The Dog Daze of August 21...

Summertime and the living is easy, so says the song. Fish are jumping and the cotton is high.

Your Daddy's rich and your Mother's good-looking, so hush now little baby don't you cry. An awesome nod to Porgy & Bess. 

I read these words to myself every August. Sometimes I read them every couple of hours. I know those Dog Days of Summer are close and getting closer. On top of the usual heat, one has to worry about the Pandemic and all those choices about "To Mask or Not to Mask." 

Sounds like a Shakespearean tragedy. I want to share how I will cope. It won't be easy. It won't be a cakewalk. Trust me. Thousands wouldn't. Just down the street is my salvation. 

It's a small out of the way place that is just big enough to swing a cat, but still big enough for a few of my closest friends. A place to sit. A place to share. A place to commiserate. A place to reboot.

It's down the street next to the 24/7 laundromat and next to the liquor store. Matter of fact, it's in the back of the liquor store. It's inside the beer cooler. It's where Jake, a recently disbarred entertainment lawyer, and close buddy holds court. Usually at night. Always at night. Always when the country club owner, the guy that wears those Trader Joe's Hawaiian shirts, is still telling stories on the 19th hole. It's after hours. Always after hours. It's Heaven.

It's Heaven to have an evening out with the boys. My closest friends:

Bud Light, Sam Adams, Fat Tire, Pabst Blue Ribbon, Blue Moon, Harry Heineken, Hombre Tecate, Stella Artois. My Aussie mate, Foster's.  With these guys, it's always Miller Time. Always time for an icy cold Corona. 

Always a moment to remember especially with that awesome storyteller, an ice-cold Coors, Nectar of the gods. 

That's how I will cope with the August heat. You're most welcome to join us. Always.

But, enough about me...