pie plate of shaving foam...

and Murdoch’s wife, Wendi, blocked the attacker

and shoved the pie plate back into the attacker’s face.

Wendi's got defense and offense.  Go Girl.

Apparently the protester showed up at the hearing to serve Murdoch some JUST DESSERTS.

Wendi proved her love and devotion ran as deep as the silver-lined pockets of her multibillionaire husband who is twice her age.

I was impressed Wendi was willing to take a hit for him...or a pie in the face for her dear Rupe...

and risk ruining her designer suit.

We actually enjoy pie plate throwing at our house...but we use whip cream instead of shaving cream.

It’s so much better tasting than Gillette Foamy Shaving Cream..

although the aloe version does add to the taste.

I remember back in the day, when Big C was turning 11....she asked if she and her friends could throw pie plates of whip cream at her birthday party.

CAPITAL IDEA, Big C.

It was a fun idea for July...an outside birthday party.

But Big C’s birthday is Janauary 21s...dead of winter.

Being a coolKatMOM...I set out a round of pie plates in the kitchen and equipped the party-goers with shower caps and garbage bags to cover their clothing.

Step right up. Who’s first?

Anywhooooo......

Murdoch might want to take a page from Kat’s pie plate manual...

and think about wearing a shower cap and garbage bag to his next hearing...just in case

someone wants to serve him up more of his JUST DESSERTS.

As long as my JUST DESSERTS come in chocolate...

I would never care how they were served.



Where's Casey?

I’ve heard of “Where’s Waldo?”...

but “Where’s Casey?”

For two weeks the media has been in a frenzy over finding Casey Anthony.

It reminds me of looking for Waldo in the “Where’s Waldo?” books I used to read with the kids.

In the Waldo books, Waldo travels to everyday places such as...

the beach, the airport, and zoo...

and the reader has to find him amid the crowded scene.

(I have since heard that within the scene “On the Beach” ...

there is a topless woman near the upper right of the page...with an exposed breast.)

Okay, get your Waldo books out...
(I’ll give you 10 minutes...but don’t forget to come back).

Anywhoooooo........

Where’s Casey Anthony?

Who the hell knows...and who the hell cares???

The Media has showed footage of a woman wearing read and black, with a blanket over her head,

running from a plane into a terminal.

Heck, that could be anyone...quite possibly a Georgia Bulldog fan.

Some think she has checked into a mental health facility in Prescott, Arizona.

Seriously doubt this.

Why would she willingly trade an institution with cons...for an institution with loons.

She’s crazy...but not that crazy.

Others say she’s in Palm Springs entertaining TV offers.

Quite possibly a possibility.

Palm Springs sounds like a better way to cap off a 3-year stint of staring at 4 walls.

Maybe those insistent on finding Casey are secretly hoping for a scene similar to the Waldo reveal...

Casey  Anthony “On the beach”.

The voyeurs need to chillax and wait awhile.

You know it isn’t long before we find Casey Anthony.

After being paid a large sum...she'll show up ...
in some magazine...with an exposed breast.

 She’s crazy...like a fox.

Being Caddy

I might sound like I’m being caddy, but it’s hard not to when talking caddie.

Tiger Woods has initiated more change.

Not only is Tiger splitsville from his wife, Elin, his swing coach, Hank Haney, 

 and the fundamentals of his old golf swing,...

you can now add Steve Williams to the list of the departed.

Tiger has broken partnership with longtime caddie, Steve Williams, after 12 years.

Or to put it bluntly, Tiger gave Steve-arino the hook.

Apparently Tiger is tired of long-term relationships and considers them a handicap to his game.

It seems Tiger is looking for a new approach and calling his own shots...

saying, “I think it’s time for a change.”

(Wow, when The Tiger needs a change....he throws out the bathwater AND the baby.)

But let’s face it...Tiger had to do something major to win another Major...something to shake things up.

He couldn’t stay par for the course and expect to win.

Tiger hasn’t won a Major since the 2008 U.S. Open, or any tournament worldwide since 2009.

That’s enough to give anyone a bad case of the Yips.

I read that Steve didn’t get a whiff of the change coming,

so he was surprised by Tiger’s pitch to move on.

You would have thought Stevie, being the competent caddie that he is, would have read the break.

But Stevie (showing some lip) was quoted as saying, “Needless to say, this came as a shock.”

"You could say that I wasted the last two years of my life.”

Anywhoooo.....

It doesn’t take long for a talented caddie like Steve Williams to find employment.

When you’re in the caddie circuit...

it doesn’t take long to get plugged-in with a new professional.

Steve Williams only had to make a dog left from his native New Zealand to Australia...

to find Adam Scott,

who he recently caddied for at the British Open.

Good Luck to Tiger...with his new approach.

But a new caddie is not a gimme for winning.

Tiger might want to take a few pointers from the all-time great movie,

Caddyshack...

                                                                STOP THINKING

LET THINGS HAPPEN

BE THE BALL

And watch out for cheesy looking stuffed gofers.

New Tongue Twistah

Today I'm keeping my blog short. 

I have important business...

at the beach.

Today is what they call a "scorcha" in Boston...temps in the 90s and heavy humidity.

Before I head to the sand and surf to keep cool...I want to leave you with a new fangled tongue twistah

which is a rip-off on the old school version of: 

"She sells seashells by the seashore."

Here it goes.........

"Kat takes Katnaps in her Katillac by the Katamaran."

(If you can say it 5 times FAST...without messing up...

I’ll let you sit in my Katillac.

 

Maybe.

The 4 R's

The Beach is the perfect place to enjoy the 3 “Rs”...Respite, Reading, and Relaxation.

(Can I get a collective sigh “aHHHHHH”?)

EXCEPT when a Jet SKI hits the scene...

RRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

(That’s the 4th "R". The irritating “R”.)

I don’t particularly like jet skis....

I admit, they look like fun.

They just don’t sound fun.

Have you ever really listened to the sounds they make?

A jet ski sounds angry as it changes speeds over the waves.

I’m just not sure why I would want to climb aboard something so darn loud and mean.

And two jet skis together...sound like dueling fighters who are really. really. Pissed-off.

One is saying something nasty and the other is nasty back. Mean fightin’ machines.

Anywhooooo...

Growing up in the Great State of Vermont, I do admit to spending time on a snowmobile.

 

When I climbed aboard my Artic Cat....I became ARTIC KAT.

It was a fun way to get outside in the cold and not be a houseKat for a few hours.

Now I understand why Bambi and his animal friends took off the other way

when we drove our noisemakers through the serene woods and fields.

I never really thought about the similarity before...until the 4th "R"

 interrupted my enjoyable 3 "R"  experience on the beach.

To Bambi and friends...Artic Kat was “Man on Angry Machine.”

(RRRRRrrrrrRRRRRrrrrr)

Sometimes it takes a while before things come full circle and an epiphany occurs.....

(Can I get a collective sigh “aHHHHH?”)

I think we should start replacing that 4th (RRRRRrrrrrRRRRRrrrrr) with a new “R”.

Any ideas?

RUM, PERHAPS?

Clicker Training

What does a Black Lab

and someone taking an “accent modification” class

have in common?

They both get the clicker...during training.

This summer I was wondering what was in store for us when our neighbors brought home a new puppy

(and no visible or invisible fence or leash.)

Would it mean... Frequent visits from a four-legged fiend?

Frequent pee-pee spots in our lawn?

The first time Jack Black (that’s my name for him) came running into our yard, our neighbor called him

...and he actually obeyed.

Good Jack Black.

The owner told me that their lab had been trained with a clicker.

Did that involve electric shock therapy?

I was afraid to ask.

Anywhooooo.......................

Coinkydinkly I read an article in the Boston Globe about a course that was designed to “neutralize” the Boston accent.

Students were taught to find the "Rs"...they had lost.

If they dropped an "R" while reading out loud...the teacher would click them...over and over.

Until they automatically self-corrected.

Yowzer

I hope the clicker, for both the students’ sake and for Jack Black’s sake,

didn't t involve electric shock.

Electric shock therapy isn’t very pleasant.

I know from when I was self-jolted by Duncandog’s invisible fence shock collar.

 Crazy thing is...I now have this Boston accent I can’t get rid of.

Aww Jack Black, you wicked pissah..stay out of my yahd.



Gone Beachcombing

The Hot, Humid, and Heavy weather of this past week has finally gone out to sea. (Hooray)

I’ve decided to do a little beachcombing.

I have noticed, however, that combing the beach with my fine-tooth comb

is a very long and tedious process...

(Note to self:  look for a larger comb.)

Whenever our Fam combs the beach, we are on a mission to find sea glass.

For those of you unfamiliar with sea glass...sea glass is glass with edges that have been smoothed down by sand, rocks, and waves of the ocean.

If you get cut picking it up...it ain’t sea glass. It’s broken glass.

Drop it now.

I’ve been asked by inquisitive and inquiry minds how sea glass gets into the ocean.

Well, inquiry readers...the main point of entry is through the boating community.

Drinking boaters (is there any other kind?) methodically and systematically consume large amounts of alcohol and then toss their bottles into the ocean.

In effect...the boaters and the beachcombers are each a part of the glass recycling cycle.

After the tumbled glass bottles of beer, vodka, and gin wash up,

beachcombers like myself pick up the sea glass and bring it home.

We have the boating community to thank for our lovely sea glass collections.

Anywhooooo..............

Whenever we find...4 different colors of sea glasss...green, blue, white, and brown..

on ONE beach walk...we call that a grand slam.

Or as the boating community calls it...a good night of...

Heineken, Sky Vodka, Gordon's Gin, and Canadian Club.

This past New Years Day...I actually had 2 grand slams on one beach walk.

Woo Hoo.

Imagine what I could find with a larger comb.

Now where is my comb?????

I’ve got some beachcombing to do.

Logging Beach Time

There is an art to logging beach time.

Let me paint you a little picture:

First.. you need a smidge of time off

followed by a dab of good weather...

but the key stroke to logging beach time is the beach chair.

I have tried lying on a beach towel...which allows for maximum recline, but lacks comfort.

The sand gets pretty hard on the bod...especially after 5 or so hours.

Plus it's  hard to keep the sand off myself before I start looking like a sugar cinnamon donut.

Anywhoooooooo

A couple of years ago PaulA gave me THE grand dame of beach chairs...

a deluxe model with all the bells and whistles. Woo Woo.

It’s not your stripped down entry-level Ford of a beach chair. It’s a Cadillac. Or as I call it....

The Katillac.

Everyone has their own preferences when it comes to their beach chair...

but the features of The Katillac work for me......

A sturdy frame to withstand a sturdy frame.

Wide bamboo arms that don’t burn my arms in the hot burning sun.

Pillow for my head.

Padded face opening that allows me to read while cooking myself buns-side up.

An ottoman to elevate my legs.

A drink holder for my apple juice.

A towel bar for my towel...der.

And a strap to carry it...over PaulA’s shoulder.

This beach chair has Kat written all over it....okay...so I did write "Katillac" on the arm.

But just because I have my name written on it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t let someone else sit in it

for a few seconds.

I have noticed, however, that no one else ever sits in The Katillac.

Hmmm...I don’t remember threatening anyone.

Was it something I said?

Anywhoooo.....

See you on the beach...

JUST NOT IN MY CHAIR.

(Wait?  Was it something I said?)



Who's Chore is it, anyway?

Chores

Chores

Chores

In every household, there is an endless list of mundane chores...

…washing, cleaning, repairing, scheduling...etc, etc.
And in every couple, there is the endless question: Who’s chore is it, anyway?

For many…the decision is not cut and dry.

But for one…the decision is cut, dry, and pasted.

My bro-in-law has created a division of labor for couples that works…for him.

He uses an animal classification system...bulls and squirrels.

Bull work vs. Squirrel work

Bull work…is done by the man of the house.

It includes big physical work...such as heavy lifting, lawn mowing, cutting down trees, shoveling snow.

Squirrel work...is done by the woman of the house.

It includes small, detail wok….such as scheduling appointments, cooking dinner, washing dishes, vacuuming the floor, dusting the furniture, cleaning toilets. (Need I list more.)

And seeing PaulA has the same genetic make-up as his brother, PaulA has jumped on board with this

Bull work/Squirrel work division of labor.

So when it comes to laundry...

that chore would be all mine.

After all, washing, folding, and putting away laundry has “squirrel work” written all over it.

BUT should the washing machine need to be moved (so I could clean behind it)…

that’s Bull work.

Squirrel work is ironing the clothes and neatly hanging them in the closet.

Bull work is building a neat new closet. Getting the picture?

A very interesting thing about Bull work is that sometimes it requires more than one bull.

That’s when other bulls congregate, pick up a case (just in case they get thirsty)…

and talk about how the Bull work should be done.

Anywhooooooooo………

As I see it...

With this division of labor...the portion of the dividend is not evenly divisible by the divisor...

hence the squirrels have the remainder of the work.

This Kat is not buying this Bull work/Squirrel work concept...

it has Bull written all over it.

A Tweeting Pope

Holy Moses

The Pope is on Twitter.

Now the good word is coming from the Pope’s lips to his finger tips...in just 140 characters.

(which is especially good for Catholics with ADD.)

Last week Pope Benedict XVI tweeted from his iPad for the first time from the Vatican.

I guess that means the Pope gives Twitter his blessing.

Wait, The Pope has an iPad? What the heck?

Talk about Divine intervention.

The Pope’s first tweet...

"Dear Friends, I just launched News.va

Praised be our Lord Jesus Christ!

With my prayers and blessings, Benedictus XVI"

(Note to Pope Benedictus XVI:

you might want to shorten your name to Ben XVI to save on character space.)

Ya gotta think someone is tweeting for him.

 There were no typos...but then again why would there be...the Pope is infallible.

I wonder if Ben XVI has learned the ins and outs of tweeting...like how to retweet and use the symbols 

 @ and # (the hashtag...not be confused with hash browns or skin tags)

@katOUT #dumbjoke

I just hope he learns how to to posts twitpics and posts one of himself in his cool wheels...the Popemobile.

I love the Popemobile as much as I love Pope on a rope.

Anywhooo.......

Like Judgement Day, we knew this Twitter day would come...

after all the Vatican already has a facebook account and a handy confession app for the iphone.

It was the natural progression.

The Pope probably figured if he didn’t stay with the times,

he’d be considered stiff and stuck back in the Middle Ages

next to all those other pope statues lining the hallways of the Vatican.

But here is my question...

Is Twitter uncool now...now that everyone including the Pope is tweeting?????

Heck, even Duncandog has an account...which is definitely a sign Twitter is going to the dogs.

I think I better stop with the tweeting Pope jokes and start Following the Pope...

especially if I want to go to heaven.

Headed South

When I had my children I understood they would eventually grow up and leave the nest.

But I just never thought about them flying the coup to a distant destination.

Moving across town....okay.

Moving to a neighboring state...well...okay.

Moving to a neighbor of 8 neighboring states....too far

Anywhoooo....

We already have one chickadee with her own little nest down south...now her brother has taken flight.

Colinboy has "left the building"......

Hit the dusty Interstate 81 truck route..

Packed his car with the bare essentials..

MacBook Pro, flat screen TV, some clothes, amp head,

and 4 bass guitars...

headed for Nashville.

Nashville

Home to country music

New home to Colinboy

And I’m singing the "Gonna Miss my Colinboy" blues.

I knew this day would come...i just never knew it would come so quickly.

Don’t get me wrong/song...

We are very happy for Colinboy and wish him the world and beyond.

Momma bird and Papa bird are just gonna miss their song bird around the nest.

Good Luck Colin.

We hope you soar.

Hot Diggety Dog

You’ve heard of 3 dog night…right?

How about a 62 dog afternoon?

In case you missed it...

Nathan’s Famous July Fourth International Eating Contest was held this Fourth of July in Coney Island, NY
as it has since 1916.

The competition was broadcast on ESPN with Indy 500 Announcer, Paul Page and Major League Eating President, Rich Shea.

(Now that’s a play-by-play I could do without.)

And The weiner is...........

Joey Chesnut from San Jose California..his fifth consecutive win...making him a five peat weenie.

And the Hot dogger’s accomplishment?

62 hot dogs. Buns and all.

Six short of the world record he set in 2009. (Hey, you’re slipping Joey)

62 wieners...in 10 minutes.

Hot diggety dog

If I ate 62 dogs in 10 years...I would be pushin’ the wiener casing.

And the big prize?

10,000 dollars. Plus the highly coveted Mustard Belt.

Grey Poupon, per chance?

Hopefully the prize also comes with a tub of Tums and a few gallons of Imodium.

(Do NOT go in there.)

On a side note...Sonya Thomas took the title in the FIRST ever...Woman’s Division...

wolfing down 40 hot dogs, buns and all.

I hear she only weighs 105 pounds including her own buns.

Previously Sonya had been competing dog-to-dog with the men.

It’s about time women were given equal opportunity to cram their faces with processed meat

and make gluttons of themselves on a national stage.

Anywhooooo.............................

I’m not sure when eating became a sport...

but ESPN is bound and deter-gagged to make it one.

Apparently the TV audience is growing every year.

Probably because Americans can relate to a Joey Chesnut easier than a Lebron James.

Supposedly Joey Chestnut makes $220,00 per year from professional eating.

Geez...if he could make that much with his mouth...I wonder what he could make with his hands?

Maybe one day blogging will become a competitive sport...

and I,too, would have a chance at a coveted belt...a Prada Blogging Belt.

Until then....we are left with the hot dog eating contest.

Frankly.....I don’t give a weenie.

Sing With Me...Happy Birthday, America

Happy Birthday, America

I'm thinking of singing “Happy Birthday” to America
which would be corny…but definitely All-American.

All-American grown corn.

On second thought...

Maybe I’ll just sing Katy Perry’s “Firework.”

This Kat is singing today because I’m proud to be from America,

The Land of the Free, The Home of the Brave.

And I want to sing praises to our U.S. servicemen and servicewomen…

young people willing to risk their lives to protect our freedom.

I tear up at the very thought of it.

Yesterday Colinboy attended a party in honor of his buddy, Sean

who is safely back from Afghanistan

after serving as a gunner on a tank.

Amen.

Here come the tears.

Anywhoooooo.......

As a military child on an airbase, I grew up hearing the daily sound of planes landing and taking off.

That was how I woke in the morning and how I fell asleep at night...

it was my security blanket.

So this Fourth of July (and every day)

I want to thank all the men and women who have volunteered to be our

enormous security blankie.

Happy Birthday, America.

You are 235 years old today.

(Suddenly I don’t feel so ancient.)

Sing with me...

"America...you’re a firework

Come on let your colors burst

Make them go, oh, oh, oh

As you shoot across the sky........"

(Okay, not exactly Francis Scott Key caliber...)

A Tweet/Facebook/Blog

Oh, to tweet, facebook, or blog?

So many ways to communicate.

Today I’m cramped on time and my laptop is slow to move the blinking cursor...

apparently we are both bogged down for any blogging down.

Anywhooooo........

In an effort to conserve on wasted resources...

my brain and my laptop’s CPU...

I’ve decided to combine 3 social medias into one...

Twitter, Facebook, and Blogging.

I’ve decided to use my blog as a tweet and to post it on facebook.

Ahhh... genius.

(There is more than one way to skin a Kat.)

So in 140 characters (or less) my profound message for the holiday is:

Enjoy yourself during this Fourth of July Weekend.

Be Safe.

Be Cool.

Be a Safe Cool American.

ps.  rabbit, rabbit, rabbit