Three more months of summer.
I am not easily beaten down, but the prospect of suffering through another three months of 98 degrees and 98% humidity –it’s actually been a coolish summer, but freakishly humid– makes me want to peel my eyeballs out and put them in the freezer next to that inappropriately anatomic ice cube tray someone gave me as housewarming gift when I was 19.
Sure, in most places summer is over halfway through September and you get the gorgeous leaves and the brisk mornings and all those wonderful things Mother Nature tosses your way to let you pretend you’re in the first few seasons of Gilmore Girls, but not here.
Here autumn starts on Halloween, and the only reason I know that is because the girls all dressed up as Naughty Whatevers end up freezing drunk and shivering under the awning of some place that offers Long Island iced teas for a buck fifty — two dollars if you want them without the roofies– when a “surprise” cold front blows in. Good times.
So today we’re going to talk about what we’re doing to do in the fall.
I’m doing a few weeks in Europe and Marrakech in October courtesy of a lovely friend, and then –more excitingly because they have better barbeque– spending some time with Granny Plumcake in Nashville.
Granny Plumcake is my hero because she smokes like a chimney, drinks like a fish, has the sort of jewelry that makes Elizabeth Taylor look like one of those fundamentalist Mormon cult women, married the most wonderful man to ever have a resume that didn’t include performing neat tricks with loaves and fishes and generally does what she damn well pleases with the result that she looks five, maaaaaybe six years older than my father, her son.
I’d hate her if I didn’t spend every waking moment praying I’ll turn into her.
So what are you going to do? What do you WISH you could do? What has you pining for the fjords? Miss Plumcake wants to know!