Lola at the Coffee House

Oh, that looks so tempting, vonny.

Wassau, I'd like one of those also please.

I don't know why they call them the "dog days" of summer when we get high heat and high humidity, mainly in August around here.

bump-bump-bump

B U M P!!!

bumpity bump

Hamsters, I'getting pissed off.

I don't know Mac--the jury's out.

But if you are right then it would seem that the more they warm themselves in winter the colder winters get and the more they cool themselves in summer the hotter summers get. The hurricanes and tornadoes being a function of these more dramatic changes.

The fires serve as a warning. They're going all the way till the wheels fall off and burn as Dylan said. You don't think it was just a casual cliche he tricked up on the spur of the moment and thought it sounded good do you?

You seem to have a lot of bumps in Hawaii.....

Well, my curiosity got the better of me, so I looked into the term "dog days" and found it goes quite far back.

Just spend some time at Waikiki when the lasses in their bikinis are about . . .

Thanx for that, ff. I do try to learn something new every day. Arf!

and, I spent some time at the Red Dog where the lassess take off their bikinis to a song and a few quid...........

I once spent two months with daytime temps. in the 120s. It was dire. Any straining for No 2s caused puddles of sweat on the floor. We were ordered to take salt tablets. There were Coca Cola pitches every few miles on the most used tracks. Just a tank full of ice with the bottles standing in it and an umbrella.

Diēs caniculārēs, I like that.

Better'n dies irae, dies illa..
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dies_Irae

I've seen Waikiki, but we sailors did not get to indulge very many things when just passing through. A friend's brother got stationed in Hawaii. He ended up marrying there and bringing his wife home to Michigan. The weather was glorious.

The thing about the weather here is that it's very rare for it to be oppressive. When the temps. are in he 80s in, say, Boston or Miami, you're sweltering and sweat pours from your pores. Here in Hawaii, as long as you're somewhere near the shore, there are always trade winds and other offsetting factors that make 80 degrees F. seem quite comfortable.

Btw, little known trivia factoid: the highest temp. ever officially recorded in Hawaii is exactly the same as the highest temp. ever recorded in Alaska -- an even 100 degrees F.

That's a very brave fellow.
That's a very brave Hawaiian.

My best friend in the USAF, a nice Jewish Italian New York boy, married a drop dead gorgeous red-haired mattress thrasher from West Texas. Her temper was just about equal to the Fahrenheit readings of mid-August in Tom Green County and didn't get any cooler once he moved her back to Bayside, Queens, New York ~~~~in the middle of one of snowiest winters on record.

(I've have a large latte and two poached eggs on a English Muffin. Half a grapefruit, if you have one. No. No mixed fruit, there's melon in it.)

They got through the winter by huddling together leading her to having her first baby in the middle of a Queens' August; the kind where your hair is plastered to your head by the rivers of humidity pouring through the streets and that odd sound you hear as you walk is your left thigh sloppily sliding on and off of your right thigh as you try to cross the Boulevard before someone kills you out of spite.

Some how they made it through to the next November~~and ...she popped out the second baby right on schedule ~~JULY~~
About a month after that , after hauling another liquid and piss filled diaper, so heavy it out-weighed the baby, she packed it in and drove the kiddos all the way to her mom's house in San Angelo where, as god intended, any moisture appearing on a lady's face would immediately evaporate and the little children's bladders could scarcely hold a teaspoon of anything extra.

(Thank you, and do you have any Tabasco Sauce for these eggs? I'm sorry, I should have asked for it before. Thanks.)

I'd like to tell you that those children ended up being just like their mom, prairie princesses squired around by steroided halfbacks in air-conditioned pick-up trucks, but they didn't. Without water in their veins, all they had left was their father's New York Jewboy-Italian blood and that brought them, as soon as they were able, back to the center of the universe where they have been living; perfect carbon copies of the outsides of their mother, red-headed with eyes that flash sharply-happily at any good joke or story and hard as nails inside like their father.

People should always try to see what might come of moving someone from one climate to another, they will never guess correctly, but they should try.

Joe(Check, please)Nation

Great post

Grand tale, Joe, and the telling exquisite. I can relate, been there and done that, for the most part. USAF '66-'70.

I came very close to being sent to Hawaii. A guy in my Tech School squadron at Amarillo (base now gone) got orders for Hickam and he pist and moaned about it. He was from NYC and had gotten married just before enlisting. He had asked for McGuire or anywhere close to the city. Sure didn't want to be 7000 miles away for two years, three if accompanied, in a place where off-base housing would cost a packet. Meanwhile I was trying to find out where the hell the Azores was located.

So the NY guy who somehow got hold of a map, showed me these teeny specks about 2/3 the way across the Atlantic and asked if I'd care to swap. He reckoned the Azores to JFK was only a two-hour flight. I said I didn't care, as long as they'd let us. So we trundled off to Personnel and found it was no problem. That's one time it was advantageous to be no more than a number, or in this case, two numbers having the same AFSC. I went along when he called his wife that evening. I knew damn well before he hung up what she was saying: "Are you outta your friggin' mind?!! How else will we ever get to Hawaii, expenses paid?" So, alas, while he was at the BX buying flowery shirts and sunning lotion, I took flight for the Rock, 800 miles off the Portuguese coast, for an 18-month holiday! The best assignment in the whole USAF, except maybe Soesterberg (Camp New Amsterdam) in The Netherlands, where the clothing allowance was greater than one's base pay (due to having to wear civvies all the time) and the "window shopping" in Amsterdam is something else. But I got to do that anyway, while at my second and final assignment, Torrejon at Madrid.

But the Rock was grand, 18 miles by 11. Sunny every day, except in Feb. & March, when it never stopped raining and the 110-knot winds never abated, so even some places on the base were off-limits. Highest temp ever recorded, 88º, lowest 55º. Did nothing for 18 months but hangout on the beach, play "double-knucks" with the greatest pals on earth, and read. The base library only had a few hundred titles and maybe 1000 volumes total, 700 of which was Catch-22, our Bible. We all knew that Pianosa had to be our sister base, dozens of facsimiles could be seen on the Rock in my day. Yosarrian lives! At least he was in good form in '68. And Milo Minderbind ...

Milo (looking rather like Socrates, especially with his head shaved) was in my squadron for Basic. He was from Memphis, born into the 4th generation of a family law practice, one of the more prominent firms in the city, so he said, and all he wanted was to get his 4-yr hitch over with so he could make some money. He had passed the bar exam just before enlisting but had stood firm against the recruiter's urgings to apply for OCS, begin the war as a captain, commingle with beautiful women at the Officers' Club, etc., etc. But once he'd raised his hand as a slick-sleeve, someone way up the echelon considered Milo's fate from a different slant and he was nonetheless sent to OCS ... Oklahoma Cook School, Tinker AFB. So with his passion for money and based in the culliary services, I have no doubt that in due course Milo was swapping MRE's (Meals Rejected by Ethiopians) for broken-down Soviet tanks and those in turn for crates of goat's cheese, and so forth, all the time piling up the lolly on the side. (Have you ever read King Rat or seen the film?)

Ah, well ... thanks for the reminders, Joe.

Oh, yeah, one more thing: I first met Mrs. D. (although I didn't recognize her at the time) during my second tour. On a street in Madrid. Married two years later in her hometown of Liverpool, England, and after six years I brought her to live here in the Slough of Despond. She'd lived and worked in four countries, had been everywhere any sane person would want to go and done about everything. But after living here in the swamp for nigh on 36 years, she's settled in very nicely; loads of friends and involved in all sorts of activities, she's quite content. Only one drawback, she's fettered to a bloke who sits around all the time trying to decide what he wants to be when he grows up. But I see no need to rush, I ain't going anywhere, as far as I know.

De(gathering moss)bacle

My next door neighbor moved here from Japan to marry a redneck mother. They raised a kid or two, but he secretly chafed and eventually took up with some co worker and left. Oddly, it was she who adjusted very well and he who failed to mesh.

Thankee, Mr. D. Between you and Joe (alwaysgoodtoreadhiscopy) Nation, you two have made my morning worthwhile.