BIN-BLOWN HAIR

My niece is graduating from law school and packing up her belongings to move all in the same weekend.  Although this is a practical idea, it does pose a problem ... for her hair.

When we first dropped off my niece at law school, my first reaction was, "Oh my gawd, she's going to Hogwarts!"  Indeed the school, like many New England big-name colleges, does indeed resemble Harry Potter's school of wizardry.  Now that we are back for graduation after all this time, the school still looks like Dumbledore is going to amble by at any given moment.

If that alone isn't proof positive that the law school is really Hogwarts, note the hat my niece must wear.  The mortarboard topper definitely looks like a witch's (or wizards's?) hat.  Yup, she is graduating and becoming the next Professor McGonagall.

This is where the mortarboard hat comes into play.

My niece showers before graduation, which is something completely normal that completely normal people would do completely normally prior to such an auspicious occasion.  However, because my niece is so well packed for her move already, she doesn't have a hair dryer. Still, she does need to secure the mortarboard hat to her head ... just not while her hair is wet.

What to do?

If this were really a Harry Potter film, and if she were really graduating from Hogwarts, we'd be in luck: One quick spell and her hair would be dry.  Regardless of the venue and the cap, though, we really are NOT in a Harry Potter film.

What to do with the graduation ceremony looming?

I notice that some of my niece's packed belongings are in boxes and some are in bins.  Big, giant, beautiful, colorful bins.  I grab a bin cover and start fanning my niece.  After a moment of her hair blowing like a television commercial, my niece flips her head around so I can fan out another chunk of hair.

It may be primitive and somewhat ingenious, but it works.

Congratulations on the degree and the move, all within forty-eight hours, and of course, for having fabulous, bin-blown hair.

BURGER BETWEEN RAINDROPS

It happens.  It truly happens.  I know, I know!  Hard to believe, but, honest to gawd, for one entire day in the last six weeks, the sun finally comes out.

At first we are all shocked.  It has been so long since we've seen the sun that we're like Bradbury's crazy kids from All Summer in a Day.  We're running around basking in the yellow-orange glow, shielding our gray-trained eyes, trying not to go blind from sudden sunlight.

Then, after the initial shock wears off, we scatter like cockroaches when the lights come on: To the beach! To the lake! To the park! To the sidewalks! To the great and wonderful outdoors!  Hurry, hurry, hurry ... before it rains AGAIN!

I decide to barbecue.

No one is at my house any longer, so I only need to use half the grill.  This makes clean-up, which is the main deterrent for grilling, a little easier.  I do love the taste of barbecue, and this afternoon will not be the first time (nor the last, I'm sure) that I grill for just myself.  The neighbors are out, too, some sitting around a patio table having drinks, others power-washing the house, and somewhere music is playing loudly from a radio (thank goodness, tolerable stuff).

I only need to grill one burger, but I throw on two.  While the meat cooks, I enjoy a little afternoon drink at the outdoor bistro table and get myself acclimated.  The sun still shines, which is slightly unfathomable to me due to the constant and depressing weeks of poor weather.  Eventually the newly leafed trees block the patio sunlight, so I settle onto the back step to eat my burger ... uh ... burgers.  Yes, I eat both; one with a toasted bun and one without.

It's a glorious day, a marvelous day, a wonderful day.  The windows are all open, so the smell of barbecue wafts into the house and stays there for hours after I clean the grill and close it up for the evening.  Today is just another Pleasant Valley Sunday ... except that it's Saturday.

And then ... it rains.  Again and again and again and again it rains.  Even on days that the sun comes out a tiny bit, it still rains.  Sure, the grass is green now and the trees are lush now and the flowers are bursting now, but enough already.  I'm jonesing for another barbecue here, people.

Maybe, just maybe, the sun will come out ... tomorrow ... bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there'll be sun.  (I couldn't resist.)  Either way, I have steak tips in the freezer.  I'm ready, sun; I am so ready.

ANTI-CABLE POETRY

Just about three weeks ago
I hit a big snafu:
My monthly cable TV bill
Was making me cuckoo.
I called the cable company
To see what they could do,
But basically they laughed at me
And told me to go screw.
I'd done a little research,
So now I had a clue:
Maybe I'd start streaming,
Or maybe I'd pursue
Switching the provider --
No way would I renew!

My son took both good TV's
When he moved to somewhere new,
And left behind the smaller sets
(The ones I used to view),
So buying at least one TV
Was on my list, I knew.
I researched all my options for
About a week or two.
I mean, I'm smart and I am sly,
Ideas I did chew,
But going rogue from cable
Was above my tech IQ.
I made some lists and checked the Web
And read every review --
My wants and needs were simple:
My channels - just few.
I knew about the service,
I knew about Roku,
I knew about the hype and scams
And knew what was untrue.
I bought a TV, set it up,
Everything went through.
I made the big decision that
For TV's I'd need two.
Antennas added to the mix,
Stations now -- a slew!
I am watching network shows!
What a great breakthrough!
Although I kept my internet,
I paid the bill pre-due,
And when the new month came along
The bill made me goo-goo.
So if you're thinking cut the cord,
Throw cable in the doo,
I say, "Get some streaming,
And tell cable, 'Dudes, FUCK YOU!'"

PIE SATISFACTION

Years ago while eating breakfast in a diner with two friends, The Pie Guy truck drove by.  The three of us got all excited: PIE!  Holy crap on a cracker.  We made it our mission to pay the check, hightail it to one car, and chase the truck down.  It didn't take us long to find The Pie Guy truck; it was at Whole Foods Market, a perfectly reasonable place for The Pie Guy to be.  After all, The Pie Guy pies are on the pricey side, and so is Whole Paycheck Market.

Flash forward many years ... like a decade.

I am having a tough few days at work.  State testing for my subject just ended, and people's nerves and circuitry are beyond frayed.  I have several errands to run after work, so I decide to pick up some avocado spring rolls with peanut sauce for dinner.  These are only sold around here at Whole Foods Market.

Of course, I am also secretly searching for Effie's Pecan Nut Cakes (glorified cracker-cookies), also sold at Whole Foods.  I systematically go up and down the aisles and search end-cap displays.  (This is not, I am almost ashamed to admit, the first time I've done this.)  I only find Effie's Cocoa Cakes (also glorified cracker-cookies), and I'm not sure they're good enough.

However, in my quest for avocado spring rolls with peanut sauce and my quest for Effie's, I pass a familiar refrigerator case near the bakery: The Pie Guy pie display.

At first I pass right by the pies and desserts.  I don't need an entire pie!  I mean, I DO, but I'm not going to get myself an entire pie.  Then, I circle back.  I discover that there are individual-sized pies in the case.  I glance at the variety, which is a horrible understatement on my part because there is a shelf devoted to mini-pies: key lime or chocolate cream.

Eh.  I'm not a huge fan of either.  My pie of choice by The Pie Guy is strawberry-rhubarb.  But, I'm not going to lie: the chocolate cream looks really, really, REALLY tasty.  I decide that in honor of the one morning so many years ago, the time when my friends and I chased a random delivery truck around the center of town just to get pie, that I will indeed bring home the chocolate cream single-serving The Pie Guy pie.

The bad news: The Pie Guy crust works much better in a larger pie format than in a small format.  The good news: I think this will cure me of my hankering for anything by The Pie Guy.  Well, perhaps until the strawberry-rhubarb season gets into full swing.  Then, my friends, just like that morning when we careened around town searching for a delivery truck, all bets are off.