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| One way to beat the heat. |
The dawn’s early light arrived early on the Fourth, or so it seemed. July 3 was a big deal on floor 17 of my Prospect Avenue condo, with everyone (except Willie Davis who wasn’t around), opening up their units to party-in the fireworks. One of our more spectacular couples bussed in gazillions of friends (parking is very limited in the lot below) of their closest friends and then rolled out hundreds of sushi rolls. There was also an open bar tended by a young woman who resembled a ’50s New Wave movie star. She tried, I know she tried, but the dry martini she made for me was lacking the touch that the Shorecrest bartender lavished on his martinis. Anyway, a good time was had by all. I went to bed immediately following the lakefront fireworks, or rather I listened to the last of them from the confines of my bedroom. The weather cooperated splendidly, and this morning I cruised the condo property, picking up a few balloons and cig butts. I didn’t find any bodies.
So it’s over and now we can look forward to the first leaf turning us toward fall. I’m not kidding. I’m ready to move on, aren’t you? Hmmmmm. Fur rugs in front of the fireplace,
boiled-wool sweaters, sheepskin slippers, etc. To hell with summer. It hardly matters, but it did reach 120 in Scottsdale yesterday which is why my Arizona family is occupying the condo unit next to mine. Lots of folks use this as their retreat from desert hell heat.
About this week’s blog title, “Screaming Yellow.” I used those words because a local artist recently complained on Facebook about my use of “screaming yellow” to describe, in a Shepherd Express A&E review, the color of a sculpture at Lynden Sculpture Garden.
I once owned a Corvette named “Screaming Yellow,” (think Tweety Bird yellow) and the color of the art I was referencing reminded me of the ‘Vette and Tweety. Why be precious when describing art? Whatever. Polly Morris, Lynden’s executive director, enjoyed my review. Deal with it.
Now that hats are back in style, I thought I’d blast you with what’s hot in July 3-4th hats, like I’m saying Seuss’s Cat in The Hat hats are hot. Not for street wear methinks.
Speaking of hot, my son played 18 holes with former Brewer great, Jeff Jenkins, who happened to be hanging around Silverleaf County Club in Scottsdale. Jenkins asked my son if he’d like to do the tour of 18, and son, not wanting to embarrass Jenkins said yes, but didn’t let on that he recognized the guy who earned $45 million in a decade of Brewer play and retired to Arizona around age 36. So off they went. Somewhere around hole 6, Jenkins said to son, “Don’t you know who I am?” Son: “No, I’ve don’t recall meeting you at the club.” Silence. Hole 10: “Well, I’m Jeff Jenkins, former player for the Brewers. It’s refreshing that you didn’t recognize me.”
Which reminds me of the local artist who, upon entering a gallery (nosily), has been heard to ask the nearest person, “Do you know who I am?”
