You know it's summer when...

A 10k blocks the road Saturday, and a triathlon Sunday.

There are backyard parties at more houses on the block than not.

You're looking up zucchini recipes, desperately trying to find something really different.

You feel bad for the people running at 4 p.m., even if they look happy.

A retro funk band is playing LOUD in your neighbor's backyard, and nobody cares 'cos they're pretty good.

You're about to break the record for most (fake) BLTs in one week.  Or fresh salsa and chips.

It's hot and you want these people with gardens and parties to shut up and go away.  So you can sleep in the shade.

You're dead tired of mowing.  You're even more tired of your neighbor mowing.  Because he makes it clear you should be too.

Chafing.  Ouch.  And a singlet and shorts are too much clothing.

Weeds.  Dreams of blowtorch or DDT.

Dogs panting and sighing and looking at you like it's all your fault.  And it is, of course.  Like fireworks and squirrels who taunt them.

Everyone else at work is on vacation.

Everyone gay is getting married.  Oh, that's new, and state- and year-specific.  But let me say, one wedding per couple, please...  You're hardly unique if we have more than one until-now-denied friend.  And don't honeymoon in a hater state, please.  Spend those niche dollars wisely.

At least my hometown is vacated by the transient powerbrokers, and everyone else can breathe that August drained swamp air freely...  Did you hear, they may have a vaccine that works for malaria?  That's actually news.

Anyway... It's hot.  And the neighbors are playing "... I got the moves like Jagger..."  *You* try to be interesting.