HOT HOT HOT

Ever heard of Christmas in July? In my dinky home town it was an event held every July 25th as a celebration of halfway-to-Christmasness. Really it was just another excuse for some firehall to be filled with 50 or more linen covered tables all peddling the same lace knick-knack crap and cutesie little painted wooden signs about Grandma's Kitchen, Grandpa's Garden, and Dad Gone Fishing. Crap, crap, crap. Apparently when you move to the pines and resign yourself to a semi-meaningless life that revolves soley around your kid's sports schedules and what's on sale at the Shop'n'Bag you become accutely attuned to county crafting. My mother in particular would have loved to have been one of these ladies, but in fact, she was always too high to actually hang out with the group , or even get around to painting a rock to look like a goose.
(You may think I'm joking but this is a very popular item.)

This particular morning happens to be a beautiful, mild December one and I'm LOVING it. This gal don't do so good with the chilly wintery weather, so on days like this I take full advantage and my 25 minute commute to work suddenly becomes damn near an hour. I walk to the next train stop down in Brooklyn, then once I surface at Union Square I stop and look at every table full of junk. Crap on fold-out tables... Nostalgia! This unseasonably balmy Thursday I'm struck with brilliance. Instead of my small town, small-minded former townsmen with their mid-year Christian celebrations marked by knitted tissue box cozies and yes, seahorse/seashell trinkets, I propose a "July-in-Christmas" party. Complete with hot dogs'n'hamburgers, beers out of the cooler, and maybe even a slip'n'slide. What a fabulous idea! If I knew someone with a truck I would make them let us eat on the tailgate. (BBQ food just tastes better that way.)

Well, fuck I already have a full on Japanese dinner party planned for tonight. But next year, don't pack away your cut-offs and flip flops cause it's totally on. July-in-Christmas. Foreva.