Categorized | Our Town

How’s About All This Weather

Posted on 22 June 2013

As a lightweight granite scribe for “The Thonis Express”— a multi award-winning  paper  — although one would have thought submitting several dozen additional “Our Town” entries would have provided The Great and Worthy Pharaoh (who happens to be a reeeeally NICE guy —  in a Matt Lauer should you catch him on a good day kind of way) with a few gilt obelisks when the big night is over.

But who am I to choose what and where worthy work finds the accolades it so rightfully deserves…

For The End.

Since the local weather (present or impending) seems to be the only topic top of mind when the unbearable task of either initiating — or sustaining — small talk left in your lap — here’s a sure-fire way of powering up your reserve of information while you wander mindlessly around a tiny food market under the pretense of shopping…or stocking up for another one of those potentially banana-crazy storms.

“Stocking up for a banana-crazy weather event in a tiny food market — gosh, that’s so me!”

Then, suddenly my writer’s radar starts ringing like a Kardashian’s doorbell.

“Have I changed the batteries lately?”

No.  I’m genuinely onto something.  “She’s” trudging down every isle — without a cart or basket — only a mysterious radio/mobile phone type device glued to her face.  With the volume set at “MAX.”

Holding weekend shoppers as auditory hostages — while they’re simply trying to focus on scoring blemish-free, fair-trade, organic clementines — or calculating the fair market value of 16 oz. spray bottles of yoga mat disinfectant.

Is there one?

Well it just seems cruel.

As I approached NOAA’s latest mobile unit things went from bad to worse the closer I got.

She had been verbally responding from time to time to NOAA’s latest updates.  And it seemed as if I was not alone in my quest to unravel the mystery of where exactly the concerned, male voice was emanating from.

I mean, we all (kinda) heard it.  And from time to time she reacted (like a true pro) with a wince of the face — or wordless shake of the head to whatever not-so-great news we were all not really hearing.

Oh, and it wasn’t a mobile phone.  Most of us on the trail had verified that back in the dried fruits and woodchuck-shaped candle section.

I have a headache now as I sit here attempting to piece together each and every disjointed, garish, and — as you might imagine — frightening crackle of static.

Both options are by themselves unsettling.  This                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 woman was criminally rude. Or, seriously lacking the most basic of mental functions.

Either way — see you at Greenport Hospital!

Wait — did I just describe the Glee Finale?  I certainly hope not.

She was actually on a two-way radio, yelling her shopping options to whatever lunatic held her radio’s partner.

Oh, and BTW — Lady Radio Head left the market without purchasing so much as a woodchuck candle.

This was new.

And I feel responsible to report on what’s new in The Hamptons.  Particularly at this — the most lunatic-lavish time of the year.  It is all for you my most appreciated readers.

But as a warning — should The Networks squeeze in another mid-season reality/talent competition/voyeuristic bile dump of a television program…I may very well end up at a loss for words.

“Bowling With Baby Blah Blah!”

I made that last one up.  Then Bing’d it.

Sure enough — there is a, “Baby Blah Blah”.


I suppose you are all wondering why I am sequestering myself indoors watching TV when the weather is so beautiful out…there.

That’s for me to know and you to find out between sets of tennis or rounds of golf.

Pale is the new tan. I read that one in the June (or was it May?) issue of Popular Mechanics.

See, I read!

Vitamin D deficiency is the new swimmer’s ear.  Moles are my muse.

Need I go on?

PETER HAMILTON TRAVIS does not enjoy clementines.  They seem — out of the gate — terribly misshapen.  Too small.  Happy Father’s Day.

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